No Remorse (12 page)

Ibrahim nodded. “I will ensure it is moved to safety, Highness.”

Abu-Bakr gasped and grabbed Khalid’s arm, the urgency insistent. “Son, you… cannot go with Ibrahim…Cargo is buried… Saudi desert. Be careful, my son. They…” He lay back and closed his eyes.

“What? What?” Khalid asked, leaning closer, but his father had slipped out of consciousness. Khalid gagged at the putrid smell of cancer on his father’s breath. He was relieved to be leaving.

“It is as well that you don’t come tomorrow,” Princess Aliya said. “Your brothers and his other wives are coming for a visit. He’ll be fine. We will see you on Andaran in two weeks.”

Khalid gave his mother an affectionate hug. As he and Rubi walked out with their bodyguards, he took one last glance and thought about the girl, Sophia. Soon her lungs would be inside his father, and he would have a new lease on life.

Khalid shifted in his chair, feigning interest in the conversation, as servants cleared the table and his children ran around outside in the twilight within the high walls of their villa in Dubai’s Emirates Hills. Khalid was anxious to read his father’s letter, but Sheriti had been teaching him the pleasures of delayed fulfillment, so he forced himself to wait until after the meal, when he could open it in the sanctuary of his retreat.

Seated next to him was his second wife Rasha, in a patterned cotton dress that disguised the baby bump. She’d been educated in France and as usual was leading the discussion.

“Jamila’s unhappy, husband. She misses her family and comes to my bed in the night. And she cuts herself. She needs a baby, Khalid.”

He knew that he hadn’t spent much time with his wives lately, and he and Jamila had married only three months ago. But he’d been busy, launching the new website, finalizing the Andaran project, and finding a suitable transplant donor for his father.

Jamila’s warm smile, playful personality and rebellious streak had charmed him when he had first met her two years ago as a fourteen-year-old at his uncle’s estate in London, but since they’d married she had shown that she had a moody side. Occasionally the impetuous teenager would go too far.

He would not tolerate insubordination from anyone.

“Cuts herself? Ridiculous! This is
my
problem, Rasha? You, who has a baby every year for me?”

Salimah, his first wife, continued her needlework, on what Khalid thought was probably some baby clothes. “You haven’t been here. Otherwise she’d be with child by now.”

“I do not excuse my absence to you, woman. You are well taken care of.”

“I am sorry, my husband,” said Salimah, bowing her head. “I did not mean to imply—”

He dismissed her comment with a wave. “Jamila, show me where you have cut yourself.”

“It is nothing, husband.”

He whipped his hand across her cheek. “Show me!”

Jamila flinched as her cheek reddened with the mark of his hand, and with a shameful look pulled up her sleeves to reveal the healing scars on the inside of each arm.

“If you cut yourself again, I will divorce you. Do you understand, child?”

“You sound like my father,” Jamila persisted. “And my mother scolds me because I am not yet with child. Why won’t you give me a baby, Khalid?”

As he rose to his feet, about to hit her again, Rasha admonished her. “Jamila! A wife does not speak to her husband that way!”

He dropped his raised hand to his side and smiled at Rasha. She was smart, he thought. She understood when to support him and when she could challenge his authority. “Jamila, you will come to me tonight, and every night I am here. I will ensure you are given my full attention.”

Jamila looked at each of the others. Suddenly she began to wail. Tears poured down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. “Please, Khalid. Take me to Andaran. We have not yet had a honeymoon. I want to travel with you so that I may pleasure you every night.”

“She should have a honeymoon, husband,” Rasha said. “It is only fair. Take her, with our blessing.”

Salimah nodded her agreement.

“What? What is this?” He switched his gaze between them. He never took his wives on trips unless it was for his public image. He couldn’t allow them to be aboard
Princess Aliya
when there was a shipment of slaves, or models on photographic shoots. Or when he was entertaining actresses or celebrities. Then there was Sheriti. He needed time to persuade her that marrying him would increase her status, not make her just another of his wives.

But perhaps Rasha was right. Khalid considered that it might well serve his interests for Jamila and Sheriti to spend time together. Jamila seemed to look up to her. And she might provide reassurance to Sheriti about her status. And if that didn’t work out, he could always fly Jamila home.

“Very well. Jamila, out of respect for Salimah and Rasha, you may accompany me. But you must promise not to listen in on my private conversations or go where you are not permitted, and to do what you’re told. Otherwise I will send you home.”

Jamila’s expression changed instantly. She put her arms around his neck, kissing him generously. “I swear you will not regret this, husband!”

He glanced at Rasha, who was smiling at him. “Then it’s settled. Now, I have work to do. Jamila, you will come to me in thirty minutes.”

Alone in his retreat, he collapsed onto the sofa, and opened his father’s letter. He was almost disappointed when inside was a single sheet with his father’s shaky Arabic script, until he read the words:

Peace be with you, son

He smiled as he saw the amount. Eight hundred million dollars! His father’s gift would immediately double his personal wealth. It would help him consolidate his position as an international celebrity speaking out against the regime in Saudi Arabia, and he’d be able to increase his support for the rebels inside the Kingdom. He continued reading:

Khalid could feel the pulse pounding in his neck as he read the words again. A hidden treasure. He was not surprised that his father’s old friend, Saddam, had asked for help, because Abu-Bakr had arranged many arms deals for him in the past. Now the threats made sense. The Israelis. Their reputation was well established: they were ruthless and persistent. And the greedy Americans, whose hypocritical support for the autocratic regime of Saudi Arabia was based solely on their dependence on Saudi oil. But why was the Saddam cargo so valuable? He knew he would need to plan carefully to ensure the cargo was not stolen before it could be secured in the fortress. He needed to question Ibrahim about what he knew.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Jamila entered, treading lightly with bare feet. She paused, eyes lowered in deference, unsure whether he was ready. He nodded, and noted with amusement Seth’s furtive glance as she padded past the bodyguard, her small breasts jiggling through the diaphanous robe. Khalid took in the patchouli and musk of her body as she wriggled onto his lap and loosened her robe so he could access her more easily. Her glossy black hair cascaded over her bare shoulders almost to her waist and she gazed up at him with an expression of impish mischief that revealed her intense desire.

