A Sulta's Ransom

by White, Loreth Anne

  The policeman lowered his voice. “I repeat, what are you doing off the road at this time of night?”

  “We were visiting our relatives. They have taken their animals out to graze in the Jiza’an valley, on the stubble of the wheat harvest. We are heading home now.” He covered Paige more assertively with his body as he spoke. She leaned into him, taking refuge in his confidence.

  “We are late because my wife took ill, sir. We had to rest during the heat of the day.” He hesitated, carefully timing his beats for effect. “She is with child, sir.”

  The man shone the flashlight into her face.

  Breathe, Paige. Breathe.

  “In the name of the Sultan, why is she not properly veiled?” he demanded.

  “She will be, sir. As I said, she took ill, and her chador, it is unfortunately badly soiled. We have the correct clothing at home. Please, in the name of the Sultan, forgive us this transgression. It is another reason we travel in the dark, out of sight from those who may take offense.”

  The soldier walked slowly around the camel checking their gear, probably seeing what he could steal if he arrested them. A radio crackled up in one of the jeeps. The soldier paused. One of the soldiers turned the volume up. Paige could make out a few of the words—something about a vehicle explosion at the Nexus compound, a woman scientist dying.

  Nexus officials must have informed the Command. The sultan kept meticulous track of the names and numbers of employees at the American base, and he only tolerated the corporation’s presence in his country because of the massive financial donations paid annually into his coffers. He’d also made it absolutely clear that all Nexus employees would be subject to all Hamnian laws off the base. Her heart jackhammered and she clutched her scarf tighter over her face. Would they look at her more closely now?

  The radio crackled again, and the men at the jeeps started to talk excitedly. This was probably the best action they’d seen all week.

  The soldier handed the papers back and slapped the camel’s rump hard. “Go!” The beast lurched sideways and serpentined its neck around in an effort to bite the soldier. Her assailant held it expertly. Paige had no doubt that if he allowed his camel to injure a member of the Land Command, they’d be dead in an instant.

  Her captor clucked his tongue, nudged the camel gently, calmly, with his heels, and they moved away into the dark as the men scrambled into the jeeps and fired the engines.

  Paige exhaled sharply and slumped back against her captor’s chest, unable to hold herself erect anymore. Her heart was still racing. The sound of blood rushing filled her ears. She tried to calm herself, drawing comfort from the smooth, solid movement of his body against hers. And again the irony hit her.

  He’d untied her hands, but it made no difference. She was bound to him. She was his prisoner in this land, unable to move without him and his travel papers.

  And he knew it.

  The sound of the jeep engines gradually faded miles into the distance and the vast desert hush enveloped them. It was just the two of them now, an unlikely couple, alone in the night, strangely bonded by the certain death they’d just managed to escape.

  They continued to travel in uneasy silence, along the straight desert road toward the ancient walled city of Na’jif. Paige could see it in the distance now—a great dark mass of shadow looming up out of the flat sands. And behind it, the violet light of dawn was beginning to seep into the sky as the sun rose somewhere behind the jagged peaks of the Asir Mountains.

  Paige knew that behind that range lay the Rub Al-Khali, the vast Saudi Arabian desert. It was a place no one would find her—even if she did manage to make it over the mountains and across the border. Even if anyone did come looking for her.

  Her only hope of survival right now was to stick with this man. And the more she could find out about him, the better.

  Know thy enemy, Paige. Just like you have to understand your pathogens in order to control them, manipulate them, outsmart them.

  “Is…is that really your name?” she asked softly. “Quasim Rashid? Are you Bedouin?”

  “You understood what we were saying?” She heard the surprise in his tone.

  “Yes, I speak Arabic.”

  He remained silent for a while. Something about his demeanor had changed after the interaction with the Land Command. It wasn’t that he seemed less arrogant. But he did seem pensive, a little quieter in his movements. Almost brooding. She knew it had to kill him—a soldier of the Silent Revolution—submitting to the sultan’s men like that. A part of her actually admired him for the way he’d handled it. Another part was simply thankful he’d gotten her through the roadblock alive. But that didn’t change the fact she was still his captive.

  “No,” he said finally. “My name is not Quasim. It’s Rafiq Zayed. I’m a professional soldier with the Force du Sable. It’s a private military company based on São Diogo Island, off the coast of Angola.”

  Her brows shot up. “You’re a mercenary?”

  He said nothing.

  “What…what do you want with me? Who has hired you?”

  “I told you what I want, Paige.”

  She swallowed. She needed to look into his eyes, see if he was telling the truth, but this intimate saddle arrangement made that impossible. She stared instead at the looming silhouette of the walled city slowly taking shape in the distance as dawn lightened the sky.

  So he had a name. But was it real?

  This man spoke the Hamnian dialect perfectly, and his accent held all the complex nuances of the local tongue. It was not an easy lingo to come by—the country had been closed to outsiders for decades.

  It was also virtually impossible to enter the country and move around without authorized papers. Foreigners were not welcome. Tourists were banned. And Hamnian travel papers would not be easy to forge unless you had access to the documents.

