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The leader shot him a glance that shut him up and had him looking away, but did not berate the young man for his hotheaded outburst. He seemed to share Ahmed’s concern.
“She stays with us,” he said. “There’s fire in that one that’s not broken yet.”
One of the men made a suggestion as to how Nasir could manage that, and others laughed, the tension suddenly broken.
“Shukran.” Thank you. Nasir nodded to the leader and gave proper respect, then hurried out of the tent to save the American doctor’s life.
ANGER WAS SLOWLY replacing her fear.
Sadie tore her arm from the man’s grasp, nearly toppling to the sand before she caught her balance and swirled back, hoping to catch him by surprise and ram him hard enough to make him drop the rifle. Screw dignity.
She was too freaked to pull it off anyhow, to stand there in the middle of the desert looking all noble and unperturbed, to think of some profound parting words her executioner wouldn’t understand in any case. Following orders and being suitably submissive not to rouse anyone’s anger hadn’t gained her freedom. It was time she started to fight.
She wasn’t doing well at it, she thought as the guard knocked her to the ground.
Keep coming up.
That was the key. She struggled to her feet and charged at him again.
He wasn’t taking her too seriously, hadn’t even bothered to call out to the others. He seemed undecided on whether to be annoyed or amused. She rammed her head into his stomach, hard enough so he staggered back.
Then his rifle barrel was pressed to her temple as he shouted at her in Arabic. Game over. Looked like he’d had enough entertainment.
Another shout came from behind her, then was repeated in English. “Stop.”
She swallowed at the sight of Nasir striding over the sand, his long black robe billowing ominously behind him like a giant hawk descending on its prey. Fearsome. His face was unscarred, his nose straight, unbroken, unlike most of the rest of the men’s. He was the tallest and toughest bandit in camp, but that wasn’t what made him seem the most dangerous. He had something cold and hard within that showed in the set of his strong jaw, in his intense sable eyes. She found the overall effect chilling.
He yelled again, and she realized with surprise that he was yelling at the guard and not at her. Had the camp leader changed his mind? Hope rushed to her head.
Then Nasir reached her, and his long fingers closed around her arm. Without another word to the guard, he dragged her off—not back to the main tent, nor to her makeshift shelter-slash-prison… She slowed and dug her heels into the sand when she realized their destination was his black tent.
“No,” she said like she meant it, as if her knees weren’t trembling under the worn abayah they made her wear. “No, please.” She feared Nasir more than she feared execution. At least a shot in the head would have been quick.
Some of the men leaving Umman’s tent stopped to watch as Nasir dragged her on effortlessly, paying no attention to her struggles. One shouted something in Arabic. Nasir didn’t respond.
Then they were inside the tent he alone occupied—he did not share like the others—and he let her go so suddenly that she sprawled onto the carpets.
He stepped toward her, but she scrambled away, looking frantically for a weapon. She dashed for the rifle that hung from the tent pole.
He got there first.
Her breath lodged in her throat. Fear raked its sharp talons down her skin.
“Take it easy,” he said in near perfect English. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her body went still as she stared. Other than a few grunted words, he’d never spoken her language before. A few seconds passed before she gathered enough courage to address him, moving slowly as far from him as the tent allowed.
“You’ll wait for the money? How many days?” Even if all they gave her was a single extra day, she’d have tonight to escape.
“I wouldn’t recommend running away,” he said as if reading her thoughts, and sat to block the tent’s opening, his rifle laid across his knees. “It’s safer here. Nobody will hurt you now.”
What part of her hostage-waiting-for-execution position did he consider safe? Surprised, she looked into his face, then quickly away when she realized her mistake. She’d been beaten by one of the other men for that in the beginning. She was to speak when spoken to and keep her eyes on her feet when not on her work.
But Nasir didn’t become outraged. After a moment, she glanced back, hoping to read his true intentions in his expression.
“Why?” she asked cautiously.
He held her gaze for a while, his sable eyes burning into hers, his features hard with a large dose of displeasure. “Because you’re mine.” The words fell from his lips slowly, distinctly.
“Ah… What?”
“I claimed you in front of the others.”
Mother of God, help me now. She could only imagine what he’d claimed her for.
“No.” She squared on him, prepared to fight. If she could disable him, maybe she could stay hidden in his tent until nightfall then take off—provided that he didn’t have any visitors in the meanwhile.
“It’ll buy you time,” he said mildly.
“For what?” Was he playing with her? Was it some sick game he wanted before he pounced?
“To find a safe way out. I’m here for some information. As soon as I have it, I’ll take you to the nearest village.”
