Finding Sheba (Omar Zagouri Thriller Book 1)

by H. B. Moore

  Now, as her caravan approached Saba, she proceeded with mixed feelings. The story of her marriage to Solomon would have certainly reached her kingdom, as well as news of the expected child.

  She glanced down at her flat abdomen, her hand absently touching the space where no child grew. Or would ever grow. She would live out the remainder of her years as barren as a scorched wheat field. The gods had seen fit to curse her in matters of love. Her sister, Azhara, would be the one to carry on their father’s name.

  “O Queen,” a voice spoke behind her.

  Nicaula reined her camel and turned. Seeing Batal’s face in the moonlight, she longed to share her secret. But would he think she was a coward, a temptress, a deceiver? She couldn’t return to Saba. The people would know of her treachery when no child arrived.

  Batal grew closer, and she suddenly knew what she had to do—if only to protect the name of Solomon and Yahweh. She pulled her camel next to Batal’s horse and reached out her hand.

  His eyes curious, he clasped her hand.

  “I cannot return to Saba,” she whispered. “I will explain later, but we must continue to Ubar.”

  Batal nodded, unquestioning trust in his gaze. Then he turned swiftly from her. He commanded a few men to stay with the queen. The rest were to continue on to Saba with the camels and supplies. The queen would return to her birth land for a brief stay.

  After the caravan separated, Nicaula urged her camel ahead. She was grateful for the darkness so the others couldn’t see her consternation. With Azhara safely in Abyssinia, the only news that would reach Solomon would be about her and her dealings in Ubar. Solomon would never know about Azhara.

  Batal came up next to her and rode in silence for a few moments. “Are you unwell?”

  “My soul is beyond repair.”

  “I cannot believe that, O Queen,” Batal said, his voice soft. “You have the favor of the great king of Jerusalem and carry his royal child.”

  After a brief hesitation, Nicaula made her decision. “I do not carry his child.”

  Batal arched a brow. “Have you lost it? Is that why you are ill?”

  “I am not ill. I never carried his child. I never went to his bed. I never pledged to be his wife.”

  “I saw you marry him . . .”

  “That was Azhara dressed in my clothing.”

  Emotion crisscrossed Batal’s face. “You are not married?”

  “No.”

  He looked ahead, then back to her. “You are not married?”

  “You already asked that.”

  Batal fell into silence. He pulled his horse alongside her camel so that their legs touched. He placed his hand over hers. “Can you claim the child was lost?” His palm was hot against her skin.

  “I have lived this lie too long.” She looked beseechingly into his eyes. “I need your protection, and I will find that only in Ubar. I need to go into hiding until the baby is supposed to be born. Then I will have to fake a tragedy.”

  He squeezed her hand. “We will ride through the night and not stop until you are home.”

  She wanted to throw her arms around him and thank him for not judging her.

  He kept his horse close to her. “Come onto my horse. It’s much faster than your camel, and soon we will leave the city of Jerusalem in your past.”

  Nicaula held on to Batal’s arm and switched over to his horse, sitting in front of him. A servant scurried forward and took the camel’s reins. Batal wrapped his arm about her waist and held her tight. “Aiyah!”

  The horse leapt forward, its hooves thundering through the empty desert. Nicaula leaned against Batal and closed her eyes as the desert wind rushed by. Her headdress loosened until it was lost in the wind, and her hair streamed out behind. What would become of her? Would she have to live as a recluse the rest of her life?

  Through the sand and clay they rode, stopping only for sleep and refreshment. The hours and days passed, and slowly, the distance increased between the queen and Saba.

  When they arrived in central Ubar, it was the middle of the night after the fourth day of traveling. The streets were quiet and the structures dark.

  Batal and the other men led the way to the palace situated on the top of a small hillside. The sleeping guards were startled awake by the approaching group. They bowed in embarrassment and scurried to make preparations. Then several female slaves appeared, quickly lighting a fire and heating water for tea. One approached the queen and removed her outer cloak. A cushion was brought, and Nicaula sank into it, trembling with exhaustion.