  This man carried travel papers that passed inspection. He knew where he was going, even in the night. He knew camels, and he knew just how to speak to the Land Command.

  And then there was the tattoo on his cheek.

  Rafiq Zayed was a local, she was sure of it. And if he was a member of the Hamnian underground, it meant his fight, too, was local. If he wanted her work, it had to be for the revolution.

  She could sympathize with that. Anyone who had the courage to try and overthrow the Scarred Sultan was okay in her book.

  But her work had not been designed as a weapon, no matter the cause. In the wrong hands, her pathogens could launch a global pandemic. She was already gravely concerned by what she’d discovered in that vial.

  Besides, how did he know what she was working on? Was there a spy within Nexus? And what did all of this have to do with a private military company off the coast of Angola, if in fact, that was the truth.

  She had to keep him talking. She had to learn more. She needed to figure out what exactly he wanted of her. Then maybe she could negotiate.

  “Force du Sable—that’s a French name. Is it a French company that you work for?”

  He said nothing, just swayed gently with the camel, his body, his groin, rocking against her in an undeniably sensual rhythm. She tried to push it from her mind and cleared her throat. “São Diogo Island was…it was not originally a French colony, was it?” She tried to speak normally but her voice felt thick. He had to know that she was feeling his arousal. He was probably enjoying it, damn him. “It’s…Portuguese, isn’t it?” She tried to clear her throat again. “Like Angola?”

  “You know your geography. I’m impressed.” His voice was laden with sensual undertones and guttural r’s that rolled beautifully somewhere low down in his throat. It was the kind of throaty accent that made something hot slide down her spine.

  Paige closed her eyes, trying to get a grip on herself. “You don’t sound French or Portuguese,” she said more firmly. “You sound Hamnian. You look Hamnian. You are Hamnian, aren’t you?”

  His body tensed sharply, his thighs tightening along her le
gs. A shock of sexual awareness speared through her body. Paige caught her breath in surprise.

  But he remained silent. He wasn’t going to take the bait.

  She took a very deep breath, steadied herself. “So…what’s with the French, then? How come the French name for a mercenary organization based in Portuguese Africa?”

  “Are you always so persistent with the questions, Doctor?”

  “Maybe I’d just like to know who kidnapped me and why,” she snapped in exasperation.

  “I have nothing to hide, Paige,” he said slowly in that throaty accent. “I used to be with the French Foreign Legion. I served my five-year contract with the organization, and I made some very close friends there—people I will die for to this day. We got together after we left, and we formed the FDS. That was 10 years ago.” He paused. “And you already know what I want from you, Paige.”

  She could feel what he wanted, at least one level. The evidence was pressing firmly into her body this very minute.

  “No, dammit, I don’t!” She tried to squirm forward in the saddle, frustration and her own reaction to his proximity getting the better of her. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I know nothing about a bioweapon!”

  There was another long stretch of silence. Oppressive. He was goading her, she was sure. She breathed slowly, straining to recapture her customary calm. If she could do it in the hot zone of her lab, then she could do it in the desert, she told herself. She would never match this guy in strength. Her best weapons were going to be her brain and her ability to stay cool. Lose those, and she had nothing.

  “Okay,” she said calmly. “Can you at least tell me who hired you?”

  “The president of the United States.”

  Her brain reeled. The sun exploded over the ridge of purple mountains and rippled over the sand toward them, the yellow light instantly hot against her face.

  She laughed nervously. “Yeah, right.”

  But he said nothing.

  Was he serious?

  Paige’s stomach felt suddenly hollow. “That’s…that’s not possible.”

  Still he said nothing.

  “I…I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care what you believe, Dr. Sterling. I just care to get my job done.”

  President John Elliot? She gripped the saddle horn with both hands, feeling suddenly unsteady. How could it be possible?

  How could the president of the United States know what she was working on? And even if he did, even if he thought she’d manufactured a bioweapon and antidote, why on earth would he hire foreign mercenaries to come and get her?

  The president didn’t hire mercs. He used the CIA, covert agents—not a private security company. This man was lying. He had to be. He was a local rebel. He probably had nothing to do with the United States. He was trying to con her for some reason.

  Then she thought again of the vial she’d taken from Quadrant 3, of the infected human brain she’d seen under her microscope. The word bioweapon hung like a sword over her consciousness. And dread began to circle her heart.

  What if her pathogen really had somehow been turned into a weapon and tested in the Congo? Horror rose through her chest, closed around her windpipe.

  Paige tried to swallow against it. “So…why…why would the president hire a private military company? What was wrong with all the other mechanisms available to him?”

  “He’s being held hostage, Paige.”

  “The president? By who?”

  “I think you know this already.”

  She closed her eyes, trying to staunch the nausea riding up through her chest. “I told you, Rafiq, I don’t know anything. I do medical research and development for Nexus. I do not create weapons. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He exhaled slowly behind her. She could feel his breath warm against her neck. She kept her eyes closed.

  “President Elliot is being held hostage in the White House by a group that calls itself simply the Cabal. Over the last thirty years this organization has managed to infiltrate the most influential levels of the United States government, the private sector, and the military—even the Secret Service. The very system designed to protect the president is now holding him captive. If he so much as even thinks of turning to one of the traditional agencies available to him for help, your pathogen will be released instantly over New York, Los Angeles and Chicago.”

