Blink of an Eye (38 page)

Concentrate!

His mind's eye showed him precisely who would look where and when. At least as a sea of possibilities. He would have to isolate a particular current in which none of the immigration authorities would be looking at a particular spot at a particular time. He would have to be in that spot at that moment, then string together another few dozen unseen spots before he could slip by.

Three lines wound into immigration stations where officers examined and stamped passports before allowing the passengers through. Two stations to his left were unmanned, roped off. He could slide under the red rope easily enough.

Problem was, he couldn't actually see any futures in which he was unnoticed. The likelihood of all the guards averting their attention long enough for him to evade them was very small. Very, very small. He discovered a number of futures in which the left of the hall went unsupervised for a period of several seconds, and a few futures in which the right went unseen for brief moments, but neither for long enough.

He stepped behind a large pillar and did his best to look relaxed. Dripping in sweat and shaking like a leaf wouldn't help his effort. Unless something came to him soon, he would be detected in the next four minutes.

Maybe he should go back to the plane, pretend he'd left something on board. That would buy him time. But no, he had to make his move while the immigration stalls were still busy with other passengers.

This is it, Seth. You're finished.

They wouldn't kill him, would they? No, he was an American. Unless a coup changed loyalties. The thought did nothing to lessen his perspiration.

A mother cloaked in black, with two daughters clenching fistfuls of her abaaya, passed by. Seth forced a smile and stepped out. The immigration line was just ahead.

This was crazy! He felt like he was walking toward a cliff with the full intention of stepping off. He couldn't do this!

A picture of Miriam filled his mind. She was sitting across from him at the table, cracking a crab leg with her teeth, smiling over the candlelight at him.

Seth bent to tie his shoe and buy more time. The problem with the future was that it depended on others' decisions as well as his. In this case, the authorities'. He saw that he could actually get up to the gate without being spotted, but there at the gate, a guard who now stood behind the stations would spot him in every future.

A drop of sweat ran down his temple, tickling.
What were you
thinking! Think! Think, think . . .

He blinked.

No, don't think. Step beyond your mind.

Seth's heart thumped in his ears. He stood slowly, still staring at the floor. Step beyond your mind.

He caught his breath. His mind snagged a new thread, and he knew it had come from beyond him.

He stood there stunned, mouth agape like an idiot.

Walk! Now! Walk!

Seth wiped his slippery palms on his corduroys, walked forward three steps, and turned to his left. He took two steps, counted to four, and then turned right.

No one yelled. No one shouted out, “Stop that man!”

Trust it, Seth. You can't stop now.

He hurried ten paces to the right.

If any of the authorities had seen him, they would have undoubtedly stared in amusement. The American in black corduroys was walking ten paces to the right, stopping, taking three steps backward, and then crossing at a slight angle to the other side of the hall, a lunatic marching around the terminal as if he were engaging a dozen other invisible characters.

In reality, he was stepping precisely where their view of him was blocked by a head or an arm, or when this one or that one was looking down. One small boy watched Seth the whole way, for all five minutes it took him to reach the gate. But the boy only stared at him as he jerked his way about the hall.

The new future that had come to him required that he stand at the gate, face the far wall, and clear his throat. The sound bounced off in such a way as to pull a distant guard's attention away just long enough for Seth to walk by.

And then he was through. Trembling and nauseated with dread, but through. He walked away from the immigration posts on numb legs.

He was still seeing. That would end at any minute, and then he would be blind.

Seth quickly located the bathrooms and hurried for them. An abaaya hung in the ladies' room—he needed that abaaya. Thank goodness he had seen at least that much.

He slipped into the restroom, hands quivering from the exhilaration of his success. If he could just . . .

The world blinked to black. The clairvoyance was gone!

He saw the black abaaya and grabbed it off the hook. He fumbled for an opening. Found one. Top or bottom, he didn't know—he'd never touched an abaaya, much less worn one.

He threw it over his head and pulled it down. There were no arms as such and he quickly gathered it around him in a fashion that matched the pictures he'd seen. His leather shoes poked out the bottom—that might be a problem. He snatched up the veil and pulled it over his head. Ha! Perfect!

The door opened and another woman entered.

Another?

She looked at him as if something was wrong. For a moment neither moved. Then she stepped over and straightened his head covering, mumbling something he couldn't understand. Seth nodded his thanks and walked out.

He stood for a moment, gathering his senses. He was blind to the future. Did women in Saudi Arabia ever wear leather tennis shoes? He hoped so; he sincerely doubted so. He couldn't very well slip on a pair of pumps, though, could he? He'd be tripping in every crack.

He'd seen enough of the future to know what he should attempt now, but he hadn't seen whether he would succeed. He could get to the city riding a shuttle bus. But the specifics of that future had faded. Not the general future, but the tiny things that made a difference. When to say what, which seat to sit in—those sorts of things.

He struck out for the sign that indicated buses. There was no going back now. This was Miriam's homeland. The thought brought her rushing to his mind. She was here; he had no doubt.
Where
was another matter entirely.

The bus ride involved little more than suffering through an hour of humiliation. Several men glared at him, focusing first on his hairy hands, which he quickly hid, and then on his shoes, which he could not. Whether their scorn came from his choice of shoes or from traveling alone, he couldn't guess. It took some effort not to slap the one male who evidently saw it as his duty to scowl at him, but otherwise Seth survived his first hour in Saudi Arabia.