  “The bedchamber will be prepared immediately,” one servant said before hurrying away.

  When her chamber was ready, Nicaula rose to her feet, cup of tea in hand, and walked to her rooms. They seemed plainer and smaller than she remembered, but they were delightfully familiar. The oil lamps had been lit and the old coverlet replaced with a new one. The only thing missing was Azhara.

  Nicaula fell onto the bed, kicking off her sandals. Two servants lingered at the entrance, and she waved them away. When the door closed, she hovered between sleep and awareness until, quite completely, she fell headlong into her dreams.

  CHAPTER

  39

  Salalah, Oman

  Omar slammed the door on the Nissan truck after seeing that Mia was settled safely in the passenger seat of the rental. She wanted to make a stop before they went to check on Alem. Then they’d head to Shisur and get ready for Rabbel’s grand entrance. With the information Mia had intercepted from Rabbel, it was clear that he was behind the bombing of the Jerusalem tomb in order to get rid of the evidence that led to the possibility of the queen’s tomb being in Shisur. There was no way he’d let this new opportunity slip through his fingers.

  As Omar walked around to the driver’s side, he scrolled through the latest message from Levy. See you in Shisur.

  Omar smiled to himself, inhaling the warm sea air. I knew he couldn’t stay away. Plus, he probably wants to stake his territory with Mia again. Ever since the kiss in the helicopter, Omar had renewed hope, and being in this beautiful coastal town wouldn’t hurt. Not that Mia had exactly warmed up to him, but at least she hadn’t slugged him in the last hour. Progress.

  “So where are we going?” he asked as he hopped into the truck.

  “I’ll tell you where to turn,” Mia said.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  Mia had practically hobbled through the airport to the rental-car desk. “It’s my job.”

  He grimaced. She could be such a pain when she wanted. “So who’s the lucky guy?”

  “The who?”

  “You know, the guy who gets the ring?”

  She lifted a shoulder, keeping quiet.

  Great. This day just keeps getting longer. His head started a dull throb, and he grabbed a couple of aspirin from his bag and swallowed them dry.

  He ignored the pain as he drove through the winding streets of the city with Mia navigating, seeming to know her way quite well. When she told him to pull over, he took in his surroundings—they had stopped in a very nice neighborhood. The streets were wide and quiet, bordered by mature palms, and behind the three-meter walls of the properties sat large compounds built for wealthy families.

  Popping her door open, Mia said, “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  “No, you don’t.” He grabbed her arm. “I’m going with you.”

  “Sorry.” She tugged from his grasp. “I have to do this alone.”

  “The last time you did something alone—”

  “Twenty minutes. Then you can call in the forces.”

  “At least tell me the house number.”

  Reluctantly she said, “Three forty-one.” Mia pulled a scarf over her head and melted into the neighborhood, looking like just another Omani woman going about her errands.

  Omar wai
ted as long as he could stand it, which amounted to three minutes. He’d be an idiot to let Mia walk into some snake pit alone—even if the snakes were of the harmless garden variety.

  He climbed out of the truck. He walked quickly, but not too fast, keeping his nose buried in a newspaper. He passed a tall metal gate, and a casual glance confirmed his earlier assumption—large homes built for the rich.

  The street ran on an incline, and soon Omar’s calves burned. Been sitting on my rear too long; need another good chase through the streets, he thought as he looked for 341.

  He slowed his pace when he reached the house. But instead of stopping at 341, he found a rock under a nearby bush and continued to the next estate. He opened the security box in front of the neighboring house and used the rock to smash the inside panel.

  Although the alarm was silent on the outside, it certainly sounded throughout the house on the other side of the gate. He hurried to 341 and hid in the bushes, knowing that any good neighbor would help a friend in need.

  Seven minutes later, sirens blared from all sides, and three police cars pulled up and screeched to a stop. The women and children in the other house ran to the gate. Omar stayed in position until he saw a person emerge from 341.

  Perfect.

