The Sheik's Safety (13 page)

Majid looked up as the door opened. “Any news, Jumaa?”

The prime minister bowed. “The tribes are moving around, but not uniting.”

“Not as stupid then as I had thought,” Majid said with some relief. He had the air force out with orders to bomb anything that looked suspicious, take out any gathering force. A good chunk of his army, as many men as he could spare, was set up a few miles from Tihrin to catch any small groups that might escape the air force's attention and think to march on the city. “And my cousin?”

“Still missing. Perhaps we should let him be. He is too popular right now. Once things settle down, he could meet with an accident.” Jumaa worried his beard with his stubby fingers.

He was nervous. Majid watched him as a hawk watched its prey. Jumaa was weakening. He did not
understand how important it was to have Saeed out of the picture. He understood little, but knew too much—a liability.

Majid reached for the carafe and poured coffee in two china cups, sprinkled something extra on Jumaa's.

They drank, and he watched the man go pale as the first muscle spasm squeezed his chest. Majid reached for the cup, not wanting the five-hundred-year-old Persian carpet beneath their feet soiled. “Are you all right?”

Jumaa took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped off the beads of sweat from his forehead. “Please excuse me—”

“No need for an apology. Should I send for a physician?”

“No…yes.” The man clutched his chest.

Majid picked up the phone and ordered the royal physician to be sent to his office at once, knowing that before the doctor even got the message, Jumaa would be dead.

He watched the man slide down in his chair, gasping for air as his eyes rolled back in his head. He waited until the last tremors left the prime minister's body, then left the room.

Something in watching others die made him feel more alive, a heady feeling that had him seek out the torture chambers from time to time. He smiled as he crossed the reception room, his body humming with energy.

He was in a good mood, pleased to see his youngest wife and latest son coming through one of the many doors.

“Come.” He went to his favorite sitting room and when they followed, he motioned to the nanny to bring the child closer. Yes, he appraised the boy, he would be a strong son. He had many and needed many more. They were the only ones he could fully trust. He wished they would grow faster.

“Leave us.” He turned from the nanny and focused on his wife.

She bowed, trembling slightly, the very picture of submission. He found it arousing.

“I thought I might leave the palace today to shop for our son,” she said, her voice tentative, unsure. “If you would give permission and select the guards to come with us.”

He barely heard the words as he ran his fingers over her perfect breasts, enlarged with milk. He turned her and pushed her against the desk, bent her face down, lifted her dress up, ripped her pants with impatience.

She parted her legs obediently and he shoved into her quick and hard, one hand on her hip, the other squeezing a firm nubile buttock.

Three thrusts and he erupted into her, the powerful burst making him dizzy for a moment, then he stepped away, pulled up his pants.

“You may go shopping tomorrow. I don't want you to lose my seed by walking all over the city. Go rest,” he said.

The phone rang just as she was closing the door behind her. At first he ignored it, resenting the intrusion into his moment of bliss, but then he picked up the receiver. Too much was going on in the country, the stakes too high, and he was the only one who could make everything work out right.

He listened to the man on the other end and smiled, glad he decided to take the call. “His son? Are you sure?”

 

S
AEED HELD
D
ARA IN HIS ARMS
in the back room of the tent. He could not sleep, but instead spent the hours thinking over their plans, looking for any possible flaw, any opportunities they might have overlooked. They were to leave camp between 1:00 and 2:00 a.m. and get to the city just before dawn.

He had called Gedad's house twice, but got the answering machine both times. They were probably in bed already. His sisters' cell phones were turned off for the night. He should have told them to leave the phones on at all times until this was over. It didn't matter now. His men should be there soon to take them to safety. He missed the boy. Worried about him, too, although he knew his son would be kept safe. Still, he hated the idea of them being apart; the frustration of it ate at him.

Dara stirred in his arms, drawing his attention to another concern. He hated the idea of her going into battle with him, but struggled to accept it. He must because this was who she was. She would come to Tihrin to protect him, and he would do everything in his power to protect her.

“Once we have Majid, the fight will be over fast,” she said.

“You're awake.”

“You're worrying.” She burrowed her face into his neck.

“Just thinking over our plans.”

Taking the fight to Tihrin, the king's stronghold, was risky business, but had many advantages. For one, the air force could not fight them. Majid would not order the bombing of the city. Not while he was still in it.

A plane went overhead. They were covering the desert all day, but so far they had not attacked. All military equipment was carefully hidden in tents, the encampment appearing like any other ordinary clan on the move with its grazing animals. Orders went out for lighting no fires during the night.

Saeed's cell phone rang, and when he took the call, a strange man's voice came through.

“It's for you.” He handed Dara the phone, and waited while she listened to whoever was on the other end.

She sat up. “If there's any news of a five-year-old
boy, Salah ibn Saeed and his aunts Fatima and Lamis—”

His heart stopped as she spoke the names.

“Yes, thank you,” she said and handed the phone back to him.

The line was dead. “What happened?” Fear squeezed his heart.

“The U.S. Air Force base over the border was attacked by terrorists about half an hour ago. There's some damage, much less than there would have been had we not warned them.”

He was dialing Gedad's number as she talked. The phone beeped, went dead and then the dial tone came back on again. He got to his feet. “I'm going over there.”

“The Colonel is going to order a priority search for your family. He will let us know as soon as there's any news.”

He swallowed. He was too far, damn it.

“There's more,” Dara said. “It seems there is a connection between Beharrain and the attack. It's been arranged from the very top.”

That brought him up short. It couldn't be, could it? His cousin was not the most scrupulous man, but surely he was not a terrorist. What would he gain by such an act? Why try to disable an American Air Force base?

