The Sheik's Safety Read online

  Two large metal tables stood in the middle; small square doors in even rows lined the walls from floor to ceiling. A morgue? She didn’t have time to look around. The guards rushed the hostages through the room and up another set of stairs. Bandages, all kinds of medical equipment. Looked like they were in the storage area of some kind of hospital.

  Three of the men ran forward and disappeared from sight. When the rest of the group caught up, they were in the ambulance bay, a half-dozen bodies on the floor.

  The king climbed in the back of an ambulance, and Fatima and Lamis were pushed after him, then Dara and Salah. That didn’t leave much room for guards, but six managed to squeeze in. She figured two would sit up front, that made eight professional soldiers she had to take care of. She wasn’t overly worried about Majid.

  But she couldn’t do anything yet, not when a flying bullet might hit one of the people she was here to protect. She had to wait, bide her time, be ready when the opportunity came.

  Chapter Ten

  Dara leaned back against the wall of the ambulance and inventoried the weapons around her. Each man had a semiautomatic, with extra magazines. Majid had a pistol tucked into his belt.

  The siren came on, and Salah, who’d gone to sit between his aunts, covered his ears.

  Dara smiled at him. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  She fell silent when the soldier next to her raised his rifle. Looked like they preferred if she didn’t talk.

  Too bad.

  She made sure to keep the smile on her face for the boy’s sake while her mind worked at full speed. The farther they got from the city and Saeed’s forces, the less Majid would need the hostages. Once he felt safe, would he get rid of them?

  “You should leave them behind.” She nodded toward Saeed’s sisters and son.

  The king looked at her, angry and impatient. “You should shut up.”

  “Saeed will pursue his heir to the ends of the world. Any man would. If you let the boy go, finding you becomes much less important, giving you time to regroup.”

  The king said nothing, but he was listening.

  “Salah is the great-great-grandson of Sheik Zayed, your own blood. If something happens to him, the people will not forgive it easily, even if it’s not your fault. We could come under fire. Everyone will blame you if he dies.”

  Majid looked away from her.

  “Let them go and keep me,” she said.

  He snorted with derision. “What good would you be? If I need to bargain, I’ll need something of value. What will Saeed give me for the life of a foreigner, a woman?”

  She weighed her words carefully. “Some men are attached to their mistresses.”

  Majid’s gaze snapped back to her. He measured her up. “He is the type to get attached to a woman—a weakness that runs in his family. Took but one wife and didn’t take another even after her death.”

  She watched him as he rubbed the heels of his hands over his knees, and could see the wheels turn in his head, as he considered how to exploit Saeed’s weakness.

  “If what you say is true…” He watched her closely.

  “Why do you think he keeps me by his side at all times? He cannot bear to be separated from me even when he goes to battle. Saeed will give for me what you ask of him,” she said with false confidence.

  A muscle ticked in his cheek.

  She stayed silent for a while, not wanting to push him into a rage where he might cross over into violence.

  “They know you had a hand in the bombing at the air force base,” she said when she thought he was calm enough again.

  He went still, his face cold and frozen like the statues in his bedroom.

  “The U.S. is looking for you, too. Everyone will be searching for a small group of soldiers with a couple of women and a small boy with them.”

  She left time for her words to sink in before she went on. “With a kaffiyeh on, nobody can tell me from another soldier. You’ll get much farther with just me. And the Americans will negotiate for me should anything happen. They don’t like to lose one of their own. Bringing home body bags makes for bad publicity. It’s bad for politics.” She watched him closely. “Let them go.”

  “Do not,” he said in a voice of ice, “presume to tell me what to do.”

  MAJID WATCHED THE WOMAN, angered and at the same time aroused by her fire. Under different circumstances, he would have enjoyed bringing her to heel and bedding her. Mastering a willful woman took skill, like mastering a willful horse. Of course, with his horses he would have never used unnecessary force. His stable of purebred Arabians was too valuable.

  He appraised Dara. This one would require force. He would enjoy it. Maybe they would have some time for that kind of fun when he was out of danger, surrounded by his army once again.

  He trusted his southern troops; they didn’t have as many Bedu among them as among the troops that had defected according to the woman. He believed her on that. But the troops stationed on the southern border… Everything hinged on them.

  His confidence wavered.

  If they thought Saeed was winning, would they have thrown their support behind him already? Could he risk it?

  Fear gripped him for a moment, the fear of having nowhere to go. Then he pushed it back. There was one place, one people who stood to lose if Saeed took the throne. Majid breathed easier, with renewed confidence. He would hide among them until he figured out who was still loyal to him.

  HE SHOULDN’T HAVE LET Dara go in there. All they’d accomplished was giving Majid another hostage. She had asked him to trust her, and he did—she was smart and strong, amazing—but by Allah, it had cost him to let her go to Majid.

  Saeed tried to listen for voices but the doors were soundproof, as were all doors in the king’s private quarters. They would have to be yelling to be heard.

  “Either you open that door or I am breaking it,” he called out, and he meant it.

  No response.

  His heartbeat quickened. “I’m offering to let you go free for the last time, Cousin.”

