Sheba's Gambit

by Kristine Frost

  Sheba’s Gambit

  Prologue

  Solomon Bentley slid silently between two towering pillars of tuff, a volcanic substance made of super-heated ash. He pressed back into a hollow formed over four thousand years ago, waiting for his pursuers to make a noise, any noise. It was a mistake that would cost them, but so far there had only been one slip. A man’s arm had brushed a stone loose. It had dropped with a thud.

  Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you. He thought with a mental chuckle. He knew that his paranoia had put his senses on high alert. Someone had found out about this little side trip. He wasn’t sure who but he was sure they had come prepared. If he was caught, his daughters would grow up fatherless. He wasn’t worried about Theodosia, her mother’s favorite, Theo was a beautiful, blond haired child with an outgoing personality. She could hold her own against most grown-ups even though she was only twelve.

  Then there was Sheba. Sheba was another story. She was only ten, a shadow under her sister’s sun and her mother’s indifference. She wasn’t really pretty with her odd red hair and the speech impediment that made her take refuge in books. He remembered the night that she had climbed onto his lap at two in the morning, tears streaming down her face. Theo and some of her friends had taunted her, laughing at her lisp. She had whispered, “Books don’t hurt you like people do.” As he fought his own tears, he pushed the harsh, coarse hair from her forehead. He gently kissed her, rocking her until she fell asleep.

  With an effort, he pulled his thoughts back to the present. After a few moments of listening, he stepped out of his hollow. Quietly, he moved toward the edge of the tuff field, keeping to the shadows.

  There was a whine, then a puff of tuff powdered the air. Quickly, he stepped back. Whoever was following him was using a silencer.

  Although he disliked using a gun, he pulled his Glock pistol from the back of his waistband. Fumbling through his pocket, he found the round cylinder that he screwed into the Glock. Then he got on his hands and knees so that he couldn’t be seen against the star strewn sky. Taking his time, he finally found the small cave where he’d stored his supplies. He took his maps and his notes, fitting them into a small, plastic, tear proof bag. He addressed it to a fellow ‘Shebaphile’, Aaron Aeschler. Then he pulled a small notebook from his pocket, wrote on it then enclosed it, asking him to get the information to Sheba. Although she was still young, she understood his obsession because she shared it. He slipped the bag into his pocket.

  He put his ear to the ground. He could barely hear the soft thud of footsteps far away.

  He hoisted his backpack on to his shoulder, sliding noiselessly from the cave. Pausing every few seconds, he worked his way back toward the face of the cliff where he’d hidden the mule and wagon he’d borrowed from his Gypsy friends.

  Because it was in the opposite direction from the paved road, he hoped the men searching for him wouldn’t find him. If I can just get to the cart, I can fix the envelope under the donkey’s halter. My Romany friends will do the rest.

  He had risked his life to get a number of Gypsies out of Bulgaria during the Communist regime. They hadn’t trusted him at first, but their Gypsy Queen had issued her orders which had been followed just as they had been for centuries. They had been in some dangerous situations, but they’d gotten into Turkey. Now they were repaying the favor.

  He paused at the edge of the tuff field, looking for the path he had used earlier. It was the only way through the sea of rocks that barred his way to the huge boulders that would give him cover.

  He looked at the small rocks trying to find the path he’d used earlier, but it had disappeared in the starlight. Bending low, he began to run, but a misstep could cause a broken leg or worse.

  There was a ping and a puff of dust off to his left. He didn’t bother to look behind him. It didn’t really matter where they were, he was in the open nearly half way across. If he zigged when he should have zagged, they would get him. He knew the odds were against him. Breathing heavily, he aimed for the nearest boulder. It was about twenty yards away.

  Suddenly, he felt a thump that sent him tumbling to his knees. Instantly he knew what had happened. A bullet had hit his backpack. The momentum had thrown him off balance. As he lay flat on the rocks, three more bullets passed over his head. He began to crawl, the jagged rocks tearing at his clothing and his skin. The boulder was ten feet away. He could hear them stumbling on the rocks behind him.

