Rachelle McCalla - Prince Incognito

No one moved. The bird hovered, waiting for the man who’d pulled the gun on Lillian—Lillian’s uncle David.

Please keep her safe. He found himself praying, though he hadn’t realized he was a man of faith. A movement in the doorway caught his attention, and he turned in time to see Lily’s wide-eyed face rise into view, her hands white and trembling as she gripped the doorframe and crawled in.

His heart plummeted. They’d brought her along. She looked terrified. What were they going to do with her?

Her uncle David followed with the gun, the door closed, and the helicopter moved forward through the dark sky.

Lillian turned to face her uncle. “Where should I sit?”

“Here.” He spun her around so that her back was to him, grabbed a zip tie from the nearest soldier, and strapped her wrists together before shoving her through the opening in the luggage netting.

She fell forward, tried to catch herself, slammed her shoulder into the sloping back wall, and slid down to the floor beside him, her arms restrained behind her back.

He wished he could reach out to her and help her in her efforts to sit. She rose halfway up, bracing herself against the steep slope of the back wall as though trying to put some distance between them, but there wasn’t room in the cramped stowage space.

Lillian slumped down again, her face against his arm. A silent sob shuddered up through her, and she sniffed.

He wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t want to get her in more trouble by doing so. The soldiers on the other side of the netting had their guns pointed their way, but other than that, didn’t seem to be paying them much attention. Her uncle had disappeared into the seat next to the pilot, and seemed oblivious to his niece or anyone else behind him.

The inside of the helicopter was dark—too dark to make out any details. And the ambient noise of the flying craft drowned out whatever the soldiers were muttering about to each other.

He could only assume it would do the same, masking his words to Lillian. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Her voice sounded small, and her sniffles reverberated against him. “I’ll try to move over, out of your way.”

“Don’t worry about it. You can lean on me. If you stay close, we can talk without being overheard.”

She fell silent. Probably trying to decide if she even wanted to talk to him.

“I’m sorry I got you into this mess. You should have left me in that alley and not looked back.”

“Would that have made my uncle less of a horrible man?”

“His horrible actions wouldn’t have been directed at you, then.”

“Then I would never have known how awful he was. I might have continued thinking of him as a respectable person.” She shifted her face around, bracing her cheek against his arm, until her head was tipped up enough that her words were aimed at his ear, and he could hear her clearly, though she kept her voice low. “I would rather know the ugly truth than live in the comfort of a lie.”

“You sound as though you’ve thought this through.”

“I’ve had to do a lot of thinking lately.” She stopped fighting her position and left her cheek pressed against his shoulder. “And I think we need to figure out what’s going on, and get away from my uncle as soon as we can.”

He liked the way she thought. “I agree. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I won’t be of much help in sorting out what’s going on.”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“I remember you. You pulled me from the alley, you gave me water when I was thirsty and you bandaged my face after I pulled you from the ocean. That’s the total sum of my knowledge at this point.”

She sighed.

“Sorry I can’t be of any more help than that, but it does make me indebted to you, considering you’re the only person I’ve met this evening who hasn’t attacked me.”

“Do you know anything about North Africa?”

“Why?”

“That’s where we’re headed—unless my uncle lied to my parents, which wouldn’t surprise me.”

“This helicopter can only travel about 500 miles without refueling. Assuming it came from Lydia, the northern coast of Africa would be about as far as it could go in one trip.”

Lily sat up a little straighter. “How can you possibly know that, and still not know your own name?”

He shrugged. “Ask me another question. Maybe you can trick me into revealing who I am.”

She huffed, whether out of frustration or incredulity, he wasn’t sure. But she quickly rose to his challenge. “All right. My uncle said that your memory was their only link to vital information that they need right now. Any idea what that means?”

He pinched his eyes shut and tried to think. “I know something they don’t?”

“I’d gathered that much from the context. Whatever it is, they seem intent on gleaning that information from you.”

“How are they going to do that? Traditional interrogation methods won’t work if I can’t access my own memory.” His heart started thumping ominously. If the men were desperate for information, they’d likely resort to drastic measures, but if he had vital intel they couldn’t risk letting him die, so obviously too much torture would be out of the question.

Lillian seemed to realize the answer just as he did. “My uncle said they needed to bring me along because of the way you reacted when they threatened me. He said I was their most valuable weapon against you.”

His blood ran cold, and he realized he’d clenched his hands into fists that were useless, bound as he was. Of course. They wouldn’t torture him—they’d torture her, and make him watch until he spilled every secret he had.

Except that he had no way of spilling any secrets, not if he couldn’t remember anything. Innocent Lillian would suffer, and there would be nothing he could do about it.

The depth of conviction in his voice surprised him. “We’ll have to get away from him quickly. Maybe even as soon as we reach the ground. The faster we can make a break for it, the more likely our plans are to succeed.”

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Something tells me, once we get to wherever we’re headed, there won’t be any way out.”

Lillian panted slightly, clearly wrestling with what he’d told her.

He felt the need to devise a plan. “Do you know anything about North Africa?”

“Not much,” she confessed. “Hasn’t North Africa been in the news for years now because of violence and fighting and militant groups?”

“You’re right. It’s a very unstable part of the world, with an inhospitable desert climate.” An image shifted through his thoughts, blowing like desert sand, and he felt the sting of it, the oppressive heat, the thirst, the desolation. Like the mirage of a desert oasis, it evaporated as he tried to focus on it, leaving only the lingering image of what once was, or might have been. He grasped at it, but it slipped through his fingers like so much blowing sand.

He opened his eyes to find that Lily had straightened up, pulling her face close to his, watching him.

“Did you remember something?” she whispered as though afraid her words might scare off the wisp of memory.

“I think—” he swallowed, trying to chase the thought, but the sand filled in the footprints more quickly than he could follow them “—I think I’ve been there before.”

“That’s good.”

“Is it?”

“Maybe you’ll know your way around.”

“Maybe.” He swallowed, his thirst intensified by the mere thought of the desert. He wanted to believe Lillian was right, but from the cold clenching of his gut, he was pretty sure his last visit to the northern coast of Africa hadn’t been good at all.