by H. B. Moore
Omar crouched, trying to force his eyes to adjust. Tall shapes rose in front of him, and he put his hands out, feeling the angles. It was a storage shelf of some sort. Voices erupted just outside the door. Angry—searching for him. Omar dropped to the floor and crawled around the shelf unit, concealing himself in case the door opened.
He waited, his gun poised, when something moved behind him. Omar nearly pulled the trigger. He turned, swinging the gun around, staring blindly into the dark. Rat or human?
“Omar?” the voice was faint. A shape moved.
“Mia?”
Suddenly the door flew open. He froze. Now he could see Mia huddled in the corner—mouth taped, hands and feet bound.
Her eyes, wide with fear, met his.
The man took a step inside the room. One look at Omar pointing a gun at him, and the man backed out, then took off running down the hall, shouting.
In a silent instant, Omar was at her side. He tore the tape off her mouth. Her eyes were crusted with tears, her lips raw with abrasion. He had never seen her so helpless . . . so weak. As he cut into the ropes that bound her hands, he saw with a sickening feeling that her clothing had been torn. If he stopped now to think of the implications, anger would control his actions and get them both killed. “What did they do to you?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. Omar held her for a moment, but then the voices returned.
“They’re not giving up yet,” he whispered, lifting her in his arms. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
“No,” she said, her voice guttural. “They’ll kill you.”
“We’ll discuss that another time.” Omar gritted his teeth and moved to the door. The hallway was empty, but he could hear voices coming from another passageway—or was it the rage throbbing against his temple? He set off toward the right.
Mia leaned her head against his chest. “Go left.”
“But I came from the right.” Omar looked at her pale face, her dull eyes.
“I didn’t get the ring yet.”
“What are you talking about?”
Her grip tightened. “It’s why I came.”
“Mia—”
“I can’t leave without it.”
“How long will it take?”
“Minutes. Just follow my directions.”
“All right, you’re the boss.” He moved as fast as he dared, on the verge of running.
A door opened down the hallway, and two men emerged. The first one to see them started to shout. Omar braced Mia against the wall as he fumbled for his gun.
The men ran toward them, guns raised. Omar pressed his body against Mia, shielding her. He aimed and shot first. One man cried out and dipped to a knee, but the other still charged forward. Omar pulled the trigger again, aiming for the second man.
The man returned fire at the same time, and Omar waited for the searing pain. Nothing came, and he watched the other man crumple to the ground as if in slow motion.
Lifting Mia again, he charged forward, passing the dead guy and the one who screamed in pain, holding his knee. Perspiration soaked every inch of Omar’s body as he came to a crossroads.
“Still want that ring?”
“Turn left again.” She tightened her grip around his neck. “Hurry.”
He ran.
“Here. Stop here,” Mia said.
Omar spun to a stop and set Mia down. He waved his ID in front of the door. Nothing.
“It won’t work on Rabbel’s private offices.”
“Stand back.” He shot the door handle, and an alarm blared through the complex. He kicked the door open. “Now what?”
Mia limped inside and pulled up the corner of the rug. Beneath was a small safe set in a concrete hole. With trembling fingers, she dialed the combination and pulled out stacks of cash. Then she lifted a small black box—small enough for a ring. She peeked inside then closed it.
“Got it.”
Omar stooped and grabbed a stack of money.
“What are you doing?”
He stared at her. “Same thing as you.”
She started to protest, but they heard more shouting.
“Let’s get out of here.” He picked her up.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Hang on.”
Mia directed him to the exit. The keypad against the wall was camouflaged, but when he swiped the stolen ID, the door rolled open. He plunged ahead, gripping Mia as he passed the parked vehicles. At the gate, the badge did the trick again, and the gate obediently swung open. Sunlight hit his eyes full force, momentarily blinding him, but he stumbled forward, balancing Mia’s weight in his arms, and ran past the guard post.
He came to a dead stop. The helicopter was gone.
CHAPTER
36
Israeli Intelligence Headquarters, Northern Command
“Someone’s going to pay for this,” David Levy muttered under his breath, staring at the screen. “That American woman will screw everything up.”
“Screw what up?”
Levy turned, startled to see the deputy chief of staff standing behind the console. The chief’s pale blue military shirt stretched almost to a snapping point across his wide girth.
“Nothing.” Levy stood and casually stretched. “Need more coffee.”
He brushed past the chief and walked the lime-green hallway to the break room. The blasted woman had fallen into a shaft, which just happened to be a tomb—in the middle of the Shisur oasis. Of all things. Of all places. Of all people. The American media whores would most likely broadcast the woman’s interviews all over CNN before the day was over.
Automatically, Levy checked his watch—a Yacht-Master, one of his few indulgences. He’d told his buddies that his Rolex was a fake. The only thing fake about it was that there were no decent ladies to impress with it. The pickings were slim since Mia had gone on assignment.