  He kept crawling. He could feel the blood oozing on his hands, making the rocks slippery. He looked up.

  Five more feet.

  He scrambled to his feet dashing toward the rock.

  The first bullet grazed his thigh. The second lodged in the back of his leg. He could feel the blood run down his leg. Under the cover of the boulder, he pulled his Glock. Leaning around the rock, he fired at a big, black shadow, once, then twice. There was a grunt, then a scream. He could hear them drop onto the rocks.

  He pulled his belt loose from his pants, pulling it tight around his thigh. He leaned around the boulder, firing three more shots. He had ten more rounds before the pistol would be empty. He hadn’t figured on needing more than one clip. A mistake that could cost him his life.

  Turning, he began to limp toward the tall cliff visible in the starlight. The deserted village where he’d hidden the wagon was nearly a quarter of a mile away.

  He wasn’t going to make it.

  Chapter 1

  Sheba Bentley looked around nervously before she opened the email attachment. If her boss caught her reading an email instead of working on the code he’d just assigned her, she’d lose her job for sure.

  Before Sheba could click on the attachment, she heard a strangled sob. Pushing her bangs out of her dark brown eyes, she looked over at Cassy Reynolds, the new girl in their department. Her head was bent over her computer keyboard, her blond hair hiding her face. She overfilled her chair, but her feet barely touched the floor. Sheba thought she might be twenty-four or twenty-five.

  Poor kid. It isn’t fair for Rand to continually yell at her. She’s new and he’s not helping.

  Sheba fought her urge to open the attachment. After all, it might be what she had waited so long for, but finally, she walked over to Cassy’s station.

  “Problem,” she asked quietly.

  “I can’t break this code. I’ll lose my job if I don’t.” Cassy said in a tear choked voice.

  Looking at the computer screen, Sheba mentally gasped. McBastard is really living up to his nickname this time.

  “This is a tough one,” she said. “Slide over so I can give you the 411 for this type of code.”

  Cassy slid her chair to the side as Sheba knelt in front of the computer. Cassie choked down another sob. “I don’t want to get you in trouble. If you help me you could get fired.”

  “Quit talking and start watching or we’ll both get fired.”

  Sheba pointed out the little tricks that she used to break difficult codes.

  “But how do you see these things,” Cassie demanded. “Until you pointed them out, I sure didn’t see them.”

  “I don’t know. They just jump out at me, but you can train yourself to see them.” Nervously, Sheba looked around. There was no sign of McBastard.

  As soon as she was sure that Cassy knew what she was doing, she hurried back to her station. For some reason, things always came easier after she’d helped someone.

  Later at the water cooler, Sheba’s best friend, Jen said, “If Rand catches you helping a newbie, he will fire you. He’s been out to get you ever since Nagle grabbed you to help her with the ISIS code.”

  Sheba closed her eyes at the pain Nagle’s name always caused. Her betrayal would always hurt.

  Jen
gave her a quick hug. “Sorry. I keep forgetting. It’s too bad that trust isn’t easy to repair.”

  Sheba swallowed hard then said, “Well, so far, I haven’t lost my job.” Yet.

  Jennifer Christopher was a tall, leggy blond who prided herself on her plain speaking. She and Sheba had been friends for years.

  Sheba pushed her long, dark red hair behind her ears. It had come loose from her ponytail. “Rand is giving Cassy codes that we’d have trouble breaking. It’s not fair that he’s trying to make her feel incompetent just because she isn’t wearing a size two porno outfit.”

  Jen shook her head, her blond hair bouncing. “Even with your gift of languages, your soft heart is going to get your soft head in deep doo doo, if you’re not careful.”

  Sheba finished her water, crumpled the cup, threw it in the trash, then headed back to her station just as Rand McCall walked into the room. He was a short, slim man with black hair that grew back from his forehead. When he was upset, he ran his hands over his hair smoothing it flat. He seemed affable, but underneath the smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he was an angry, narcissistic man who thought only of himself.

