Blink of an Eye (25 page)

Samir, my love, where are you?

“I think they're using their manpower to cut off the roads,” he said. “They'll get around to searching this place, but for now they'll assume we're on the run. We have some time.”

“You
think
they're cutting off the roads? You can't see it?”

“Well, things are a bit fuzzy right now. I'm not exactly at my best.” He sighed and squatted by some hay bales. “My mind's wasted.”

“And you can only see half an hour out. That's not exactly comforting.”

He looked up at her and caught her stare. “But I'm seeing all the possible futures of the next half hour. At least to the extent I can wrap my mind around them. I'd say we have a definite advantage.”

Miriam sat next to him. To their right, the old tractor sat, discolored by the gray cobwebs. To their left, the Pinto sat, pale like a ghost. The silence hollowed out her chest.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For saving my life. Four times now. I'm indebted to you.”

“You're not indebted to me,” Seth said. “I'm here because I need to be here. I want to be here.”

“I'm scared, Seth.” She was. The last few days had flown by with such speed, filled with so many new sights and mysteries, that adrenaline overrode her fear. Now, the adventure of it all was giving way to terror. An army of American police had them surrounded, and now that one of their own had been killed . . . How would Seth and she ever escape?

She hadn't prayed in two days.

“You're a long way from home,” Seth murmured.

She knew he meant to comfort her, but a lump rose through her throat. If Seth were a Muslim, they could take solace in God together.

Her vision blurred and she looked away. What did they have in common? Funny, she'd always thought of Americans as fundamentalists set out to destroy Muslims. Maybe in the same way that most Americans thought of Arabs as Islamic extremists committed to burning down their cities.

Seth leaned his head back onto the hay and closed his eyes.

She needed Samir, a strong man to hold and comfort her. She gritted her teeth, swinging from terror to fury. She should be free to be loved by a man and free to love a man of her choosing. Yet she'd been forced to abandon the only man she ever loved, because of an extremist's madness. Because of Sita's death and because of Omar.

I am lost
.

Seth cleared his throat. “When my father used to beat my mother, she and I would run into this closet we had in the hall. I sat in there and cried with her. There was nothing I could do. I was too small. But a week after I turned thirteen I hit him hard enough to break his jaw. That's when he left.”

He lifted his head and looked at her.

“In some ways I feel like that boy again. I know what you mean; I feel lost too. Powerless.”

It occurred to her that he was seeing into her heart. He couldn't read her mind, but he
could
see what she might say in the next half hour. It was enough to lift her burden.

She swallowed. “You aren't powerless,” she said. “You might be the most powerful man alive right now.”

He nodded slowly.

“You've been a gift to me,” she said.

“But I'm as powerless to heal your wounds as I was my mother's.”

She understood. He cared for her, didn't he? When had this mad scramble become more than an effort to deliver her to safety? When had the bond begun to develop between their hearts? It was unlike the bond between Samir and her, another kind, perhaps as strong. A friendship. And yet he was a man.

The thought of friendship flooded her with warmth and worry at once. Something had been pulled from her eyes—a veil that once distorted her vision. But what she saw now wasn't what she wanted to see.

“You're a special man, Seth. I would be desperate without you.”

They looked into each other's eyes and she felt the unreasonable impulse to embrace him. Not in a romantic way, but as a friend. But she resisted. He was a man!

He settled the issue for her. His arm reached around her shoulders. He pulled her to him and kissed her hair. “I'll take care of you,” he said. “I promise.”

They smiled at each other. “No woman deserves the life you've been dealt,” he said. “Don't ask me how, but one way or another we're going to have to change that.”

His eyes held a subtle light that she could not mistake for anything other than true attraction. The kind that mere friends did not share. She hated it. She loved it. She hated that she loved it. So she said the only thing that came to mind.

“Thank you. I owe you my life. And I can promise you that Samir will be as indebted.”

He nodded, lowered his arm, sighed.

“I have to get some sleep while I can,” he said. “You think you can stay awake?”

“Won't that put us in danger?”

“I've got to sleep at some point or I'll be no good at all, and I know I have at least thirty minutes now. I might as well take advantage of it.” He shifted his weight and settled back. “Wake me in thirty minutes.”

Miriam stood and walked for the tractor. She could use the time to pray, she thought. Maybe she could find some old clothes around this barn.

“Sleep,” she said.

“An old barn,” the pilot's voice crackled. “There are marks on the grass that I can swear were not there twenty minutes ago when I made my last pass.”

Clive's Lincoln ground to a stop on the graveled shoulder. “Do not, I repeat, do
not
approach. Are you close enough for any occupant to hear you?”

Static. “Ash . . . negative, sir. I don't think so.”

“How far north?”

“Ten miles, give or take.”

A barn was just the kind of place Clive himself would choose to hole up in for a couple hours of sleep. He hadn't expected a break this soon—for that matter, this might not be a break at all. But in the absence of any other affirmative ID, the chopper pilot's claim would do. If Seth was there, he would be asleep. Otherwise his precognition would have alerted him already.