Levy turned into the break room and wrinkled his nose in distaste. Discarded paper cups overfilled the trash bin, and the coffeepot held just a few ounces of murky liquid. He filled the pot and sat on the torn vinyl chair to wait. Then he pulled out his phone and texted Omar again. Where was he? Levy didn’t believe his threat about finding Mia for one moment. The man would be killed before he even passed through the first gate of the Marib compound. Levy had been studying the satellite photos for the past hour. The operation he was developing would launch at midnight, and if all went as planned, Mia would be sharing more than a drink with him in celebration.
Footsteps slapped against the cement floor outside the coffee room. Levy kept his focus on his phone, hoping that whoever it was wouldn’t bother him. After a moment, he was rewarded with the fading sound of footsteps.
Omar, he typed. Where are you? Your flight to Salalah leaves in thirty minutes.
He waited a full ten minutes with no response. An uneasy feeling slipped across Levy as he pocketed the phone. Something was going down, and he had to find out. Fast. The coffee timer went off, and he stood to pour himself a fresh cup. Then it hit him. He knew what he had to do next. He dialed the security number on his phone and booked a jet for immediate departure.
Sorry, Omar, he thought as he reached for a paper cup. I tried to warn you.
CHAPTER
37
Marib, Yemen
“I’m going to kill you!” Omar screamed at the empty sky. Mia wriggled in his arms. “Sorry, sweetheart, not you.”
“Put me down,” she said, her voice strained. Omar lowered her to the ground, steadying her for a moment.
“Stop where you are,” a voice commanded behind him.
Omar spun on his heels, coming face-to-face with a young kid not more than fifteen. The kid wore no shirt, only black cutoffs and a colored scarf around his waist, securing a jambiya knife. The kid’s unruly curls parted in the wind as he tried to stare
menacingly at Omar. The bulky rifle he carried weighed nearly as much as he did.
Omar smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a chunk of cash. “Money—for your rifle.”
The kid’s gaze wavered, and Omar knew he had him. “This lady is hurt, and I need to get her to a hospital.” He pushed the cash toward the kid. “Trade me. I’ll tell no one.”
The kid grabbed the cash and then handed over the rifle. Omar left him counting the money and, pulling Mia with him, ran full tilt back to the compound. The gates were still open. “See, I wasn’t stealing money—just redistributing.”
When they reached the first truck, he settled Mia into the backseat.
The door to the compound slid open, and three men came running toward him. He jumped into the driver’s seat and reached to hot-wire the thing . . . “You’ve got to be kidding.” The keys dangled from the ignition. “Here we go!”
He threw the truck into reverse, scattering the men who’d just reached the vehicle. He gunned the truck past the guard post, noticing that all the guards were inside the building. Probably counting their money. They’d be after him soon enough.
Dust billowed behind them as he cleared the compound, but through the rear window, he saw the dark silhouettes of the pursuing trucks. He scanned the sky, hoping that the helicopter was circling, waiting. “Where the hell is Zabid?” Omar shouted to no one.
“Who’s that?” Mia said.
“I swear I had a better plan than this.”
Mia pulled herself up. Her face was still pale. “You don’t look so good,” he said.
“Neither do you.”
Omar’s hand automatically went to his head and touched his bristled scalp. “Oh yeah—that. I’ll explain later.”
She eyed him. “Can’t wait.”
He held her gaze for a moment. “You know, if you wanted a ring so badly, I could’ve bought you one—someplace a little nicer.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well then, I hope I didn’t ruin your shopping experience.”
He laughed and grabbed her hand. Pulling it toward him, he kissed it. It didn’t taste quite like the wine described in the scripture, but just looking at Mia was better than drinking the finest wine. “Ever read Solomon’s Song?”
“From the Bible?”
“Yeah. It’s really sexy. Solomon was quite the ladies’ man.”
“Too bad he screwed it up.”
“What do you mean?”
She tugged her hand away from his. “Well, when you get past all the ‘sexy’ stuff, it’s just plain reality. You don’t listen to God, you get cut off, and it all goes downhill from there.”
Was she speaking about him or Solomon? “So listening is the key, right?”
“Yeah.” Mia’s eyes narrowed. “And you’d better listen now. We’re going to die in a few minutes if you don’t have a plan to get us out of here.”
Omar didn’t need to check the rearview mirror to see that two vehicles flanked their tailgate, rifles pointing out the windows. He looked ahead for anything—a tree, a building—to give them cover. Oh yeah, forget the cover. We’re in a desert.
Mia tapped his shoulder and pointed. “Is that what you were looking for?”
He turned his head. A helicopter hovered a couple hundred meters in front of them. “Zabid!” He started honking like mad—not that the pilot could hear him, but it worked out his extra adrenaline. “Hang on!” he shouted just before slamming on the brakes. Mia hit the back of his seat with a thud. He veered sharply to the right and drove straight toward the helicopter that was slowly landing.
“You’re a maniac!” Mia screamed.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Omar floored the gas pedal, making the truck whine as it accelerated. “When I stop, I’ll run you to the helicopter, covering you. If something happens to me, tell Zabid to lift the chopper and leave.”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“You got us into this mess, and I’m going to get us out of it,” Mia yelled, grabbing his arm with a deathlike grip. “Or at least get you out of it. I’ll give myself up, and you can finish the job you came out here to do.”
