Trusting A Sheikh (Playgrounds of Power 1) (17 page)

"Chloe!" her father exclaimed upon seeing her, a smile reaching to each corner of his eyes. "We were wondering if we'd see you. How's the new job going?"

"It's not a
new
job, Dad," Chloe replied, smiling. "Just a little promotion."

"More than a little promotion!" her father said proudly. "Are you enjoying yourself – that's the most important thing…"

Chloe hesitated before replying, and precisely that second, Rashid hove into view behind her. "Who's this, a visitor?" her father asked, before his eyes widened in recognition. "Rashid Al Mansouri…" he gasped, drawing a sharp intake of breath. "What are you doing here?"

"That's what I was about to say, Dad. I've got… a bit of a sticky situation at work."

Her father turned to her with a concerned look on his face. "How did you get mixed up in all this?" he asked sternly. "Nothing good can come of it."

"Ah…" Rashid interjected. "That may well be my fault, I'm afraid…"

Chloe's father's shoulders sagged slightly. "I suppose we'd better talk about this in private."

"I think that’d be a good idea," Chloe agreed gratefully, waving a little hello to her brother and sister who were both sitting watching the soccer on the couch. "I'll come say hi to you two in a moment, okay?"

Nabil ushered the pair of them to his study and slumped into the battered old red leather office chair behind his desk. "What've you got yourself into now, Chloe?" he sighed.

"I should probably take this one," Rashid replied, a bit apologetically. "This doesn't really have anything to do with Chloe – it's really my fault. I don't suppose you've been watching the news this week, have you?"

"Oh I have," Nabil replied hotly. "I don't suppose you'd care to tell me how you've got my daughter involved in all this?"

"If you'll let me finish…" Rashid continued mildly. "I was about to do exactly that."

"Dad!" Chloe cried out. "Give the man a chance…"

Nabil raised an apologetic hand. "Okay, I'm sorry. This is all just bringing back – well, bad memories, that's all."

"I'm sorry for putting you in this situation, sir," Rashid mollified him politely. "I'll do my best to be out of your hair as soon as possible. Anyway – I happened to go on record with my
concerns
with our government's –."

Nabil interrupted. "
Your
government’s!" he said firmly. "I left that godforsaken country decades ago, and I have no intention of going back."

"As you say," Rashid agreed. "I went on television expressing my concerns, and it seems that instead of engaging with them on a more constructive level, the government has decided to simply eliminate me."

"Surely not?" Chloe's father exclaimed, shocked. "Not over here? On British soil? That would be outrageous…"

Rashid nodded solemnly. "It's true, Dad," Chloe interrupted. "I heard some bastard from the Interior Ministry planning the whole thing."

"How did you get mixed up in all this, that's what I want to know?" Nabil said worriedly. There's a reason we left Saudi Arabia when you were a child in the first place, and that was so that you didn't get caught up in all this craziness, too."

"I –. It's just that…" Chloe broke off, not sure how she was going to broach the topic. She'd known all along that she would have to talk to her father about the fact that she was working for a member of the family who had once upon a time driven him out of his homeland, but actually saying it was a different matter.

"What is it?" her father asked, adopting a kindly tone. "You know, whatever it is, that you can tell me – don't you?"

Chloe nodded, her throat congested with emotion. "Yes, Dad," she eventually choked out. "I do." She took a couple of seconds to compose herself, then began to tell the story. "So – and I know you're not going to like hearing this – my first client is Prince Tariq, the son of the Saudi Defense Minister…"

Her father sat up straight, a look of shock on his face. "No…" he breathed. "Surely not?"

"Yes," Chloe said firmly. "But, Dad, he's a good guy – I promise…"

It was like a father hadn't even heard her, as though he was being catapulted back decades into a painful past that he would have rather forgotten. His face was wrought with emotion – fear, shame and hatred. Chloe was appalled – not at him, but at whatever could have compelled such a gentle man to feel such pain and hatred.

Her father began speaking, but his tone was monotonous. It didn't sound like him at all. "Do you know what that family did to us, Chloe?” he asked, voice devoid of emotion. "Do you know what they took from us?"

