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  Home concerned about timeline. Increase speed as much as possible. When ready to leave, request new dress. Until then, no more fights.

  The only person it could be from was Traz, the inside contact, who apparently worked in the administration building. That made sense, given that Traz was supposed to help her get out.

  But who was it?

  Request new dress. Someone who worked in the storage room? The female guard? Or it could have been any of the medical staff—the nurse who’d taken her bloodied dress away, the one who’d brought her a new one, hell, even the doctor.

  The only thing she knew for sure was that it had been someone who had gotten a few minutes alone with the garment before it was brought to her. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in the position to conduct a full-scale investigation.

  She read the note again. She had a pretty good idea why McElroy would want her to speed up the schedule—that bastard judge back in Simferopol. He’d already fleeced them for more cash once, and chances were good he’d try again, threatening to expose her as a “foreign agent.” So McElroy would want her done and gone before anything else blew up.

  Whether or not this was his reasoning, she was completely in agreement. Prison life was not suiting her at all, and the sooner she was out, the better.

  Of course the question she couldn’t answer was how the hell to make that happen.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Nice job on Kalyna.”

  Alex looked over her shoulder. The dusty-blonde woman who had just fallen in behind her in the dinner line was lean and tall and, surprisingly, in possession of an accent very similar to Alex’s.

  “Sorry. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Really? Apparently every else does, because they’re all talking about it. And I was a witness. Saw the whole damn thing. Not the first time you’ve ever been in a fight, is it?”

  Alex shrugged. “I’d rather not get into it.”

  The line moved forward, allowing both women to set their trays on the counter.

  “Sure, I get it,” the blonde said. She held out her hand. “I’m Rachel. Rachel Norman.”

  Alex hesitated, then shook her hand. “Maureen Powell.”

  “You know, when I got here a few days ago, I thought I was gonna be the only one from the States. Can’t tell you how good it is to meet someone from home.”

  “You’re still the only one,” Alex said. “I’m Canadian.”

  “Oh.” Rachel appeared to be momentarily caught off guard, then she smiled. “Close enough, I guess. At least we both know how to string a couple sentences together without tying our tongues in a knot. I’m getting pretty tired of trying to decipher every other word that’s thrown in my direction.”

  While it was nice to hear a voice from home, Alex had neither the desire nor the time to make friends. She’d already gotten too close to doing that with Frida.

  “So…where?” Rachel asked.

  Alex realized she’d missed something the blonde had said. “I’m sorry?”

  “Where in Canada? I’ve been to Toronto once. And Vancouver when I was a kid.”

  “Winnipeg.”

  “Where the hell’s that?”

  “Right in the middle.”

  “Sounds cold. Me, I’m from San Diego. You ever been?”

  Alex had, but she shook her head, and moved forward with the line.

  “Pacific Beach, Mission Beach…oh, and the Gaslamp district. Man, I miss it.”

  Alex glanced at her and was about to grunt, “Uh-huh,” when she noticed a large woman wearing a hijab enter the room.

  Alex recognized her height and body shape. No question, it was one of the women who’d been with El-Hashim in her cell. Which was weird; this wasn’t her building. She seemed to be searching for someone, because her eyes suddenly locked on to something, and she headed quickly across the room, disappearing into the kitchen.

  As Alex lay in her bunk prior to dinner, she had formulated an action plan for the evening. After she finished eating and before everyone was locked up for the night, she would pay El-Hashim’s cellblock another visit. At worst she might be able to gain some more intel, and at best, she might find herself in a position to make contact.

  Having one fewer member of El-Hashim’s entourage in play might facilitate that very situation.

  “So what did they put you in here for?” Rachel asked. “They popped me as an accessory for a stolen car. The guy I was hanging out with took it, and I didn’t even know—”

  “I’m sorry,” Alex said, stepping out of line. “I forgot something. It was nice meeting you.”

  Returning her tray and dish to the stack at the head of the line, she exited the cafeteria as quickly as possible.

  * * *

  THE SUN WAS still an hour from setting as she stepped into the near-empty prison yard. Painfully aware of how visible she was, she stayed close to the buildings, in hopes they would mask her presence. It seemed to have worked, as she was able to slip into Building Two without raising any alarms.

  There, she took the stairs down to the cafeteria. Though McElroy’s information indicated El-Hashim seldom left her room, seldom was not never, so the woman could be downstairs for dinner.

  Alex paused just outside the doorway so as not to be seen, and scanned the dining room. Neither El-Hashim nor her protection detail was there.

  Alex went back to the stairs and took them to the second floor. The first block was completely empty, but as she entered the second, she could hear noise coming from cell 259—at least two voices, talking low. She hugged the wall, moved all the way to the cell doors on the right. Keeping just as tight to them, she made her way toward the voices and stopped just short of El-Hashim’s cell.

  There had been no interruption in the conversation, no indication they’d heard Alex’s approach. This close, she could clearly hear what they were saying, and surprisingly, could even understand them for the most part, as they were speaking French.

