Finding Sheba (Omar Zagouri Thriller Book 1)

by H. B. Moore

  Jade crept around the wiry brush toward the palms. She tried to push away the fear of venomous creatures by keeping her flashlight arcing across the ground in front of her until she reached the leaning palms.

  On her way back, she stumbled against a protruding stone. She continued, slower this time, picking her way toward the tents. The glow from her flashlight wobbled, then dimmed. She shook it, hoping to jostle the batteries just enough, but the light went out altogether. Glancing upward, she wondered why the one time that the clouds covered the moon in the middle of the summer had to be that night.

  She walked for several more minutes, surprised she hadn’t reached the tents yet. Then her foot sank into a hole. She fell to the ground with a hard thud, twisting her knee and scraping her arms. As she tried to sit up, her body started to slide, sharply downward into some sort of hole.

  Jade reached for a root, a branch . . . anything to stop her slide. Rocks and sand tumbled around her. Then there was nothing below, and she pummeled through the dark emptiness. Her hip made the first impact on a hard surface, followed by her shoulder, and then her head. The well, she thought as her head throbbed and her mind spun into oblivion. I’ve fallen into the well.

  The darkness wrapped around her like a cool ocean, making it difficult to know which way was up. She tried to stand, but dizziness made her stay put. Pain pulsated through her shoulder and hip, and when she touched her head, she felt the warm moisture of blood. She tucked her knees close to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.

  A well should have water in it. She’d watched the men pull out buckets of water to boil. “Not even fit for a camel,” Lucas had said. If she wasn’t in the well shaft, where was she?

  “Lucas!” she yelled, her voice breaking with exertion. “Help me, someone!” She waited, holding her breath, but she heard nothing.

  Logic told her the crew would miss her in the morning and then come looking for her. She burrowed her head between her knees and tried to find comfort in the little warmth her body gave off.

  She eventually dozed, waking some time later. Scooting forward, Jade inched her way across the space, extending her hands in front of her—both curious and afraid of the first touch of rock or earth.

  Her fingers came into contact with a light, feathery substance. She pulled away, her heart pounding. An insect? No, she decided, and reached out again. It felt like the leaves of a plant. An underground plant?

  Her hands moved with more confidence as she stood. The plant covered an earth-hardened wall of some sort. The roots twisted, wrapping about each other. The wall crumbled away as Jade dug her fingernails into the surface. She felt for any protruding stones beyond the earth and roots—anything she could use to climb out.

  Step by step, she moved along the wall, gripping the tangled roots. Then her knee collided with something sharp. “Ow,” she muttered.

  Reaching down, Jade felt the corner of stone. “At last.” She placed both hands on the stone and felt along the edges. The length continued for several feet. She moved along the side of it, amazed by the size of the rock. It was probably a cleft or shelf. A dribble of dirt fell onto her head, and she realized that she would be buried here alive if the ceiling caved in.

  Something scuttled across her feet, and suddenly, Jade’s chest heaved. She gripped the side of the stone, trying to steady herself as dizziness passed through her. She waited for the pain of a bite or sting to come—the impending piercing of flesh from a scorpion’s pincers, the sinking of fangs into her calf, the swelling, the nausea, the blood draining from her head, the poison coursing through her constricting veins as her white blood cells tried to fight against her demise.

  A minute passed, then two, and yet the bite did not come.

  “I’m still here,” Jade whispered, as if hearing her own voice were the evidence she needed. “I’m not dead yet, but I think I’m going crazy.”

  She gingerly sank to the floor, taking comfort in the sturdy stone behind her back and the hard earth beneath her feet. Trying to calm her breathing and her heart rate, she attempted to think of something neutral . . . well, anything that didn’t have to do with being stuck in a cave in the middle of the desert while a dozen healthy men slept in oblivion of her foolish terror.

  It only lasted a moment, and then the tears came.

  CHAPTER

  27

  Salalah Hospital, Dhofar, Oman

  The veins on Alem’s grandmother’s hands crossed each other like a termite trail on a piece of bark. She took his hand in hers and patted it gently. “Alem, it’s time to go to sleep.”

  “Just one more story,” he pleaded, his eleven-year-old voice sounding tinny in his ears.

  With a soft chuckle, his grandmother released him and adjusted her shawl about her shoulders. “All right.”

  Sinking against his pillow, Alem grinned. He loved to watch his grandmother’s face as she told him about the great queen, Makeda. His grandparents had come to live with his family because of his grandmother’s ill health, and Grandfather couldn’t care for her by himself. But tonight her cough was quiet.

  “After leaving King Solomon, the queen of the South gave birth to a boy, Bayna-le’kem. Everyone celebrated, and when she banned the gods of nature and proclaimed that everyone worship the God of Israel, everyone obeyed.”

  “Why didn’t Solomon come to Ethiopia?” young Alem asked, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.

  “He had his own kingdom to rule. The child grew until he was about your age, and he became curious about his father. His friends told him it was King Solomon, but when he asked his mother, she became very angry.”

  “Why? Didn’t she want him to know?”