"No?" Chloe replied, querulously. "I mean – I know a little, but not everything."

"I was a diplomat, just a young man on assignment at the embassy in Norway," her father continued, acting as though he hadn't even heard her. "I met your mother and fell in love with her so quickly. She was everything I didn't know a woman could be. We went hiking, up in the mountains – I didn't know a place could be so cold. And I told my bosses that I was going to stay in Norway."

Her father broke off, and Chloe studied his face and his body language. He was bent over with the pain of the memory, as though it was physically affecting him.

"They said that was fine, told me I just needed to come back home for a couple of weeks to sort out some paperwork, and then I was free to live my life as I wanted. Your mother was suspicious, but we had no reason to suspect anything in particular – and I wanted to keep on good terms, so I did as they asked."

Weirdly, her father's trembling fingers began to unbutton his shirt, one button at a time. He was so overcome with the stress of the action, or more likely the effort of digging up the long hidden memory, that he barely seemed able to do it.

"I spent the next four months in a prison that I'd never heard of, out in the desert. They beat me every day, starved me, tied me up and whipped the back of my legs with barbed wire, and then in the afternoons, they did it again, all the while asking questions. Asking if I'd betrayed the King. Asking if I was a spy. I denied it all, of course – and that was the truth, but those men, they didn't care. They didn't care at all – it was just a game to them." His trembling hands finally managed to open up the shirt, and it hung loose at his sides, just a white undershirt obscuring his torso.

"And then one day, they let me go. Said they believed me. Said I could do what I wanted, live where I wanted – that I was
free
." He hissed the last word. "I didn't think your mother would love me after that."

Broken from her spell, Chloe asked, "Why –?" But the question died on her lips as her father lifted up his old greyish-white undershirt, revealing a body she'd never seen before.

Her father's torso was crisscrossed with deep, white scar tissue. There was barely an inch that wasn't affected. His belly was almost entirely white, and tears came to Chloe's eyes unbidden as she realized why her father had never joined her in the pool or in the sea when they'd gone on holiday as a family.

She walked over to him in a daze, practically unaware of her own actions. "Dad –" she said, stumbling over her words. "I had no idea…" she said, and as she got closer she noticed the true extent of his injuries. On his chest, the scars were deeper, as though they'd been carved out with some kind of brutal hunting knife, and Chloe could see that the damage didn't stop at his waistline, but went far lower. She felt physically sickened when she contemplated what they must have done to him.

Abruptly, as though he were snapping back into his own consciousness, her father broke the silence.

"So now you see," he said, his voice returning to normal. "You see what that family is capable of." Behind them, Rashid was openmouthed in shock.

Chloe didn't know how to respond. She thought she knew Tariq, but having seen the extent of the punishment that had been meted out on her father, she was seriously beginning to consider whether it was a risk she was willing to take.

"Dad, can Rashid stay here?" she finally asked. "Just for a few days – he needs somewhere safe to sleep."

"Of course," her father agreed immediately, businesslike as usual. "Any friend of yours is welcome in our house."

"Thank you." Chloe breathed a sigh of relief.

"But you need to tell me, Chloe, that you're going to get yourself out of this situation – okay? I don't care what it takes – if we need to go to the police, then we go to the police. Got it?"

Chloe nodded. Her world had been entirely shaken around her over the last few moments, and she couldn't even contemplate doing anything different. Unless…

"Okay, Dad – hear me out. I've got an idea," she said, her eyes lit up with excitement.

"Go on…" her father said, buttoning his shirt up once more.

"I'm not sure going to the police is the right call. At least, not yet," she said, hurriedly forestalling her father's objection. "Think about it – these guys aren't people we want to cross. If we go to the police, then it's all on record, and they might be able to track us down. None of us want that."

Her father sat back down, a concerned look on his face as he considered the very pressing possibility that what Chloe was saying was, in fact, true. "You might be right…" he ruminated, hand cupping his chin in thought.

"I think I'm going to go to Rachel, talk to her about it," Chloe suggested.