  Later, Sheba felt someone come up behind her. Hastily, she moved the curser, bringing up the code she had just broken. She breathed a sigh of relief when her best friend said, “Cheating the company again?”

  “I finished the beast Rand gave me this morning. It’s too late to start on the next round of torture. Besides this is important.” She said defensively

  “It won’t be if Rand catches you at it.” Jen peered over Sheba’s shoulder. “So what are you staring at anyway?”

  “I just got the e-mail Mrs. Layton promised to send me.”

  Jenny grimaced. “You mean she actually sent you a portion of her husband’s diary this time?”

  “Yeah, finally.” Sheba pulled up the screen she had been studying. “Do you think it’s authentic?”

  Jenny shrugged. “Looks okay, but scanned copy is easy to forge. You’ve worked at NSA long enough to know that.”

  “I hope this is real because it gets me closer to the end of my quest.”

  Just then, the shift clock chimed loudly. “Need a ride home?” Jen asked.

  “Always.” Sheba laughed. Although I’m not sure if I wouldn’t be safer on the metro. I can only be raped and killed there.”

  Since it was early afternoon, traffic was light and Jen exited the parking garage with her usual flair, gunning the engine of her small car. The car shot across two lanes of traffic into the left lane.

  Sheba slid down in her seat, pretending that the horns, shouts and the middle fingers of every driver around weren’t aimed at them.

  They had only gone a block when Jen said, “You can sit up now.”

  When Sheba complied, Jen laughed, “I don’t know why you worry about my driving. No one knows me. They certainly don’t know you.”

  Sheba raised her movie star sunglasses so she could glare at her friend. “You might think that no one knows you, but I’m sure they all cringe when they see your Barbie doll pink Mini Cooper flying down the highway.”

  “Hey, I like Barbie doll pink. It gets me where I need to go. Everyone has learned to get out of my way. Besides it makes men underestimate me.” Jen accelerated as she entered the turn onto the twelfth street bridge heading toward the Virginia side of the Potomac. “Are you going to call Mrs. Layton?”

  “I’m thinking about it. I’m just not sure if I can afford it, but if I can, I could pick it up when I take Braden to Orlando.” She said intensely, “I need that diary. I need to know Seacliff really did find the coordinates like he told my father.”

  Ignoring Sheba’s last comment, she said, “So that’s still on, is it? I don’t understand why you don’t tell your dear, sweet leach of a sister to take a flying leap off the nearest cliff.”

  “I don’t mind taking my nephew to Florida while my sister is moving to London.” Her voice was defensive.

  “Sheba, do you really want to spend a week of your vacation on your nephew? Criminy, girl, why don’t you just learn to say no?”

  “I like spending time with my nephew,” Sheba protested, but she couldn’t silence the resentful little voice in her head that reminded her she was supposed to be saving vacation time for a trip to follow up on her leads to the Kingdom of Sheba.

  When they pulled up in front of Sheba’s apartment house, Sheba said, “Want to come up for Pizza and hot chocolate. I got some of those vanilla marshmallows you like.”

  Jen made a face. “Pizza and hot chocolate? Ugh, that sounds pretty nasty. Now Pizza and beer I could go for.”

  “Well, I don’t drink. I don’t intend to become like my father so if you want pizza and beer, you’ll have to have it by yourself.”

  “I suppose I can stand pizza and hot chocolate with vanilla marshmallows.”

  “Well, I do have Crystal Lite if you want to be picky.”

  Jen laughed, “Well, that certainly sounds better than hot chocolate. I’ll take the vanilla marshmallows as an appetizer, please.”

  They climbed the stairs to Sheba’s fourth floor walk-up with a balcony that overlooked the Potomac. As Sheba stuck her key in the lock, Jen said, “If you’d give up your obsession on your namesake, you could afford a better place to live.”

  Sheba looked around at the dirty walls and stained carpet. “I’m not out here enough to worry about it. It’s safe. I’ve got good neighbors and a great view for a reasonable price—well reasonable for D. C., that is. Besides, my apartment doesn’t look like this.”