Was he lying so later he could catch her off guard? She watched him cautiously and weighed his words. He hadn’t hurt her, not once. Her fear of him stemmed from watching him with the other men. Emotions ran high in camp, and the bandits were often at each others’ throats. Nasir hadn’t started any fights, but he finished many.
“Are you—” She sat back down, trying to put the pieces together. “Are you an undercover policeman or something?”
“Hardly.” He gave a rueful grin that softened his face.
She stared, a second or so passing before she said, “But you’re definitely not going to hurt me?” She wanted to make sure that was nailed down.
“You are safe in my tent.”
She would consider believing that if she was still alive and untouched by the end of the day. She eyed the curved dagger tucked into his sash. “So, who are you exactly?”
“Nasir.”
She’d been hoping for something beyond that.
“A spy?” The question slipped out as it occurred to her. He had said he was here to gather some kind of information.
“I’m here on my own business.”
And she would just bet his business wasn’t the good kind. She hadn’t been mistaken when she’d seen murder in his eyes. But as long as it didn’t involve her and he would help her out of here, she was willing to overlook it.
“How long before you leave?”
“As soon as I have the information I came for.” He stood, set down the rifle and pulled up an extra carpet, fastened it to the poles so it neatly divided the tent.
He moved like a warrior, unhurried, efficient. Who was he? Who had he been before joining the desert bandits’ camp?
In some ways, he was very much like the others, just as tough and better in a fight, but a thin veil of civilization clung to him that set him apart, which was especially noticeable now that he let his guard down in front of her.
“Where did you learn English?” she asked.
He worked on fixing the partition without answering. “You may use this side,” he said politely when he was done.
He was confusing the hell out of her. He would allow her out of his sight?
He surprised her further by handing her his dagger. “In case you need to defend yourself. Your continued stay does not make everyone happy.”
She pulled the sharp blade from its sheath with hesitation and stared at it. Why arm her? She could kill him in his sleep.
“You could try,” he said, guessing her thoughts again, and she could swear she saw a hint of a smile hover above his lips. “I wouldn’t recommend it,” he added before turning on his heels and ducking out of the tent.
She spent a couple of seconds staring after him before springing to action, realizing she was wasting a precious opportunity. For the first time in weeks, she was truly alone. Nasir’s tent sheltered her from prying eyes as her prison never had with its wide gaps between the rough boards. She took a quick inventory. Two large water skins hanging from the main tent pole, several bags that looked like they’d been made of carpet remnants and a few bowls that were neatly lined up by the tent wall next to a stack of clothing.
She went to the water first and drank as much as she could without making her pilfering obvious. Then she rummaged through the bags and found food, small canvas sacks that held dried figs and some kind of jerky, probably goat. She hurriedly ate a couple of each as she conducted a thorough search of the tent. She found a cell phone and hope shook her hands as she tried to turn it on, but the battery was dead. It would have been too good to be true.
Still, for the first time since she’d been kidnapped, she had free access to food and water. And she had a weapon. Here, in front of her, was everything she needed to escape.
The more she thought about trusting Nasir’s offer, the worse the idea of waiting for him to get her out of here seemed. She would be a fool to hang around to see if he would keep his word and take her to safety. He could change his mind. Umman could change his mind. Ahmed, who’d been after her from day one, could finally find an opportunity to do her real harm. She would never be safe as long as she was inside this miserable camp.
The only person she could trust was herself. She would save herself. As soon as night fell. Whatever she had to do.
I could kill if I had to. The thought came out of nowhere and took her by surprise. Yes, she could kill, although at a price to herself, both as a doctor and a human being. But she could. When backed into a corner, all living things fought for life.
She hadn’t realized that, not until today when she was dragged from Umman’s tent to be executed. Tonight she would do whatever it took to get away, even if it meant taking another life to save her own.
She tucked the dagger into the waistband of the pants she wore under her long robe. For the first time in her life, the presence of a weapon made her feel better. She stepped out of the tent with caution, intending to go no farther than the semisecluded spot behind the area where the dozen or so camels usually lounged, the place she’d been using to relieve herself.
She’d gone only a few yards from Nasir’s tent, dodging the men who were going about their business, when Ahmed spotted her and strode over, his fat mouth set into a thin line of displeasure. He marched his pudgy body through the sand with jerky steps, keeping his small, dark eyes on her, yelling from afar. “Woman! Whore!”
She stopped, hoping he wanted nothing more than to give her some small, humiliating task as usual, like scraping goat dung from his sandals. She would quickly do whatever he required. Tonight she’d be free. She couldn’t allow anything to get to her.