  The man who looked like a butler approached the gate, chewing something and wiping his bushy mustache with a cloth napkin. He withdrew a key from his pocket and unlocked the large metal divider. Omar watched him rush to the neighbors and speak to the police. At that instant, Omar rose from the bushes and walked through the gate in plain view of everyone.

  He figured he had at least ten minutes to locate Mia and get out of the neighborhood. He walked around the boxy house, staying close to the foliage, when he saw the servants’ entrance. Moving through the door, he paused.

  Mia’s voice came from somewhere inside the house.

  He inched down the long hallway, careful to keep his footsteps on the Turkish carpets silent. He stopped in front of a closed set of double doors.

  Mia’s voice was clear now. “No. That was not the arrangement.”

  The hairs on the back of Omar’s neck stood.

  A male voice said, “This deal is no good. I can pay right now—no paperwork, and here’s extra for the personal delivery.”

  Mia uttered a small yelp, and something crashed to the floor.

  Omar pushed against the doors, but they were locked. “Open the door!”

  Silence.

  He aimed his pistol at the door and cocked it just as the door swung open. Mia’s flushed face stared at him.

  Omar lowered the gun. “Are you all right?” He moved forward as she backed away.

  “I told you to wait in the truck,” she hissed. Behind her, a chair was tipped over.

  Then a hand snaked around her shoulder, and a face came into view. A heavyset man with slicked-back hair placed his cheek against Mia’s head. His mustache was long and droopy, as if he’d oiled it into place.

  For the second time, Omar nearly pulled the trigger. “Get your hands off her,” he growled.

  The man laughed, deep and rich. “Who’s this boy you bring to my home? One of your pets?”

  “He’s leaving now.” Mia pointed toward the door and jerked her head to the side.

  Then Omar realized why the man looked so familiar. He was the director of GOAMM, none other than Abdallah Saleh al-Qadi himself. His picture had been in the PDF file, and he couldn’t keep his hands off Mia.

  Omar tamped down his anger at al-Qadi’s liberties with Mia.

  “Al-Qadi is one of us, then?” Omar asked, his gaze searing into his former girlfriend. He wasn’t sure what game she was playing with al-Qadi, but he’d protect her no matter what it took.

  “You need to leave,” she said, her voice clipped.

  Omar looked between the two. “Are you sure we can trust him?”

  Al-Qadi laughed. “She just brought me the ring, which is a very generous gift.” He placed his hands on Mia’s shoulders possessively, his eyes greedy. He wiggled his middle finger, and Omar noticed the heavy metal ring on it. “Just trying it on for size before I have to put it in the museum.” He winked at Mia.

  Omar stared at the ring. He’d seen it before. No, it wasn’t the ring itself that he’d seen. He moved closer, ignoring Mia’s death-wish glare directed at him. The ring had a design—a snake intertwined with a flower.

  The symbol from the sketch . . . the tomb. Then it hit him. Mia’s tattoo. She’d had it done just before their breakup. Her tattoo matched the design on the ring.

  Omar raised his gun again, aiming at the director. Something was terribly wrong. Either Mia had completely lied to him, or he was in the worst nightmare imaginable. “Hand over the ring.”

  “Knock it off,” Mia said. “You’re making a very big mistake.”

  Omar kept the gun leveled at al-Qadi.

  Mia didn’t relinquish her position. In fact, she leaned against the man, seeming to take comfort in his closeness. After a couple of tense seconds staring down Omar, Mia turned her face toward the well-oiled director and pushed her lips into a pout. “Maybe we could let him have a look, sweetie.”

  The director’s face softened as he smiled at her. “Only if he puts that thing down.”

  Mia glared at Omar. “Put the gun down.” Then she looked at al-Qadi with a puppy-dog gaze, her hand caressing the back of his neck. “Sorry. He’s just ornery.”

  The director’s reserve melted. He twisted the ring off and walked to Omar, placing it in his hand.

  Omar fingered the weight of the object. So this was the artifact in the mysterious package. “Where’d you get it?”