  Unlocking the door, she walked in. She glanced around. The landlord had let her paint the walls a creamy soft blue with white woodwork. The second hand furniture that she had reupholstered looked good with the walls. She had refinished the hard wood floors and gotten rugs at a flea market.

  Jen looked around. “Well, no one in their right mind would think that this apartment was inside this apartment house.”

  Sheba glared at her friend. “Besides, I’m not obsessed with Sheba. It’s just a hobby.”

  “Not obsessed?” Jen snorted. “Of course, it’s just a hobby when it’s all you think about.”

  “Maybe a little obsessed.” Sheba said defensively.

  Jen snorted again as she dropped her designer tote bag and Burberry plaid raincoat on the couch.

  “Well, how can I be anything but obsessed when my father named me after his obsession?”

  Jen laughed, “At least he didn’t name you Queen of Sheba. Sheba’s bad enough but you’d never live down Queen of Sheba.”

  I’d have never forgiven him, either Sheba thought as she threw her knock-off purse on the couch and headed for the kitchen.

  “I’m going to borrow your powder room,” Jen said.

  “Be sure you bring it back when you’re done.” Sheba shot back.

  As Sheba opened the Miranda’s Exclusive pizza box, she thought about the email and Captain Seacliff’s diary. She was daydreaming about finding the actual site when Jen said, “I brought back your powder room so you can’t blame me if it goes missing again.”

  “I appreciate that,” Sheba responded. “I don’t think my apartment would keep its charm if I had to use the outhouse at the back of the building.”

  Jen pulled the pitcher of cherry Crystal Lite from the fridge. “How did your sister miss being obsessed with Sheba?”

  “My sister takes after our late mother. She’s only obsessed with herself. That’s why I need to take Braden to Orlando. She got a job at the embassy in London and ‘can’t cope’ with everything.”

  “One of these days you need to learn to say no to your family’s demands.” Jen said. “Or you’ll never be able to call your soul your own.”

  “I like spending time with Braden.” Sheba said defensively. “Theo has raised him to be a credit to her. The poor kid doesn’t know how to have any fun. You’d think he stepped out of an eighteen century novel, he’s so prim, proper and well-mannered. He even talks like an adult
.”

  “Poor kid,” Jen said sympathetically. “He’ll be warped for life.”

  Chapter 2

  Sheba and Braden walked down the long hotel driveway toward the shuttle stop for Disney World. She looked down at her eight-year-old nephew. Through his reddish blond hair, she could see the vicious zig-zag scar that crossed his head from ear to ear. It was the remains of a surgery to release the pressure on his brain when he was born without a soft spot. He had suffered through the surgery when he was less than three months old. She had held him on her chest at night as he recovered because he was terrified to sleep. It was the only way that he would stop crying. Theo had, again, called on her sister because she couldn’t ‘cope’ with Braden’s heart wrenching sobs.

  She gave him a huge hug.

  He looked up at her, his blue eyes twinkling. “Are you getting mushy again?” He asked.

  She laughed. “I am. You’re going to have to live with it.”

  He frowned. “It’s okay if you get mushy, but I don’t want anyone else getting mushy. That’s girls stuff.”

  “I won’t get mushy too often, okay?” She gave him another quick hug. “It’s just that it’s a beautiful day and I get to spend time with you doing something fun.”

  As they neared the shuttle stop, Braden pointed, “That crazy lady is going to get run over.”

  Sheba gasped. A tall, slender woman was staggering across the street. She didn’t seem to see the cars that were honking and slamming on their brakes trying to avoid her.

  Is she drunk? Then Sheba noticed that she had a white cane in her hand, but suddenly she dropped it. Heavens, she’s blind. She must have lost her dog.

  “Stay here,” she ordered Braden as she started running toward the woman. She dodged the cars that had nearly come to a stop. Please God, let me get to her before she gets run over.

  Desperately, she caught hold of the woman’s arm. “Miss,” she exclaimed. “We need to get you out of the road before you get hit.”

  The woman’s sightless eyes looked in the direction of her voice. “I’ve lost my dog.” Her voice vibrated with panic.