"Who's Rachel?" Rashid interjected, a curious look on his face. "How can she help?"

"She's my boss," Chloe explained. "I work for a company, no that's not really right, an organization perhaps – it's called the Kingsland Group. It's kind of a –."

"I've heard of it." Rashid smiled. "So that's how you're mixed up in all this. You're right, at least I think. I'm not sure we can trust the police. But from what I know of the Kingsland Group, if they choose to side with you, then they are more than powerful enough to solve this problem.

"But it's a big if…" he finished.

"I know," Chloe agreed. "But I think it's a risk we have to take…"

20

^"
D
ad, I'm going to get going," Chloe said, ignoring the look of disappointment on her mother's face. "Are you going to be okay here, Rashid?" she asked.

"Okay?" the bookish man asked, staring at a massive, spicy meatball stabbed onto the fork he was holding in his left hand as though he were a starving man who had walked into the Garden of Eden. "I think I'll be fine! I haven't eaten this well since I left Saudi Arabia. How did you learn to cook like this?" he asked Chloe's mother. "You don't look – well, stereotypically Arabic…" He grinned, cheekily.

Marte's face glowed with appreciative gratification, flicking her hair and preening in light of the unexpected praise. "Oh, thank you, Rashid. It really makes a difference when someone notices," she said, putting emphasis on the last word and staring at Chloe, who grinned and raised her hands in mock self-defense.

"Hey, don't get angry at me, Mom – it's not my fault I've got to get to work!"

"I'm just joking, honey. Have you got your coat?"

"I forgot to bring it with me, Mom. Busy day…"

Her mom wrinkled her nose. "Is
that
why you turned up in that horrible old tracksuit? I thought we'd raised you better, dear."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "I know, I know. Anyway, I had better be going," she said, going up to her mom and siblings in turn and hugging them goodbye.

"I'll show you out," her father said, taking the napkin off his lap and placing it, neatly folded, on the table. Marte briefly shot a surprised look, but decided, presumably, to think no more of it and turned back to Rashid. As Chloe left the room, she could hear her mother diving into a long explanation of how she'd managed to acquire such fine Arabic cooking skills. "Well, I couldn't let my husband starve…"

Chloe grabbed an old jumper off the hook near the front door and shrugged it over her head. Combined with the less than flattering tracksuit she was already wearing, it wasn't the prettiest of looks, that much was obvious – but at least it would be warm.

"Chloe," her father began solemnly. She'd never seen him quite so reserved before. "I need you to be safe, okay?" he asked, almost begged. "Be smart. Don't get yourself into a situation you can’t handle. And if you need any help…"

"Don't worry, Dad. I know how serious this is, okay?" Chloe pressed. "I'm not going to put myself into anything I can't handle. And don't worry –" she said, interrupting her father’s own budding interruption before he could begin. "– I won't get myself in over my head. I'm going to be smart about this, and that means not putting myself into any situations that might go wrong."

"I can see you've thought about this," her father conceded. "And I don’t really have a chance of changing your mind, do I?" He smiled weakly – but looking smaller than she'd ever seen him before, practically terrified. She felt sick for putting him through all this worry, but knew didn't have a choice – an innocent man's life was on the line.

"No, Dad," Chloe replied, smiling sadly. "You don't. You brought me up like this, and you should be proud of that, because I'm proud to be your daughter."

Her father's eyes welled up with tears, and he took a step towards her with his arms outstretched, gathering her in for a powerful embrace. "Be safe," he whispered into her ear, and then she turned, leaving without another look – because she knew if she looked back she might reconsider her decision.

Once in the car, heaters blasting to bring the temperature back to something that was manageable for anyone other than an Eskimo, Chloe fumbled with her new phone, punching in Rachel's number. She knew it by heart, but only because she'd been forced to dial it so many times during her training with one minor emergency or another.

This time it was much more than just a
minor
emergency.

The phone rang once, twice, and a third time – and Chloe was just about ready to give up when she heard a click on the other end of the line as the call was answered.

"Hello?" came a clipped, curious voice. "Who is this?"