Unless he was planning on doing something he was worried the Americans would interfere with.

“Satellite pictures show the entire Beharrainian army has mobilized. Would he attack Saudi?”

Saeed shook his head. “It would make no sense. They're twenty times bigger than us and armed to the teeth.”

“Yemen?”

He nodded, remembering Majid's resentment of the borders established by the international community that he claimed had dissected his heritage. Majid had always thought of the entire southern desert as his, legacy of the larger-than-life great-grandfather he idolized.

Majid was on the brink of thrusting the country into war. And they were in no shape for it, neither their people nor their army. Saeed had a clearer picture than his cousin, whose generals feared him enough to tell him only what he wanted to hear.

Tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands would be dead for nothing. He had to stop Majid, had to get to him before he ordered the troops on the southern border to attack. Once war broke out, nobody would be able to stop the killing.

But his son and sisters needed help, too. He reached for Dara's hand in the darkness. “Can I trust your people with my family?”

Her response was instant and sure. “As you trust me.”

It wasn't easy for him. But he did trust Dara. And
his people needed him, all of his people. He wrapped his kaffiyeh around his head. “We leave for Tihrin right now,” he said.

 

T
HE MOTLEY
B
EDOUIN ARMY
crept across the desert without headlights. A wisp of a cloud that would evaporate soon enough once the sun came up covered the moon, giving them further advantage. Some of the vehicles had been hidden at a nearby oasis, a number of pickups pulled into tents during the day. Now that they didn't have to worry about raising suspicion and all came together, they made a respectable size convoy.

Dara peered into the darkness, hoping to glimpse the lights of the city. They skirted Majid's army without trouble, thanks to continuous intelligence received from the Colonel, who arranged for drones to keep an eye on troop movements.

According to the intelligence reports, the royal palace was fortified to keep out the angry mob that was gathering on the streets, but there was no major deployment in the city beyond that. Majid clearly expected to annihilate Saeed's tribal forces in the desert and for the rest of his people to accept the defeat and back down.

Saeed stared forward as he drove the truck, his face grim, but his resolve evident in his gaze. “You're adamant about fighting?”

“Damn right,” she said. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“It drives me crazy.”

“Get over it.”

He looked at her, his expression pained. “I'm trying.”

“I fight for a living. I'm a soldier.”

He turned his attention to the sand before them. “If truly you were a soldier, you wouldn't have to remind yourself so often.”

A quick protest died on her lips. She truly was a soldier, wasn't she? In her heart? Or was she following the path set before her by her father? Was she striving for his approval still?

“If I'm not a soldier, who the hell am I?” She was disturbed by the idea and angry at him for suggesting it.

“That's something only you can find out. Have you ever wanted to do anything else?”

“Never.” Everyone she knew growing up had worked for the air force, except for her mother who'd been a housewife and miserable because of it. Dara had sworn she would never put herself into that situation.

So had she chosen the service because that was what she really wanted, or because she didn't know anything else?

“Hell of a time to make me doubt myself. In the middle of a freaking offensive!”

He took her hand, held it. “You should never doubt yourself. You're strong, intelligent, determined. You can succeed at anything you want. Maybe you should ask yourself why you became a soldier in the first place.”

That was easy—to be like her father, to pattern herself irrevocably after him and to make sure she didn't end up with the identity crisis of her mother.

“You just don't want me to be a soldier because you don't think a woman should be,” she said sullenly, not at all appreciating his insight.

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “If you say women should be cherished, I'm going to scream.”

He threw her a reproaching look. “I was about to say that I don't want you to be a soldier because it scares the soul out of me. But if this is what makes you happy I'll learn to live with it.”

She stared at him, digesting the words, which implied they would have a relationship beyond the next few days, a relationship during which he would have to learn to live with her occupation.

Oh yeah, that would go down well. If the Colonel found out she'd had an affair with the man she was supposed to protect, she would probably be court-martialed. Could she be court-martialed for sleeping around on the job? She needed to check into that.

“We're here,” he said.

When she looked up, she could see the lights of a few dozen high-rises in the distance.

As agreed before they'd left camp, the trucks and pickups spread out, preparing to enter the city through as many points as possible. All the tribes had specific tasks. Some were to go to the schools Majid was keeping under lockdown, others secured the streets. The goal of Saeed's team was to surround the royal palace as quickly as they could.

But trouble started before they even reached the paved streets. Fire opened on them from several rooftops. Bullets tore up the road around them. Men fell.

Those still alive charged forward, rushing into the coverage of the houses. A couple of trucks stopped and men ran to take care of the rooftop shooters. People were coming out to the streets to see what was going on. Then Saeed was recognized and word spread.

He drove straight for the palace, and his people took key positions, waiting for his word to attack. Capturing Majid was the key to swift victory with as little bloodshed as possible.

The clouds had thickened and covered the moon, but the streetlights provided plenty of visibility as they got out of the truck.

Dara felt the first fat raindrop on her face, and glanced at Saeed who looked like he'd just received a sign from heaven. She didn't like the timing, but
for his people's sake she hoped they would have a good rain this year, more than the previous winter when, according to Saeed, a three-hour rainstorm in one afternoon had been all the water they'd gotten.

The rain picked up and she looked at the upturned faces around her, watching the pleasure and optimism the people soaked up from the sky. Then Saeed moved forward, and a wave of desert warriors followed him as one.

They came under increasingly heavy fire as they moved toward the palace, but their number had grown. Some of the other tribes had arrived. Dara looked around at the sea of people, most of them on foot. They came from every section of the city, woken by gunfire.