  “She was afraid, as any mother would be, that her son would leave her.” His grandmother smiled faintly. “Many years later, the queen saw that he looked so much like his father, and her heart softened. She finally told him about the land of Israel, then begged him not to leave the country.”

  “But he went anyway?”

  “Yes. He made an oath in the name of God that after he visited his father, he would return to his mother.”

  Alem pulled his coverlet to his chin, burrowing into the warmth. Although he’d heard the story many times, he was always eager to hear the ending.

  “After he left Ethiopia, the prince traveled to Jerusalem,” she said. “There he was received by the king, and immediately the resemblance was noticed between the prince and Solomon. King Solomon thought his son looked like David, Solomon’s father.”

  Alem nodded, his whole body content.

  “Solomon wanted Bayna to be his successor to the throne of Israel.”

  “But he said no,” Alem piped up.

  “Right. Solomon tried to persuade his son to stay by telling him that Jerusalem was where the Tabernacle of Law and the House of God were. Also, the king told him that Israel was where God dwelt. But not even the gifts of gold, silver, and armor could influence the young prince. His devotion to his mother remained unshakable.”

  Alem stretched his arms and linked his hands behind his neck. He thought about his own mother. Could he be as loyal as the young prince of Ethiopia?

  His grandmother continued, “When Solomon realized he couldn’t persuade his son to live in Jerusalem, he decided to ordain Bayna king of Ethiopia. Then Solomon renamed his son—David. He sent a whole group of servants and dignitaries home with the prince, along with horses, chariots, camels, gold, silver, pearls . . .”

  Imagining what it would be like to meet the prince, Alem closed his eyes, seeing a large caravan of people dressed in fine clothing. He saw himself running up to David and touching his soft leather sandals. David would look down and smile at him.

  “Would you like to ride with me?” the prince would say.

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t tell you how long it will take.” The voice was no longer David’s, but
one of a woman.

  “That’s all right,” Alem said, confused as David’s happy expression blurred.

  The woman’s voice came again. “He’s waking up. I’ll contact you when I find out any more.”

  Alem’s eyes started to focus in the brightly lit room. He was no longer an eleven-year-old boy, but a man lying on a bed as stiff as wicker. A woman who looked vaguely familiar stood over him, her dark hair pulled back, covered with a silk scarf.

  “Alem. I’m Omar’s friend, Mia.” The woman sat next to him.

  He looked into her nearly black eyes.

  “I’m here to help you. Can you tell me who . . . hurt you?”

  “The crew boss, Rabbel,” he said in a hoarse voice. “And another man in a military uniform.”

  “Can you remember his name?”

  Alem ran his tongue over the inside of his chalky teeth. “I don’t. And there were others.” His throat hurt with the intensity of a bad case of strep.

  “Was this man there?” Mia tilted the cell phone–like thing toward him.

  The image of the smiling man did look familiar, but the throbbing in Alem’s head made it difficult to know for sure. “Possibly.”

  “Thank you.” Mia offered a smile, though her gaze conveyed disappointment. “I have to leave now, but the hospital has strict instructions to contact me if you need anything.” She straightened from the bed. “And don’t worry about the bill—it’s been paid.”

  He tried to speak, but all that came was a guttural noise. He cleared his throat.

  “It’s the least we can do,” she said with the wave of her hand.

  “Wait,” Alem managed to spit out.

  Mia turned, her face pinched with concern. “What’s wrong?”

  “Who’s Omar?”

  “The man you worked with on the crew. Have you forgotten?”

  “I mean . . . I found . . . his passports.”

  “Ah. That.”

  “There were several passports and an ornate cross. Isn’t he Muslim?”

  “What kind of cross?

  “Coptic is my guess.”

  Mia’s expression tightened. “Are you sure?”

  “How well do you know him?” he asked.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t answer your questions.” Then her expression softened. “But I can tell you that you can trust Omar and me. He said you saved his life, and he wants to repay you.” She placed a hand on Alem’s shoulder. “What did you do with the items?”

  “They took everything when they stripped me for the sacrifice—even a letter from my grandmother.” The letter had been like a connection to home during his trip. Now that it was gone, he felt as if he’d somehow failed.

  “I’m sorry about your things, but don’t worry about Omar’s stuff,” she said. “We’ll get you healed enough to travel home in a few days. Until then, rest as much as you can.”

  Alem watched the woman exit the room. He closed his eyes, wishing he still had his grandmother’s letter. It was an insult that they took it. What could they want with an elderly woman’s words to her grandson? Then he thought of the poem his grandmother had included at the end, something she’d written about the queen of Sheba.

  If he could just remember enough of it and write it down, he could pass it on to Omar and Mia. Perhaps it would help Omar find the queen’s tomb and thwart Rabbel’s plans, earning Alem a little revenge. He reached over to the bedside table, opened the drawer, and found a pad of paper and a pen. He lifted the two items out, wincing as he caught his breath. Then he began to write from memory.

  O Queen of the South,

  Death began your journey

  To that night when seven women held one man.

  CHAPTER

  28

  Shisur, Oman

  It seems lighter, Jade thought as she rose gingerly to her feet, peering into the dimness of the cave. Her entire body ached, and her stomach grumbled with persistence, but at least morning had come. She let her eyes adjust before examining the stone that had supported her in her sleep.