  Paige opened her eyes and blinked into hot light that now bounced sharply off miles of sand. “Why?” Her voice came out hoarse. “Why is he being held hostage?”

  “The Cabal wants the president to step down by midnight October 13—eleven days from now—and hand his leadership over to Vice President Grayson Forbes. If he doesn’t—”

  “They will release my pathogen?”

  “Correct.”

  “What about the vice president, what does he have to do with this?”

  “Forbes is a member of the Cabal. If Elliot hands the presidency to him, they will have successfully staged a coup of one of the most powerful countries in the world.” He paused. “The FDS cannot let that happen. We have been hired to stop them. And to do it, we need to know more about your pathogen. And we need that antidote.”

  Oh, God, this was a bad dream. It had to be. She’d wake up. “Who…who is behind this Cabal?”

  “I was kind of hoping you’d tell me, Doctor.”

  She swung round in the tight saddle, almost dislodging herself, but she managed to keep her body twisted around to face his, her breasts brushing uncomfortably against his chest. “You have got to believe me. I have nothing to do with this!”

  His black eyes narrowed and bored down into hers. A small muscle pulsed under his tattoo. His mouth—wide, sculpted—was so close to hers. He leaned forward, his lips almost touching hers. “You have everything to do with this, Doctor,” he whispered. “You created this bioweapon. You work for a Cabal-controlled corporation—”

  “I know nothing about this Cabal! I work for Nexus—”

  “Like I said, a Cabal-controlled corporation.”

  “Nexus?”

  His eyes watched hers, dark, intent, intimidating.

  “I…I do research and development for the creation of medicines…” Her voice trailed off as she thought of Q3, of what she’d seen under her microscope. Perspiration pricked her skin. “I…I never weaponized anything.”

  He snorted harshly. “What exactly did you think you were doing in a secret offshore lab in a country like Hamn? Making medicine? That’s a laugh.”

  Panic nipped at her. “Damn you! Stop! Stop this camel. Listen to me.”

  His eyes glinted mischievously, and he nudged the camel forward even faster, almost throwing her.

  Damn this man to hell!

  She flung her hand back, gripped the horn behind her, trying to steady herself, but she kept her body twisted awkwardly to face his, her breasts bumping against his chest as they moved. She had to see his eyes. “If what you are saying is true, if my pathogen is being used in this way, someone else has weaponized it. Don’t you see? I’ve been used, dammit! My work has been stolen.” She was shaking now. All she could think of was how her prion pathogens affected bonobos—how the primates went demented within hours, started attacking each other…biting, ripping even their own skin, killing their mates, injuring their young. By affecting the brain, the disease drove its hosts to spread the pathogen through blood and saliva and open wounds…before the hosts died a horrible, messy death within mere days. If this turned up in humans…in places as densely populated as Los Angeles, New York, Chicago…

  Oh God, what had she done?

  “We…we cannot let this happen!”

  His thick black brows hooked up in surprise, and he slowed his animal instantly. “We?”

  “That’s right, we have to stop this, Rafiq. That pathogen will spread like wildfire through those cities. This is the worst kind of terror—”

  “Which is why we need that antidote, Doctor.”r />
  Paige searched his liquid black eyes, looking for a sign of emotion, some hint that would tell her he was lying. But his expression remained unchanged, his eyes steady. Her heart sank.

  She shifted slowly around in the saddle, and she stared over the camel’s ears at Na’jif, sunlight glinting off gold minarets that rose high above the ancient city’s fortifications, her black skirt beginning to feel heavy and hot.

  How could she tell him there wasn’t an antidote—not one that had been tested on humans, anyway.

  A wave of nausea churned through her. Dizziness spiraled her brain. “Please stop this camel!” she said quietly. “I…I…I’m going to be sick.”

  He reined the beast in and she slid immediately down from the saddle, misjudging the height and falling into a heap on the hot sand. She scrambled to her feet, took a few steps away from him, and clutched her arms over her stomach. She stared over dunes that undulated in an unending ocean of yellows and golds and browns all the way to a blinding horizon. She couldn’t run; there was nowhere to go. Her stomach heaved violently. She bent over, clutched tighter.

  She didn’t want to hear anymore.

  She simply could not absorb the scope of what he was saying. It didn’t make any sense. Could Nexus really be making bioweapons, using the other quadrants as fronts—or just using the research of innocent scientists like herself?

  Had they illegally tested her pathogens on innocent people?

  Had she been a pawn all this time? Could she really have been this naive for not having seen or suspected something?

  Another wave of nausea rode hard through her body. She gripped her stomach again and heaved. Her muscles cramped in pain, but nothing came up. She caught her breath, stood slowly, waited until her head felt a little more steady.

  What if it was all a lie? What if the Silent Revolution did have an informant at the Nexus compound? What if they wanted to use her pathogen to attack the sultan and his army? That could be why they needed the antidote. They might want to contain a biological attack. It could be done, if they were properly prepared. There would still be casualties, but…