  A couple of men came in with a granite statue he’d sent them to bring from the courtyard. He grabbed the end and motioned for them to back up and charge the door. They had to repeat the action a half dozen times before the frame gave. From the lack of threats while they were trying to break into the room, he al ready knew what he would find.

  Nothing.

  Cold panic spread in his stomach.

  The room had no windows. Majid was paranoid that way. With reason. Anyone who ruled by fear was bound to make enemies.

  Saeed unlocked the two other doors and found his own men facing him, weapons drawn. He stepped back into the room, banged on the walls, looking for a hidden exit. “There has to be a passageway.”

  His men rushed to the search, one of them yelling out his discovery a few minutes later.

  No time to find the opening mechanism. Saeed kicked in the panel then ran forward. They had precious little time to waste. If they weren’t late already. No, he could not think that. He could not accept even the possibility that his loved ones might be dead.

  They reached the morgue, and he had his men check the vaults in the wall. He didn’t breathe until they had gone through every last one.

  His limbs felt numb, his chest as if a herd of camels trampled over it.

  “Spread out.” He rushed from the room, knowing too much time had passed. They were unlikely to find Majid here.

  He ran through the basement and up the stairs, bumping into one of his men.

  “They left through the ambulance bay.”

  He followed the man, scanned the dead left on the concrete floor, lying in their own blood, and was relieved that neither his son, nor his sisters, nor Dara were among them.

  “Go, send our people out into the city. Pass the word. Every ambulance must be stopped,” he said, then pulled out his cell phone to call Nasir.

  “Majid has Salah and our sisters, Dara, too. He’s on his way out of the city
.” He explained the details as he ran from the building.

  Once on the street, he grabbed a car from one of his men and raced over the asphalt, watching for any sign of them from behind the madly working windshield wipers. The sun was coming up behind the clouds, the streets lighter now. Rain poured from the sky, the city smelling sweet and wet, filled with hope as he was filled with despair.

  Where would Majid go? He would have to leave the city, too many of the opposition were there right now. He would go somewhere he would feel safe. His southern troops?

  Saeed turned the car down the boulevard and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. He didn’t slow when his cell phone rang, but kept the steering wheel steady with one hand while he answered it.

  “Someone came across an abandoned ambulance in the East Souq. I’m on my way over,” Nasir said.

  “Me, too.” He took a sharp turn toward the market, and beeped at a group of women to get out of the way.

  He was four blocks away, made it there in under two minutes. Then it took a while to find the ambulance, wedged within the labyrinth of tables. At least the market was empty. Every able-bodied man was at the palace today.

  He saw his men surround the vehicle with guns drawn, stopped the car and ran toward them, straight for the doors. Locked.

  He called out his son’s name.

  No response.

  “Dara? Fatima? Lamis?”

  His heart hammered against his chest. He barely noticed the rain that ran down his face and soaked his clothes. One of his men ran to him with a crowbar. He grabbed it and wedged it between the doors.

  They popped open, and air returned to his lungs once he saw Salah and his sisters on the floor, bound and gagged, but alive.

  He pulled out his knife and freed them, hugging them, not ever wanting to let go.

  “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?” he asked when they finally separated.

  Fatima and Lamis shook their heads. Salah held on to Saeed’s leg tight enough to cut off his circulation. They were safe. Relief washed through him in waves. But he had more work to do, a piece of his heart still missing.

  “Where is Dara?”

  Fatima filled him in, so scared and shaken she made little sense. It took a while to calm her and get all the details.

  “What happened to Gedad?”

  She shook her head. “We never made it that far.”

  “I’ll take care of our family,” Nasir said from behind Saeed. “Majid is gone, you are the king. You must return to the palace and restore order.”

  King, he thought surprised. Nasir was right. Majid had fled the capital. His cousin’s despotic reign was over.

  “You need to show your strength, order the cabinet to meet at once,” Nasir pressed.

  “No.” He looked his brother in the eye, wanting to make sure Nasir understood him. “Not while my queen is missing.”

  He squatted in front of Salah. “I’m proud of you for being so brave, son.”

  He gave the boy a long hug, thanking Allah for returning his only child to him. Then he ran to the car. Majid would go to the desert. He’d be recognized if he drove through the towns and villages. He wouldn’t trust the people who were rising up against him.

  Saeed hit the steering wheel with his open palm. He would not let Dara come to harm. He would protect her whatever the price. There were people she trusted, people who could help her.

  He flipped his cell phone open, scanned the saved list of the last ten numbers dialed and found the one he was looking for—the call to the U.S. He dialed the numbers, keeping an eye on the road ahead of him.

  “Hello,” a man answered without identifying himself.

  “This is Sheik Saeed ibn Ahmad. Dara Alexander was taken hostage by King Majid.”

  A brief silence followed his words.

  “Any ideas on her location?”

  “Somewhere in the desert not far from Tihrin. Most likely a single truck with a handful of guards, heading away from the city.”

  “Keep this line open,” the man said and clicked off.