“Okay, we go in quick and we go in quiet. I want ten cars on the main road ASAP. Stay high and out of their sight. I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Copy that.”

Clive dropped the mike and pulled the car through a U-turn. “Sleep on, my friend. Sleep like a baby.”

chapter 22

k
halid bin Mishal sat in the elaborate Bedouin tent, studying his host. A silver teapot steamed between them, spreading a pleasant herbal aroma.

Sheik Abu Ali al-Asamm nodded. “We walk a fine line, my friend. If the king doesn't already know of my involvement, he at least suspects it. There is a reason Abdullah has survived so long, and it has nothing to do with good fortune.”

“We assume he suspects your involvement. You've made no secret about your leanings.”

“There's a significant difference between ‘leanings' and a coup attempt.”

Khalid took a sip of the hot tea and felt the liquid hit his stomach. “Regardless, he knows you represent the sentiments of a large group of people. The streets would erupt if he detained you.”

“Don't you mean kill me?” the sheik said, lifting one corner of his mouth.

“My identity,” Khalid said, “is the king's more pressing question. If he discovers I am behind a plot to dethrone him, I will receive my death sentence.”

“And he would learn this from whom? He would need proof to move against a prince of your stature.”

“Miriam. She's demonstrated her evil nature plainly enough.”

The sheik flashed a stern glare. “Don't mistake a strong will for an evil nature. You are talking about my blood.”

“I mean no insult. I would say the same about my own son. We all have our weaknesses.” They were cut from the same cloth, father and daughter. Today, Miriam was the problem; tomorrow, this man could be the problem. Khalid would keep that in mind when he became king. “The point is, Miriam has become a problem. I would like to propose that we continue without her,” Khalid said.

“No,” the sheik said. Then he seemed to remember the need for diplomacy. “I may be a pliable man when the time calls for it, but I can't change a hundred years of history and tradition in a single stroke. Without the bond of marriage, my people won't join me in support of you. You need the support of several million Shia.”

Khalid knew as much. The desert was built as much on tradition as sand. “And we
will
have our marriage. But let's be reasonable. The time to strike is now, before the king expects it. We will claim that your daughter has married my son in the United States. We both know that your daughter will return wed.” Or dead, but that went without saying.

“If my people discover I have deceived them, even I will lose their trust,” the sheik said. “No.”

Khalid sighed. “Very well. But your decision places us in a dangerous position.” He paused and delivered his final thrust. “I'm afraid that the king's men will attempt to kill Miriam.”

“And risk losing my loyalty? I don't think so.”

“Unless he was to blame it on me.”

The sheik lowered his teacup, unprepared for this thought.

“If the king wouldn't do it, then Hilal would,” Khalid said.

“Then you will have to find her before Hilal does.” The sheik stood and walked toward a bowl of fruit at the side of the tent. “What is the latest word from your son?”

“If not for the Americans' interference, he would have her already.”

“Will he succeed?”

Khalid hesitated. His son was a ruthless warrior, even a wise one. His quick decision to shoot the policeman was a brilliant stroke. He had forced Hilal to make an accounting of himself, freeing Omar to close in undetected. But the man who'd abducted Miriam was proving to be a challenge for everyone. Local authorities had brought dozens of officers into the search, which lessened the likelihood that Omar would bring the woman out alive. If he could not take Miriam into custody, neither could Hilal.

“Yes, I believe he will.” Khalid smiled. “Your daughter is proving to be quite smart for a woman. She has your blood.”

The sheik turned around. “Of course she does. I wasn't aware that gender was a factor when it came to intelligence.”

These desert dwellers, they were thickheaded!

“Of course not,” he said and took another sip. The cool tea suggested it was time to leave.

“You must know something, my friend,” the sheik said. “We may make our plans, but in the end the will of God will prevail. His ways are sometimes . . . mysterious. I will bring the full weight of my influence to bear on my daughter, but she does have a mind of her own. I won't resort to barbarian extremes.”

Khalid blinked. What was he saying?

“I trust that your son will win the love of my daughter, but even if he does not, I will not allow her to be maimed or killed.” He waved a dismissing hand. “But I'm sure you assumed nothing less.”

“I assure you that she's in good hands. If there's one thing Omar excels at beyond the sword, it is courting a woman.” He managed a graceful composure. “He has the blood of his grandfather, Abdul Aziz, in his veins.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

They looked at each other until Khalid dropped his eyes.

“No matter,” the sheik said, breaking the moment. “She will love whomever God wills her to love.” He reached for his cup of tea and raised it. “To the will of God, my friend.”

“To the will of God.”

Omar lay in the grass, scoping the barn below the sloping hill, poised for a shot. A line of police cars waited down by the road, out of the barn's line of sight. No fewer than twenty policemen crept over the meadow toward the peeling red building. If Seth and Miriam were in there, they would not escape. So, Clive Masters was proving to be an efficient tracker.