  The cavern she stood in was too big for a well, and there was no sign of water. She limped around the rectangular stone, disappointed to find only scaly earth leading to a dish-sized circle of light above—the hole where she’d stumbled. The men must be awake by now.

  “Lucas!” she cried out. “Help!”

  She waited, listening desperately in the silence. Then she scanned the ground for a rock to throw, but there was only sand.

  Periodically, she called out as the time passed. Desperate with thirst, Jade stood and walked about the cavern, hoping to find a trickle of groundwater somewhere. Her hip throbbed as she moved toward the large stone, but her steps were steadier in the dim light.

  Jade stopped in front of the stone and studied it. Maybe she could kick it. Moses struck a rock and found water. A giggle bubbled in her throat as she realized how ridiculous her thoughts were. I’m getting delirious.

  A shiver chilled her spine as she touched the rock. It had definitely been carved into this rectangular shape. Why would someone hide his handiwork? She thought of the great monuments, statues, and tombs aboveground that people had created in antiquity.

  Tombs.

  A whisper of a thought entered her mind—This is a tomb. And this rectangular stone is a sarcophagus.

  Jade took a halting step backward, unbelieving. Can it be? She hobbled back to see the opening above her head. “Lucas! Help me, anyone!”

  Jade spun around, her eyes seeing the cave anew. What if? The roots seemed to melt away until she could almost see the stone beneath the collected dirt. She moved to the closest wall and scraped away several layers of crusted earth with a dried root. Not more than two inches into the dirt was a wall, smooth like polished limestone.

  On she plunged, digging, not caring that she was using precious energy. The earth crumbled away like fine pastry, as if it had been waiting all these years for the magical touch.

  Jade’s pulse pounded like crazy. She was in a cave that hadn’t seen a human in possibly thousands of years. There was no telling what might be discovered here. She didn’t realize she was grinning until a chunk of dirt hit her teeth. She spit out the offending piece and continued. She’d cleared over three feet of the wall. Then, too eager to wait, Jade brushed her hands against the surface. Her heart nearly leaped through her chest when her fingers touched the crevices of ancient writing.

  She traced her fingers along the engravings—words that had been silent for centuries. She grabbed the root again and continued her mad pace. Feverishly she clawed at the dirt, watching with satisfaction as it cascaded into billowing heaps.

  When the root drove through the wall, Jade nearly lost her balance. She pushed her hand through the opening and discovered empty space. Clearing the surrounding debris, she examined the small opening, maybe a two-foot radius. Inside was pitch black.

  Jade leaned forward, her hair filled with dirt, her face equally plastered, and gazed into the dark hole, trembling at the thought of what might be inside as the cool, stale air caressed her face. Another room? Another sarcophagus? The stale air turned putrid, and Jade stepped back. If she couldn’t see anything, there was no use going in. What if the other room dropped off into oblivion? Staggering back to the sun-dappled patch of earth, she called, “Help! Someone!” The dizziness returned. Her mouth and throat were coated with dirt, and the rawness in her stomach overpowered the pain in her joints.

  She raised her arms in the air. “I found a tomb! It’s right here!” After a moment, her shoulders sagged, and she crouched to the ground, energy spent. She reveled in the tiny patch of light on her head, shoulders, and back. She was so tired. I’ll just sleep for a moment. As the sun’s strength waned, she curled up on the earthen floor and closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER

  29

  Salalah, Oman

&n
bsp; The ticking of the clock on the whitewashed wall of the police station reminded Omar of the dripping IV in Alem’s hospital room. He focused once again on the hook-nosed police officer, who also had an unfortunate unibrow, standing in front of him. Omar had explained several times where Alem had been found, and he had turned over the pictures of the injuries.

  The satellite phone buzzed to life in Omar’s pocket. It was a welcome interruption, and he glanced at the officer, who excused him.

  “Thank you.” Omar shook the man’s hand and then left the police station.

  Stepping outside brought a rush of freedom and relief.

  As soon as Alem was well enough, Omar would arrange his transport back to Ethiopia. Mia had to return to San’ā in Yemen to follow up on a lead sent by Levy, but not before she handed him a couple of alternate IDs.

  As he walked to the jeep, Omar read the brief instructions from Levy illuminated on the small screen.

  What’s the delay? You haven’t finished your assignment.

  If Omar could have reached through the phone and strangled his boss, he would have. He started texting with a furious pace. It was taking him longer than he thought to find Rabbel, but each day, he was discovering new incriminations. There’s been an attempted murder—connected with AWP.

  Another message beeped in, and Omar clicked over to it.

  I’m in Sana. Meet me at The National Museum tomorrow. –M.

  Mia was already in San’ā? Omar switched to his original message and deleted the contents. Levy would just have to wait for a response. Omar jumped into the jeep and started the engine.

  The wind riffled through his hair as he drove to the airport, allowing some of the tension of the past several days to slide off his shoulders. His phone buzzed again, bringing the weight thudding back. A glance at the phone told him that Levy’s patience had ended too.