  Mia sighed with exasperation. “Shisur, of course. I ‘borrowed’ it from the tomb that was just discovered. When it hits the media, it will be big news.”

  Relief flooded through Omar as he clued into Mia’s lie. The ring wasn’t from Shisur, although he didn’t know where it had come from. She was playing this guy, or at least playing at something.

  The director laughed—a big belly laugh. “Borrow. You’re funny.”

  “I just wanted to show it to my sweetie before I take it to San’ā,” she said, playfully nudging the director. She blinked her long lashes at him. “Remember when I told you about my crazy half brother?”

  He flushed with pleasure and smiled, revealing a couple of gold teeth. “Of course.” He turned to Omar and held out a beefy hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Disgust and anger pulsing through him, Omar managed to shake the man’s moist hand. He itched to pile drive the guy. Whatever game Mia was playing, he couldn’t wait to find out.

  Mia swatted the director on the arm. “We’d better get back before someone notices it missing.” She kissed his cheek, and when he leaned in for more, Mia pulled away. “Another time, perhaps?”

  “I’ll be waiting here.” He gave a greasy smile.

  She took the ring from Omar, waved at al-Qadi, then linked arms with Omar and practically dragged him from the room.

  He followed Mia out of the front entrance, with one last look behind at the massive pillars framing the wide porch. Police lights from the neighbors’ reflected off the outside garden wall. Mia put on her scarf and walked briskly to the gates, ignoring everyone.

  Once they passed the commotion of the police at the neighboring house, Omar started in. “What was that all about?”

  “I had to show him the ring so that he thinks I’m working for AWP.”

  “He’s a snake.” The skin around his neck still boiled at the affection she’d shown him. He kept his voice calm as he asked, “Do you think he believed the ring was found in Shisur?”

  Mia shrugged. “I’m not sure. I mean, how can one person ever truly trust another?” She cast him a glance. “You could know someone for months, years, and still not really know each other.”

&n
bsp; Omar knew she was no longer talking about the ring or al-Qadi.

  They arrived at the truck, and she said, “I’m driving.” She climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  Omar flung the passenger door open and jumped in just as she pressed the accelerator. The truck lurched forward before he could get the door shut.

  “I never lied to you,” Omar said. “I never hid anything from you.”

  Mia tossed the ring into his lap. “Take the stupid thing. It’s just a fake.”

  “A fake? I risked my life for a fake?”

  “If you want to see it that way,” Mia said. “It’s not really from Shisur, but it’s a replica of a ring found at the tomb in northern Jerusalem. The real one is in protective custody.”

  “You’re running this operation completely backward, Mia.” Omar could barely keep his voice steady as anger surged through him. “Keeping me in the dark has nearly gotten us killed, twice. I’m sure Levy would be happy to write me off, but I’d hope that you of all people might have some compassion for the value of human life.”

  Mia looked away, blinking her eyes rapidly. “Levy doesn’t want you to get any credit.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Omar said. “But I don’t care about him or his plans. I need to finish what I started one way or another. There’s more than just us involved now.”

  “I know,” Mia said in a quiet voice. “And . . . you’re right.”

  There was no satisfaction for having won the argument. The tension between them had dissipated, and for the moment, Omar believed they were at least on the same page now. He examined the ring again. “This is the emblem of the queen of Sheba. That would prove—”

  “Yes, it will,” Mia said. “But not yet. Please, be patient.”

  He thumped the back of his head against the seat. “I’m trying to. But why is the same emblem on your ankle? You had that tattooed before the Jerusalem tomb was discovered.”

  She maneuvered the truck into another lane. “It’s a long story.”

  Omar folded his arms. “Try me.”

  She hesitated, and Omar groaned. “You’re driving me insane. Forget our undercover work, forget that we ever dated, forget Levy, al-Qadi, and whoever else . . . If we haven’t been through enough together to warrant a little friendship and trust, I’ll get out right now. You won’t have to hear from me again. Take your fake ring and your secrets—I’ve had enough.”