The Sheik's Safety (11 page)

It could cost her military career, the only thing she ever knew. She panicked at the thought. She didn't know how to be anything else but a soldier. It was an identity she had bought with blood, because more than anything in life she wanted someplace to belong without questions, unlike her mother, a lost leaf blowing in the wind, getting worn down and broken up.

The one thing she had consistently striven for since childhood was to avoid that weakness. To be strong like her father, to know with a certainty when her name was called who she was. Dara Alexander, United States Air Force. And now, the SDDU. She had reached as high as she could, had succeeded in her own world. Her father would have been proud of it had he lived to see.

But now, for the first time ever, she had broken the rules of the world she had sacrificed so much to belong to. And in truth, it could cost her more than her career. What she had done could cost her heart.

Within the next days or weeks, the fate of Beharrain would be decided. And then she would be recalled.

For a while, back at the cave, she had so lost herself in Saeed, in their bodies' response to each other, that she forgot everything else. Reality kept shifting like the sand. But she had to keep the upper hand or she would get sucked under and risk losing herself completely.

Nasir waited politely for Dara to withdraw from the tent.

“She stays.” Saeed spoke in English to make sure she would understand, too.

The look of surprise on his brother's face turned into a look of shock. “Do you trust her?”

He nodded, just barely used to the idea. A week ago he would have never considered involving a foreigner in his affairs. “She is part of this now.”

He gave Nasir time to accept Dara's new position. And Nasir did, nodding after a few moments of silence, trusting Saeed's judgment, giving unconditional support as he always had. They had disagreed from time to time, but Saeed had never had to wonder about Nasir's loyalty. His sibling had always been on his side. They would have given their lives for each other.

“Things have gotten worse since you left,” Nasir
said after a while. “Word has gotten around that you were arrested. Some people thought you were killed, others thought you were still at the palace. A small group attacked the palace gates.”

The muscles tightened in Saeed's jaw. He did not have to ask what had happened. Damn Majid. His royal cousin was a firm believer of ruling with an iron fist, paranoid of the chaos of civil war returning if he but showed the slightest leniency.

“They were massacred by the guards,” Nasir said, confirming his fears. “People are rising up all over the country. Majid announced a state of emergency. His soldiers have surrounded every major school in the cities. He claims he wants to protect the students.”

Anger rose in Saeed's chest. Anger and outrage. “He is holding the children hostage.”

Although Beharrain was one of the more progressive Arab countries where girls were allowed an education, he knew which schools Nasir was talking about—the ones where the more well-to-do sent their sons, their heirs. The fathers would think twice about supporting the people who even now gathered in the streets, the lower classes who had nothing to lose.

A lot of the old nobility thought fondly of the time when Saeed's father had ruled, the peace and stability, the economic growth of the time. It stood in sharp contrast to the culture of corruption and fear they were living in now, when nobody could be cer
tain when a knock on the door would bring a royal arrest warrant. A lot of people considered Ahmad's line the true line of succession. Faced with a choice between bringing back that legacy or living on with the current ruler, they would have supported Saeed.

Majid knew that. Hence the “securing” of the schools.

Saeed held out the small sack of loose diamonds and precious stones he had brought back from the cave. “You know where to go?”

Nasir caught the bag and nodded.

“Take enough men with you,” Saeed said.

A couple of years ago, he would have known which families among the many tribes were rumored to have supplemented their herding income with gun sales. Now he spent too much time in the city to keep up with what went on outside his own tribe. As head of the confederation of tribes, the individual sheiks kept him up to date on the official events, but he had lost the intimate knowledge of his Bedu that came from desert living. And he missed it.

“The tribes are on the move?” he asked.

“Those who are with us will meet us in Tihrin.” Nasir turned to leave.

“Go with Allah,” Saeed called after him, hating to send him into danger.

“How big is the tribe?” Dara looked up from the map of Tihrin she'd been studying. She had stayed
out of the conversation, he supposed, so she would not make Nasir uncomfortable. He appreciated her tact, that she wanted to make things smoother for him instead of expecting the kind of treatment someone else in her place might have thought herself entitled to.