His fingers teased her belly and moved up over her ribcage to toy with her nipples until they were tight. She closed her eyes as he kissed her and squeezed her breasts. She moaned, her body responding as he caressed her, and she opened her legs to his playful explorations.

His phone buzzed. Ziad. He was in Paris discussing the next shipment with The Frenchman. Whatever he wanted, it could wait. He switched the phone to mute, inhaling sharply as Jamila kneeled in front of him and lifted his
thobe
. She moistened her dark, smooth lips with her tongue and he lay back on the sofa, shutting out his earthly problems as, using skills she’d been learning from the other wives, Jamila showed him a glimpse of what Paradise would one day be like.

Peaceful sleep would not come. He could not get his thoughts off the treasure. He glanced across at Jamila lying next to him, her breathing slow and steady. She bore an uncanny resemblance to his first love, Muna, and he knew inside that this was why he had married her. But she didn’t have Muna’s beautiful laugh, or her gentle nature. He closed his eyes and, using Sheriti’s breathing technique, let his mind drift into a meditative state. After a while, the images of his last day with Muna began to form, and he played it over in his mind again, the shame resurfacing as he wondered whether he could have done something different to avoid the inevitable outcome…

The sixteen-year-old Prince Khalid had passed the reins of his horse to a stable-hand before heading to the rear of the stables, where he climbed into the loft. Muna, as usual, was waiting for him. She was the daughter of the stable master, a pretty fourteen-year-old with a spirited laugh and a playful nature, who helped feed the horses and clean the stalls.

There was no chance they could be together, of course. As a royal prince, Khalid could not consider marrying someone of her low status, and in Saudi Arabia there was no such thing as a public boy-girl relationship. So he and Muna kept their friendship secret. For three years they met up in the loft whenever they could, playing childish games and spying on the stable hands below. Sometimes they watched the handlers assist one of the stallions to mount a brood-mare or collect semen by causing a stallion to ejaculate into a plastic bag. This made him feel embarrassed, ashamed at his lack of control as he became aroused, until one day Muna took his hand and placed it against a breast, and with her other hand began to caress him.

As they grew older and became closer, he and Muna began to play mischievous games in the sanctuary. They would come up to the loft naked underneath their robes. They would tease each other, daring the other to go further, until they were touching each other in different ways, exploring their most definitely forbidden places for their mutual pleasure. One day he brought with him a packet of condoms.

Khalid’s father was impressed at his new dedication to horse riding. He was saddling up five days a week.

On the day that the tragedy happened, they had climbed up to the loft together after the stable hands had left, pulling the ladder up after them so nobody could follow. They quickly undressed.

“Oh, my prince, see how ready you are. And look, so am I,” Muna said in an excited whisper as she dropped her panties onto the hay. Giggling, she squatted down on her hands and knees and wiggled her bottom, revealing her fleshy womanhood. “Hurry. It’s late. I must get home soon to help mama prepare dinner.”

Khalid grinned and knelt behind her. But before he could enter her, a figure scrambled out from behind a stack of hay and kicked him a solid blow to the ribs. He collapsed to the floor, winded and gasping.

“Prince Yasar!” Muna cried, grabbing her
abaya
to cover herself.

“Adultery! Blasphemy!” Prince Yasar bin Hazabi Kobar, the stocky eighteen-year-old, yelled. “I’ve been waiting for you. I thought you two were up to something. I’m telling my father. They’ll stone you, Muna. Your father will lose his job. And you, Khalid—they’ll cut off your puny head in Chop Chop Square.”

Khalid knew the threat was real. Yasar was a nasty bully who was cruel to the horses he rode. His father was one of the Kingdom’s most self-righteous royals, who, after one of his daughters had seen a boy against his wishes, boasted about locking her in a dark room until she died.

“Please, Yasar. Please don’t say anything,” Khalid gasped, holding his bruised ribs as he struggled to his knees. “I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

Yasar just laughed. Money meant nothing.

Muna was coming over to help Khalid. Yasar punched her square in the face and she fell to the floor, dazed and crying. He advanced on her.

“Don’t!” Khalid was on his feet now. Muna was his. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his ribs that was like a knife thrust into his side.

Muna grabbed Yasar’s leg. “Please, Highness. It wasn’t Khalid’s fault. I’ll do anything. Please, please don’t tell…”

“Anything? You’ll do anything?” Yasar’s own erection was suddenly obvious. “Very well then, I won’t tell. But you will do for me what you do for Khalid. And you will do it any time I want. And neither of you will speak of this again, or you will both die painful deaths.”

Muna glanced at Khalid, but he looked away in shame. What other solution was there? Yasar grinned and shoved Muna down so her face was in the straw. He undid his pants and thrust himself into her. She stayed silent as he grasped her hips, grunting each time he plunged into her. It was over quickly. Yasar laughed as he hitched up his pants. He hacked up and spat on Muna, who was curled up on the floor, trying to hide her face in shame.

“Whore! Now you’ll have a bastard baby. Your father will kill you for the dishonor you’ve caused him.”

Khalid was standing by the bales of hay, fists clenched, his emotions a mix of fear and loathing as he tried to think what he should do. He had lost Muna now.