He stepped off the bus in downtown Riyadh near midnight. He walked away from the bus as quickly as possible, painfully aware that most Saudi women were not out at this hour.

The city was virtually deserted. If he had his sight, he might be able to begin his search for Miriam now, but he would have to wait for at least another five hours. And hide.

Seth found a deserted alley and settled to his haunches behind a large garbage bin. The night hid him well. He
was
the night. A black blob in a dark alley in the dead of night.

He hadn't felt so anxious since his father had kicked him out of the house for spilling his Coke on the kitchen table at his fourth birthday party.

There was screaming and there was hitting and Seth awoke.

“Get up, get up, you filthy woman!” someone screamed in Arabic. A stick hit his head, snapping him to full awareness. A man stood over him wielding a baton. One of the religious police, the mutawa, by the looks of his dress.

Seth scrambled to his feet. The mutawa drew back to strike another blow, and Seth did the only thing that came to his mind. He ran.

Curses rang down the alley after him. The abaaya flapped around his ankles and he pulled it up to his knees for the getaway. Something about the sight silenced the mutawa. Seth's shoes, maybe. Or his long stride.

He couldn't take any chances now. If the man suspected that Seth was something other than a woman, he would investigate. Cross-dressing wasn't exactly encouraged in Saudi Arabia.

Seth cut up another alley. He sneaked around the shops in the souk for ten minutes until satisfied the mutawa was no longer a threat. The abaaya disguised him only among other women; at this dawn hour they weren't yet out.

The day's first prayer call warbled through the cool morning air. That would summon some men—those devout enough to rise early—but he would have to wait to start his search until enough women could give him cover.

Until his sight returned, he intended to eavesdrop on market conversations. Someone somewhere had to know something about Omar. If he could find Omar, he was sure he would find Miriam.

The absurdity of his situation hit him as he walked through the market, trying to look as if he belonged. But the fact was, he didn't belong. He imagined Miriam walking this same market before her flight to America. In so many ways, she belonged.

Where could she be now? If she were with him, he would belong; without her he was lost. And without his clairvoyance, he might as well be in a tomb. The thoughts brought a lump to his throat.

Miriam, my princess. Where are you?
He was here to find her, still powerless to begin.

An air-raid alarm wailed across the city. Then the sound of automatic-weapons fire, like popping corn. His heart bolted. The air fell silent. What could that mean? Trouble. But not for him. This was something bigger.

Seth hurried to a large structure that stood against the horizon, half a mile ahead. He needed his clairvoyance now. He needed it badly.

And if it didn't return?

It did return, two hours later. Seven hours after it had left him. Seven hours! And it would be gone in under two.

The cause for the sirens roared through his head. Someone in a passing car was about to tell someone else on a cell phone, and Seth saw it as a future.

“What I'm saying, Faisal, is that we can't just pretend that nothing is happening. The royal palace is under siege, you imbecile.” The connection faded as the car raced out of range. Seth gasped.

The coup was under way! Which meant Miriam had married Omar. Seth felt ill.

He searched the futures for events beyond this small square. Nothing. He saw as he did at the beginning. How much longer until his clairvoyance vanished?

If militants had the palace under siege, they kept it well concealed—it hadn't upset daily life in any obvious way here at the city's heart. A few police cars screamed by, followed by lumbering army trucks, but the streets were filling with pedestrians, unconcerned or unaware.

Okay, Seth. One step at a time.

Seth hurried out onto a crosswalk that overlooked a large courtyard of the Al-Faisaliah Center. The mall's central structure towered high above the skyline, a narrow pyramid shape, oddly modern among its peers. Seth's attention turned to the people crowding at its base.

He could walk up to any one of the thousands who passed by and ask if he or she knew who Omar bin Khalid was and, if so, where he lived. That created possible futures. He could see those, and he could see all the possible answers. His task was to look into those futures and find the person who knew the answer to both questions.

Seth stood over the people. He was a woman resting on the walkway, unusual only because she was alone. The futures spun through his mind, fruitless for ten minutes. And then twenty. And then forty.

A hundred thousand people must have passed in the crowd below and not one of them knew Omar? Actually, he saw eight who would have responded in the affirmative to his first question, but as to where Omar lived, they possessed no more information than he. If he could just find
one
who knew, he could probably trick them out of the answer.

What if the coup had already succeeded? If Miriam was married to Omar, what could he, an American citizen with no diplomatic status, possibly do? Kidnap her? The questions made him weak.

A girl coming across the walk caught his attention. She was hardly more than a child, still unveiled, and he knew immediately that she was the one. She spoke English and his conversation with her would have gone like this:

“Excuse me. Is this man Omar one you could know?”

She looked at him, amused. “You are English?” she asked in English.

“Yes! Yes, I am.”

“Then speak English. Do I look like a fool? And why are you dressed like a woman?”

“You are positively brilliant. I am dressed like a woman because I am from the theater.”

“We don't have theaters.”

“There is one and it's a secret. Do you know of Omar bin Khalid?”

“I don't believe you. There are no theaters. Yes, I do know Bin Khalid.”

“You do? That's wonderful. And where does he live? I must speak to him about the theater as soon as possible.”

She looked at him for a few moments and then smiled. “I still don't believe you. Omar has many villas, but his newest is the Villa Amour, in the wealthy district on the west. It is well-known.”