“About two thousand men able to fight, fifteen to twenty thousand warriors in the whole confederation.”

“And Majid's army?”

“Over a million.”

She stilled. “Will they follow him?”

A good question. He thought for a moment. “The royal guard will fight to the death. The rest, I don't know.” It was a drafted army, not of volunteers, many of the soldiers had family members who'd been killed when Majid had taken the throne, some with relatives still in prison.

“I need to make some calls,” she said, the set of her mouth determined.

“I will not have Beharrainian blood shed on Beharrainian soil by foreigners.” The words came out more heated than he had meant them to, but she needed to understand.

She hesitated. “There are other kinds of help. What do you plan to do?”

“Take the king as fast as we can. We cannot let the fight drag out. We cannot allow another civil war. If
he is captured, the army might switch sides. He is not a popular ruler.” He closed his eyes. “I do not want any of my people to die. Yet I must bring fight to Tihrin.”

She stepped closer, but did not touch him. Nor had she allowed him to touch her since they had returned from the cave.

“That's why you'll make a good ruler,” she said. “Because you care about the people. You don't seek the position for its inherent power, but you will take it because you want them safe.”

He wondered if anyone else, even his brother, understood him as well as she did. He remained silent, hating the bloodshed he knew was to come.

“You don't have to do this alone,” she said.

“There are things in this life a man must do alone.”

“Coming into this world and going out of it. Everything in between gets better with teamwork.” She gave him a thin smile. “My father used to say that.”

“Sounds like a wise man.”

She inclined her head. “Most of the time he was.”

He wondered what his own father would do if he were still alive. Ahmad had been a shrewd ruler and flexible. He had laid the foundation of the Beharrainian economy by learning from the West. He was a master of compromise. He would have done absolutely anything to help his people.

“Call whomever you need.” Saeed pointed to the cell phone on the carpet. “I want no bombs, no troops
that shoot at everything that moves. But if they can help me to avoid as much killing as possible, I would welcome that assistance.”

 

D
ARA LISTENED
to the muffled voices that filtered through the divider, but didn't understand a single word. Everyone had gone to bed early—they had hoped Nasir would be back before midnight and they could leave for the city under the cover of the night. But it seemed nobody could sleep. Everything was ready. The men waiting.

She had spent the day going over the map of the city with Saeed, as well as the drawings he had made of the palace. They had assessed the building's strengths and weaknesses, and based on Dara's suggestions, had picked the points of attack.

The men had prepared for the coming fight, making sure all the vehicles were in good working order, pooling all the guns and ammo they had among them, and keeping up with the daily activities, too, taking out and bringing in the herds, so as not to give suspicion to Majid's small air force that was flying above, watching the desert.

Dara rested on the women's side of the tent and Saeed with her. She would not budge from that. Either he'd agreed or she would have come over to the other side with him and share that section with the dozen or so men to whom he was playing host. Six
clans of his tribe had come to join him at Shelfa so they could drive to Tihrin together.

The women's side of the tent was quiet with just the two of them. Shadia, the servant woman, had gone to Saudi with Saeed's sisters and son. Dara hoped they had gotten there safely and were settled in by now.

“Where was your family that first night I was here? The tent was empty.” She watched Saeed's handsome face in the light of the single lamp he'd lit.

“In Nasir's tent. I did not think they were safe with me.”

“Because of the assassins?” She rose to her elbow. “But you left me to be attacked?”

“At the time I thought
you
might have been an assassin.”

“Oh.” He hadn't trusted his family with her. Couldn't blame him for that.

“I still should not have left you unprotected. If I hadn't come back in time—”

“I'm my own protection. I'm a soldier.”

He fell silent for a while.

“Are you worried about the army?” According to the Colonel, satellite photos had revealed that Majid was sending troops into the desert.

“I worry about everything. There are no sides. Every man who dies tomorrow is my brother, whether he fights with me or against me.”

What could she say to that?

“I wish you would stay with the women and children.” He returned to the topic they had discussed several times that day.

“My orders are clear. I must stay with you. It might all be over tomorrow.” The usual prebattle adrenaline coursed through her veins, but there was something else, too, this time, a strange reluctance that had never been there before.