“Last I saw, you were the one trapped in the complex needing to be rescued.”
“I never asked to be rescued, damn it!” Mia said.
“Sorry I didn’t get the message.” Omar slammed to a stop. The helicopter was just a dozen paces away, its blades pumping in the hot air. He jumped out of the truck and swung her door open. Then he grabbed her arm, his face inches from hers. “We either die together or live together. Your choice.”
Omar saw the wavering in her eyes. He pulled her into his arms and lifted her from the seat.
“I hate you!” she shouted above the roar of the chopper blades.
“I hate you too.”
Omar ran to the helicopter, his thighs burning with the effort in the deep sand. He couldn’t hear if any shots were fired above the sound of the blades, but he zigzagged until he reached the chopper. He helped Mia into the helicopter and then climbed in after her. Zabid’s eyes were almost as big as his face.
“Go! Go!” Omar screamed.
The pilot shifted the controls with shaky hands, and the chopper lifted, bullets spraying the metal. Omar shielded Mia from the onslaught of bullets. He twisted in his seat and tried to get in a couple of good marks before the helicopter was too far away.
A few minutes into the flight, when they were out of range and apparently undamaged, Omar finally started to relax.
“Ouch,” Mia complained. “You’re crushing my hip.”
Omar shifted over. He’d practically been sitting on top of her leg. He turned and grinned at her.
“I have the feeling you planned all of this so that I could be in your debt.”
His grin widened. “Not exactly, but if it’s working, then I’ll take the credit.” Then Omar slid his hands around her waist and pulled her toward him. Her eyes closed just as their lips touched. He kissed her long and hard, knowing that she might not let him do it again.
Omar watched Mia sleep next to him on the plane. Her expression was peaceful now, but he had yet to ask about her torn clothing. Zabid had been most helpful and found her new clothes when they’d reached the airport. He’d also booked them on the next flight out of San’ā. Now, in less than thirty minutes, they’d be landing in Salalah. They were headed to Shisur.
Omar didn’t care that Rabbel was illegally excavating or had maybe tried to kill a pope, but sacrificing Alem and then kidnapping Mia . . . It was personal now. Omar had returned the envelope to Mia that he’d recovered in the hotel room, and he had still had a lot of questions, but those could wait for now.
Mia stirred and cracked open her eyes.
“Hi, sweetheart.” He waited for her to thump him, but she just blinked. Good sign. Maybe that kiss wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “How are you feeling?”
Mia took a deep breath. “Better.”
“What happened at the compound?”
“I had some inside information about Rabbel. He’s following the hunt for the queen’s tomb very closely, shadowing each step. He also has a stolen artifact from the tomb that was discovered in Jerusalem.”
“The one that was bombed?”
“You already know about that?”
He nodded. “So you went alone . . . to get this ring?”
“You were busy breaking into the museum.” She cast him a half smile. “And Levy seemed to think it was safe enough.”
“Lousy decision,” he said, trying to keep his voice low.
“Omar—”
“It’s not about being politically correct, Mia. As a woman, the risk is even greater for you.”
Her face flushed. “I can take care of myself.”
“If you call tied up in a storage room, half-dressed, taking care of
yourself.”
“You should have seen the other guy.” Mia’s eyes flashed.
“It makes me sick that anything could have happened to you.” He eyed her, gauging her reaction. She seemed calm enough. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nothing happened,” she said.
He wasn’t sure if he believed her. “Tell me about the ring.”
“I can’t disclose that information.”
“Oh, come on. I won’t tell Levy.”
Mia shook her curls. “This doesn’t have anything to do with him.”
If it doesn’t have anything to do with Levy, then what is it? “I can help you,” he ventured. “I can hire a helicopter and storm another compound in the middle of a desert if that would make a difference.”
A faint smile reached her eyes. “You’ve done . . . more than enough.”
“Or I could kiss you again, but only if it would really help.” He winked at her, but was surprised when her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry,” he said. She was scaring him. He wasn’t used to the vulnerable Mia. “If I knew it would upset you—”
“It’s not that. The ring is very important to someone I care a lot about.”
Omar felt stung. At one time, he’d been important to her. She’d cared about him. And now she refused to share something personal. Mia turned away and looked out the window. The seat belt light turned on just as the plane started to descend.
He didn’t know what to say. But if it was so important to Mia, it would be important to him too. Even if he were hurt in the process. He stared at his hands, thinking. This must be what people mean by selfless love. He blew out a breath of air. Maybe it was time he tried a little of it.
CHAPTER
38
Saba
960 BC
The image of Azhara’s forlorn figure, riding atop a camel, burned itself into Nicaula’s mind. The queen had dressed her sister in a robe of tightly woven flax, dyed indigo. The good-bye at Eloth was brief, but Nicaula had been choked with emotion.