“You feed camels. Water camels,” he said.
Taking care of the animals was his responsibility—every man had his own task to keep the camp running. He was probably angry that Nasir had stopped her execution. He was probably looking to reassert his authority over her, to show her that as long as she was in camp, she would remain their slave.
Sadie nodded, the very picture of obedience, and cast a worried glance toward the camels, making sure she looked fearful, hoping that would be sufficient. Ahmed usually left her alone once he figured he had tortured her enough for one day. If he thought the task left her trembling, he might be satisfied with that and not think up any further ways to distress her.
The animals were twice the size of camels she’d seen in Yemen at the market where the local Doctors Without Borders liaison had taken the group of international physicians she was a part of the day after their arrival at the small field hospital.
The trip to the market had been the first and last that she’d been able to participate in. Three days later, the hospital was raided, the supply room robbed. She had the misfortune of being inside it when the bandits had come.
“Work,” Ahmed shouted at her and shoved her forward.
She moved obediently, semisecure in the knowledge that now that Nasir had claimed her, Ahmed could only demand work from her and nothing more. He had come to her during the night once before, insisting on another kind of service. By putting her body weight against the door of tightly tied branches, she’d been able to keep him out. Her prison, devised to prevent her from escaping during the night, had saved her.
He was yelling at her in Arabic, and she picked up the pace, walking toward the tent Ahmed shared with three others and the large bags of camel feed. She hadn’t seen Nasir’s shorter, leaner camel among the rest of the beasts. He’d probably ridden out of camp.
Her instincts prickled when instead of going off to enjoy having passed on his morning chores, Ahmed seemed intent on following her inside the tent.
“I feed the camels,” she said as she stepped through the flap, keeping her head down in an attempt not to anger any of the other men she’d expected to find inside.
The tent was empty.
She couldn’t step back. Ahmed was right behind her.
Get the work done, get out. Fast.
She went to the sacks, filled the bucket, moving purposefully, ignoring the bad feeling she was getting from the man who watched her.
He made his move as she was about to head back outside, blocking her way, looking at her with so much heat, so much hate.
“I’ll feed the camels,” she said and stepped forward to pass by him.
He wouldn’t have it.
She was close enough now to smell his breath, the sour sweat of his body. Several weeks’ worth of dirt was ground into his patched-up, faded camouflage uniform. She stole a glance at the look of determination in his face.
He was not going to let her go.
The dagger. Since she had the bucket in her right hand, she bent to set it down slowly, as if giving in to his will. But in a sudden move, he knocked the camel feed from her and had both of her hands pinned to her side. She struggled against him. He was strong, stronger than she’d thought.
“Stop.” She fought back with everything she had, kicking, trying to smack her forehead into his face, doing anything and everything to make up for not being able to use her hands. “Let me go!” Desperation gave strength to her voice.
The carpets tangled under their feet, making it harder for her to find her balance. She twisted and kicked backward, got him in the knee by pure chance. His hold loosened at last. Almost clear. Then she tripped on her robe just as he grabbed for her, and they went down together with a solid thud that stole the air from her lungs.
Chapter Two
“Civilian casualties will be significant.”
Majid glared at the man who dared to voice his ridiculous concern. When a sculptor created a beautiful piece of art, was he criticized for the marble chippings he left on the floor? “If anyone dies, it’s the usurper’s fault. The people will understand that.”
And once he was king again and the media was under his thumb, he would make sure everyone would see it his way. Casualties. Of course there’d be casualties. Bismillah! He was reshaping his country.
Those who committed treason should suffer. How quickly they had jumped to the usurper’s side, forgetting their lawful king. They should be punished. The leaders of the traitors would be rounded up and taken care of—certainly his cousin’s family. The others he would let live. He needed people if he wanted to collect taxes. He needed workers for the country he was even now preparing to birth.
“How many men do we have?” he asked his temporary council.
His secret advisors consisted of a few sheiks whose tribes were involved in weapons smuggling and as such benefited from his venture. Also those to whom he had promised land, and two semiinfluential industrialists who hoped for sizable oil contracts from his government once he was restored to the Beharrainian throne. All were enemies of the current false king, people he had angered by interfering with their business and limiting their income.
Today they all gathered to talk war in the large cave Majid was using as his headquarters at the moment.
“We have ten thousand men,” the oldest of the sheiks said.
“That’s enough.” Saeed had less than that when he’d stolen the throne four years ago from Majid. He would pay for that. “Once that devil’s spawn of a cousin of mine is dead and the palace is ours, the army will switch sides and follow their rightful king.”