  “…for the best, I think,” one of them was saying.

  “Not sitting in this pit would be for the best,” another replied, not sounding happy. “I need to leave this place.”

  “Yes, but that isn’t an option right now. A few more days, a week at most, and you should be out again. But until then—”

  “Until then, Marie, we have this to deal with, too!”

  There was no question in Alex’s mind the unhappy one was El-Hashim. What was interesting was that it seemed something more than just sitting in prison was upsetting her.

  Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to make an approach, Alex realized.

  As she turned to retreat to the block entrance, a new voice spoke up in the cell.

  A male voice.

  What the hell?

  “I know this news is distressing,” he said in halting French. “But it is better to know than not.”

  His tone was familiar, but the French was throwing Alex off, so she was having a hard time placing it.

  “You tell me that my life is in danger, but you don’t tell me from whom,” El-Hashim said. “It would be better if you had a name!”

  “If I knew,” he told her, “the problem would be removed.”

  “Is it a prisoner? A guard? Someone else on staff? Do you know that much, at least?”

  Silence.

  “Whoever it is,” Marie said, “there’s no reason for you sit in this cell and wait to be attacked. I think we should take him up on his offer.”

  There was another moment of silence before El-Hashim spoke. “All right. Fine. We’ll do as you suggest.”

  “Excellent,” the man said. “I’ll make the arrangements. You’ll be out of here in less than an hour.”

  Alex heard the shuffle of his shoes on cement, and stiffened. With this guy on the move, there was no way she’d make it back to the other block without being seen.

  She turned quickly, and scanned the cells along the wall.

  The door to each was open. Thinking it would be
a bad idea to hide in the cell right next to El-Hashim’s, she scrambled for the next one over and moved inside. As she dropped to the floor and slipped under the front bunk, she heard the man’s steps entering the common area.

  Lying on her stomach, her chin propped on the cement, she looked out through the bars. A second later the man came into view—a guard she was sure she’d never seen before.

  She was thinking she must have been wrong about recognizing the voice when another set of steps echoed through the common area, and a second man walked into view.

  The warden.

  Son of a bitch.

  So El-Hashim had the most powerful person in Slavne Prison in her pocket. No wonder the Stonewell contact was being extra cautious.

  As soon as Alex was sure the two men were off the block, she started to crawl out from under the bed, but froze again when she heard someone else enter the common area.

  It was the woman who’d been visiting the cafeteria in Building One. She walked quickly through the outer room and over to cell 259. A moment later, voices drifted down from El-Hashim’s cell, not quite as clear from this distance.

  “…list…”

  “Don’t…for any…”

  “…finished.”

  Alex scooted out of her hiding spot, tiptoed to the door, and carefully peeked around it.

  The common area was clear. They were all inside their cell.

  It was now or never.

  She left the cell and quietly retraced her steps to the cellblock doorway. She was within seconds of the exit, when a voice behind her shouted in Arabic. It was a word she had learned while stationed in Iraq, and she knew exactly what it meant:

  Stop!

  Rather than comply, Alex took off, running through the doorway and into the next block. Behind her she could hear the pounding of footsteps, someone in hot pursuit.

  Alex bore down, speeding through block one and into the stairwell, then took the steps two at a time, hurrying down to the first floor. As she leaped off the last step, she nearly ran into a group of inmates who had just entered the stairway. They jumped out of the way, and yelled at her as she rushed by.

  “Sorry,” she said, as she rounded the corner into the hallway leading to the building’s exit.

  A few seconds later, she heard more shouts behind her that she assumed meant her pursuer was still following.

  The door to the outside was propped open now. She sprinted over the threshold and into the yard. The outdoor area was no longer empty, as many prisoners were taking advantage of a few minutes of fresh air before the buildings were locked up for the night. Alex ran to the corner of Building Two, then turned into the open space between it and Building One.

  “Hey, what’s the hurry?”

  Rachel was leaning against the wall.

  Alex made a snap decision, put on the brakes, and quickly moved over to her.

  “We’ve been here awhile,” Alex said.

  “All right,” Rachel said, intrigued. “You want to give me a little—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, one of El-Hashim’s protectors ran across the opening between the buildings. When she noticed Alex and Rachel, she immediately changed course and headed toward them.

  As soon as the woman was in range, she grabbed the front of Alex’s dress. “Why you there?”

  “Hey, let go,” Alex said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Why you there?” the woman yelled.

  “Why was I where?”

  “Outside cell.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. When was this?”

  “Liar! Outside cell just now.”

  “Just now?” Alex looked at her as if she were crazy. “I’ve been right here since I finished dinner.”

  There was a hint of uncertainty in the woman’s eyes. Since everyone wore the same gray dress, and Alex was not the only dark-haired woman in the prison, the only way El-Hashim’s colleague could be sure she had the right person was if she’d seen Alex’s face.

  And it was clear by her reaction that she hadn’t.

  “Leave my friend alone,” Rachel said.