Sure, she wanted to have the fight over with, but this time, she didn't look forward to being pulled out and returned home. And she worried about Saeed. He would be Majid's primary target. Everyone would be aiming at him.

“You should stay away from Tihrin and let the U.S. help you with Majid. They can drop in a small elite force that would hardly be noticed. The world would be none the wiser.”

His expression hardened. “And play the coward? If I cannot gain leadership on my own, if enough of my people do not support me to win, I should not be king.” He glanced away from her for a moment, then back, his gaze heated. “The country will be won by the will of my people and on the strength of my people. My honor does not allow any other way.”

“Even if it means the fight might be more drawn out and more people die?”

He stayed silent for a moment. She could see him struggle with the answer.

“Freedom must be paid for—sometimes in blood—but nobody can pay the price for us. The people must know that they are strong enough to control their own destinies. Some things cannot be given on a platter as a gift. They must be earned.”

She nodded reluctantly. There was logic in what he said, but still it seemed a lot like foolish pride to her. “The U.S. is a friend of Beharrain. Friends help friends in trouble. No loss of honor in that.”

He shook his head. “The Cold War has been over for more than a decade. Russia is a friend to the U.S., right?”

“Sure.”

“And after your dark days of terror when your country was in great pain and upheaval, would you have wanted friendly Russian forces to be deployed in your cities to help keep your country safe? How would American citizens have reacted to seeing armed Russian soldiers on their streets?”

She stared at him for a moment, the picture he painted unimaginable to her. “That's completely different.”

“Is it?”

They both fell silent for a while.

“What would any foreign country want for their help?” he said then. “Because know this, nothing is
free in this world, especially not when given to a country rich in oil. Would our rescuers want more influence in regulating the industry my nation depends on? Would they want to dictate policies and politics? If I was put onto the throne by others and not by my own people, to whom would I owe allegiance?”

“I worry about you,” she blurted the truth at last.

And at that, his face relaxed and his lips stretched into a smile. “I worry about you, too. I wish also that you would stay behind.”

“Not a chance.”

He grew serious. “I know. I know this is what you do. I know you are capable of doing it. I accept it and won't hold you back. But don't expect me to ever be glad for it. The thought of any harm coming to you is like a knife slicing through my heart.” He fell silent, then after a while, a playful glint came to his eyes. “If you came closer I could try to change your mind.”

“Not a chance,” she repeated, his words rattling her more than she cared to admit. She wanted to slip into his arms—anything could happen to either of them tomorrow. But she had to distance herself from him; she could not give in to whatever madness brewed between them. She wanted to take her heart with her in one piece when she left.

If it wasn't too late already.

“Scared of me, then? I promise I will not wear you out to the point where you'd be useless in fight. I
don't like the idea of you going into battle, but I won't undermine you.”

Somebody laughed in the other room, voices rose. Dara gave Saeed a pointed look. They weren't even alone, for heaven's sake.

He came to his feet with easy grace, held his hands out for her. “Let's go for a ride.”

They should get some rest; the logical part of her brain knew that. But she could not for the life of her relax. She sat up, tucked her pistol into her waistband, and took his hand.

They walked barefoot through the dark camp, everyone but the guards asleep. The tents with their woven panels looked majestic in the moonlight—an ancient tradition, a way of life that could all too soon disappear. The poignant beauty of the Bedu and their way of life grabbed onto her heart.

“You probably think it's primitive,” he said when he caught her looking.

“It reminds me of the summers of my childhood,” she said, surprising herself. And all of a sudden she remembered the freedom of those summers, the wonder, the unbridled joy. She had forgotten that.

“You went camping a lot?”

“My grandfather was a Lenape, Native American. I used to spend the summers with him on the reservation.” She couldn't remember the last time she'd shared that with anyone.

But she remembered the time well, starting when she was six, for about five years her mother had gone through a “returning to your roots” phase. Mom had gone back and forth between embracing and denying her heritage over the years, blaming every bit of bad luck on it, every job she lost, every time someone slighted her in any way, and for the fact that she could never muster up enough dedication to achieve anything in life.