  He drove on to the sound of rain drumming on the car roof, and prayed that she was still alive. She was strong, she would not back down from Majid. She would try to fight him, try to escape. Fear shrank his chest cavity, making it hard to breathe. Majid would not put up with resistance.

  If he touched her, if he harmed her in any way… Saeed drove on, barely seeing the road in front of him.

  He was on the outskirts of the city when the phone rang.

  “I’m looking at the latest satellite pictures,” the man said. “There’s a truck heading toward an oasis about two hundred miles west from Tihrin. It’s in a deep valley. There’s a small armed force there. Are you authorizing U.S. assistance?”

  “Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Do whatever is necessary to save her.”

  “The nearest air force base is in somewhat of an upheaval, but I can get a chopper to her within the next hour or so.”

  Saeed closed the phone and stepped on the gas. He knew the oasis the man was talking about—a small well that was insufficient for watering entire herds, but frequented by gun and drug smugglers alike. They liked its geography, the thousand-meter-high sand dunes that surrounded it, making it an easily defendable location in case of attack.

  DARA SHOOK THE RAINWATER out of her hair as she walked back into the empty tent, eager to get away from the leering of the royal guard. They had allowed her out, but did not give her the privacy to go to the bathroom. She tried to pretend it didn’t bother her.

  Her boots were covered with wet sand. She pulled out her knife and slid it up her sleeve, taking advantage of being alone for the first time since they had arrived at camp.

  She didn’t have a good feeling about the place, nor the people—three dozen men, armed to the teeth, silent and menacing. They gave Majid shelter, but she got the impression they weren’t crazy about it. They probably figured sooner or later someone would come after the king.

  She looked up as Majid entered and sat on the carpet across from her, staring at her. She nearly smiled. A lucky break at last.

  “I can see why my cousin found you refreshing.” He rubbed his palms on his knees. “You must have given him a wild ride.”

  Rain drummed on the canvas above her head. She didn’t respond. Her mind was on the handgun tucked into the man’s belt.

  “I myself am a connoisseur of Western women.” He spread and stretched his legs. “When I’m done with him, Saeed will be nothing. I’ll still be king.”

  He pulled out his gun with his right hand. With his left hand, he undid his belt and unzipped his pants.

  “I thought the sanctity of women was one of the most important values of your people.”

  “The sharaf, yes. Sanctity of our women. You’re not Saeed’s wife. You’re his foreign whore.”

  He motioned her closer with the gun, as one of his guards came through the flap. Majid said something, and the man backed out.

  She stood slowly, pretending reluctance, then stopped.

  His face contorted. “I’m still king. I will be obeyed.”

  She stepped toward him and placed herself between his legs. He grabbed her wrist with his left hand and yanked her to her knees. Now. She twisted her hand around, grabbed onto his wrists hard enough to make him drop the gun, while with her other hand she went for her knife and had it at his throat the next second.

  “The single biggest mistake one can make in war,” she said with a smile as she picked up his pistol, “is to underestimate the enemy.”

  Red fury spread from his neck up his face. “You will regret this,” he hissed the words. “I will personally make sure you die in pain.”

  “I don’t think that’ll happen.” She put the gun to his head and tucked her knife away, pulling him to his feet. “But you can fantasize about it while you’re in jail.” She yanked his zipper up with just a touch of unnecessary force, not wanting his pants to drop and slow him down.

  When she
led him out of the tent into the rain, it took a second before his guards comprehended what had happened. Another second and their guns were trained on Dara.

  She shook her head. “Drop them.”

  Nobody moved.

  The men in the camp watched the scene with curiosity, but stayed away.

  Majid said something in Arabic.

  “Say one more word I don’t understand and it will be your last.” She shoved him toward the nearest truck.

  Very much aware of the eight guns pointed at her heart, she made her way to the front of the vehicle slowly, opening the door without taking her eyes off the soldiers. She had to take Majid with her. Without him, his guards would shoot her into a sieve.

  She hoped the king knew the way to the city. Having spent the journey so far in the back of the truck, she had no idea which way they had come, only that they had followed the wadi here. She’d seen that every time one of the guards had opened the canvas flap to check if anyone was catching up with them.

  With the gun at Majid’s head, she shoved the man up behind the wheel, then over to the passenger side, making room for herself. She started the truck, turned it, never moving the pistol from his temple.

  She kept an eye on his men who kept their rifles trained at her, stepped on the gas like she meant it, then drove out of the valley and took the truck down into the wadi. There was some muddy water on the bottom, not much, a couple of inches at most.

  A car emerged from behind the tall sand dunes to follow her on the bank. She didn’t like that, them having higher position. It gave them an advantage. She stepped on the gas, but the truck wasn’t going nearly as fast as she would have liked, the wadi bottom getting slippery and sticky with mud. It seemed the guards on the bank were having the same problem. They had trouble closing the distance between them.

  She hadn’t gotten ten miles from camp when she realized she had to get out of the wadi as soon as she could. She turned the wheel then swore as the tires spun out when the truck tried to climb the incline. She needed both hands on the wheel, but couldn’t afford to take the gun off Majid.