  “You outside cell,” the woman said to Alex again, only this time her tone wasn’t quite as sharp.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Alex said. “Not me.”

  “Yeah, we’ve been right here for, like, twenty minutes,” Rachel added.

  “Here? Twenty minutes?”

  “Well, we started off down there,” Rachel said, pointing at a spot a dozen feet away. “But we ended up here.”

  “Not you running?” the woman asked Alex.

  “Running where?”

  She pointed at Building Two. “Out of building.”

  “That would be no,” Alex said, looking at the woman’s fist still grasping her dress. “So, do you mind?”

  The woman glared at her through the slit in her hijab. She leaned forward and said to Alex, “Don’t come near us again.”

  “Whatever.”

  With a final, cold look, the woman walked away.

  As soon as they were alone, Rachel said, “That was fun.”

  Alex was already pushing herself off the wall. “Thanks for backing me up.” She started to walk away.

  “Hey, aren’t you going to tell me what that was all about?”

  “Just a misunderstanding, that’s all.”

  “Some misunderstanding. She was ready to take your head off.”

  Alex gave her a quick smile. “Thanks again.”

  She headed back into the main yard in front of the buildings, and moved in near a cluster of prisoners, close enough to seem part of their group without actually having to join them.

  She’d learned one interesting thing during her excursion. While El-Hashim and her friends were clearly trying to portray themselves as Arabs, their accents all seemed to be European instead of Middle Eastern. Were they Arab or not?

  It wasn’t a question she’d be able to answer right now. Besides, she had more important things to worry about at the moment.

  She focused her attention on the administration building. If she was right, the warden, or someone representing him, would be making a return trip to Building Two.

  I’ll make the arrangements.

  You’ll be out of here in less than an hour.

  If Alex hadn’t overheard the earlier part of the conversation, she would have assumed the warden was planning to remove El-Hashim from the prison altogether. And if that were the case, the Stonewell project would be dead in the water. But taking into consideration what El-Hashim and Marie had said just prior to that, it seemed pretty clear that they would not be leaving, even though El-Hashim’s life was apparently in danger.

  So what was the warden planning?

  The main door to the administration building finally opened and out walked the man of the hour, followed by a squad of six guards. This was not about to go unnoticed by the other prisoners. All conversations stopped as the inmates watched the procession march past them and enter Building Two.

  A moment later, the horn blared, telling everyone it was time to go back inside.

  Shit.

  Alex was sure El-Hashim would be with those guards when they came out again. She needed to know where they were going to take her.

  Apparently evening yard time was ending early, because the other prisoners were making unhappy noises like they were being shortchanged. This was obviously a move on the warden’s part, to get them all out of the yard while he and his guards did whatever they were planning to do.

  Alex knew if she lost track of El-Hashim’s whereabouts, it would be as if the woman were removed from the prison entirely.

  Slowly heading back toward her building, Alex kicked at the ground, looking for a stone that had an edge to it. She was less than thirty feet from Building One’s entrance when she spotted one that would hopefully do the trick.

  She stumbled and allowed herself to fall to the ground, then grabbed the stone and immediately set
to work, doing her best to ignore the pain.

  A shout in Ukrainian, aimed in her direction.

  She peeked over her shoulder and could see a guard heading her way.

  “Come on, come on,” she said under her breath, continuing to work the stone.

  Another shout, only a dozen feet away.

  She knew he was telling her to get up, but she couldn’t. She had to finish.

  When he poked at her back with the toe of his boot, she felt two of the stitches come apart from the wound in her arm. She pulled at the cut until blood started to flow out, then groaned theatrically and rolled onto her back.

  “I need the doctor,” she cried, showing her wound to the guard.

  He leaned in close, let out an exasperated breath, and helped her to her feet.

  “Careful it doesn’t get infected,” she said, then looked back toward her building. Rachel was standing near the door with a mischievous look on her face. One that said she had seen the whole thing, and was impressed.

  With a wave, she went inside.

  Wonderful. She’ll be asking me questions until my ears start to bleed.

  As she was escorted across the yard to the administration building, Alex periodically glanced back at Building Two to see if the warden had reemerged, but by the time they reached the door, there had been no sign of him.

  So inside they went, through the checkpoint, down the hall, and up the stairs. She had to resist the urge to try to get the guard to hurry up. She knew there were windows in the infirmary that looked out onto the yard, but until she got there, she was blind to the outside.

  Cradling her arm, she moved with the guard down the second-floor hallway, and rushed into the infirmary the moment he opened the door. While the guard explained the situation to the nurse on duty, Alex got as close to the windows as she could without letting on what she was up to.

  At first, she thought the yard was empty, but then she noticed movement to the left.

  Ten…no, eleven people walking toward the back wall of the yard.

  There was no doubt in her mind that seven of them were the warden and his six guards. The remaining four were wearing gray prison dress and had hijabs covering their heads. Unless this was some kind of elaborate decoy, El-Hashim and her people were being escorted toward the door in the far wall. The door that led to the isolation building.