A Sulta's Ransom

by White, Loreth Anne

  Her stomach rumbled again. She placed her hand over it, moved over to the chaise lounge, sat gingerly on the end. She watched him put bits and pieces of equipment together and noted in some distant part of her brain that he had strong, eloquent fingers. He tweaked a few dials and static suddenly crackled. Her heart skipped a beat.

  They were now linked to the rest of the world. She leaned closer, trying to see exactly what he was doing.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Paige jerked back in shock as Rafiq lurched to his feet, grabbing his black headcloth and flinging it over his face in one deft movement, leaving only his eyes and tattoo exposed. He fished the key from his tunic pocket. “Stay there,” he barked as he strode to the entrance area. She heard the key slot into the door, and the creak of iron hinges as it opened.

  She heard a female voice. Then a woman, old and bent, carrying a tray of food tried to enter around the side of the trellis. Rafiq muttered something and took the tray from her, not permitting her to come into the courtyard area. The woman tried to peer round him, overtly curious about the foreign female visitor in his quarters. Paige noticed she was nervously fingering a locket that dangled from a chain at her waist.

  The three women who did the laundry at the Nexus residential compound carried lockets like that. Theirs held blurry replicas of an old photograph of the young true sultan taken shortly before he’d fled Hamn more than fifteen years ago.

  They’d shown their lockets to Paige in confidence after she’d been friendly with them for nearly two years. They’d told her in hushed and reverent tones that the real king would one day return to save them from the oppressive rule of the Scarred Sultan. They said many women in their villages hid lockets like this under their chadors. It was a risk because images of the young heir had been outlawed. But those images were also a symbol of hope.

  It was strange what hope could do to people, because there was no way their true king was coming to save them. He was dead and buried.

  Yet somehow they still believed, their story and their hero growing to mythical proportions over the years.

  Paige wondered if this woman’s locket held a similar grainy image, if she clung to the same dream. She guessed she did.

  Paige heard the door close, and she heard him lock it. He came round the trellis carrying the tray. It held a bowl of red grapes, two tall glasses of mint tea, flatbreads, shaved lamb, and a bowl of yogurt sauce. Her mouth began to water.

  He set the food on the glass-topped table in front of her before tossing off his turban again. She watched him slip the key back into his tunic pocket as she reached for the bunch of grapes. She plucked several off and popped them into her mouth.

  She closed her eyes, crushing them with her teeth. Sweet juice cooled her throat. Oh God, these were good. She opened her eyes, reached for more, and felt him watching.

  She stilled, lifted her eyes slowly to his. Her heart began to race.

  Could this be her ticket out of Hamn, to staying alive? She studied his eyes, trying to read him, her body growing warm under his scrutiny. He might be sexually attracted to her, but somehow she doubted he’d allow himself to be manipulated that way.

  And it was not her style—she wasn’t sure if she could pull it off. She was physically attracted to him herself. Engaging him would be like touching fire; she might not be able to control the blaze.

  She looked away, at the grapes, suddenly nervous. “Would…would you like some?” She picked up the bowl, held it out to him. “They really are good.”

  A muscle twitched along his mouth. “I’m sure they are,” he said darkly.

  Heat flushed her skin. She had to change the subject. Fast.

  Paige cleared her throat, set the grapes very carefully back on the glass table. “You obviously trust them.”

  “Who?” His voice was husky, sending a shiver down her spine.

  She swallowed, tried to focus on something other than his mouth. “The…the carpet dealer, and that woman. You let them see your tattoo. You’re a rebel and you don’t mind flaunting it to them.”

  “The tattoo washes off,” he said brusquely and stalked back to the desk.

  “What?”

  “I said it washes off.” He sat at the desk, his back to her, began to fiddle with his equipment.

  “So you’re faking it? It’s just part of your cover?”

  He said nothing.

  Her brain reeled.

  Know your enemy, Paige. Knowledge is power.

  “Why…why would you pretend allegiance to the Silent Revolution?” she asked.

  “Paige,” he muttered as he untwisted wires, “don’t you ever stop with the questions?”

  Irritation spiked in her. “I wouldn’t have to ask if you were up front with me.”

  He ignored her.

  She grabbed another handful of grapes, stuffed them into her mouth as she poked at possible explanations. How would posing as a rebel serve a foreign mercenary, if that’s really what he was? Obviously he wanted to avail himself of the underground network. It was virtually impossible for a foreigner to get into Hamn, let alone move through the country undetected, without being protected by the network. That could explain how he got the fake papers, how he managed to secure a camel, rent this place. He would not have been able to do it without some kind of local help.

  “So you’re using them.”

  He turned slowly in his chair, narrowed his focus on her. “That’s right.” She heard a warning in his voice.

  Paige thought of the hope in the eyes of the women at the compound. “What did you tell them?”

  “That I’m a returning exile, that I have access to funding and offshore contacts willing to supply weapons to their rebellion.”

  “You’re giving them false hope?”

  His brows lowered. “What’s it to you?”

  “Do you even begin to understand the depth and desperation of these people, Rafiq? Do you know how many years they’ve waited for a sign, for the return of their rightful king?”

  He clenched his fists and stood so fast that his chair crashed back onto the tiles.

  Paige shrank back in shock.

  What was this? Had she just found an emotional chink in the mercenary’s armor?

  He walked slowly toward her, fire burning in his black eyes. He crouched down at her feet, lowering his eyes to her level. Hot energy rode off him in waves.

  “How can an American scientist living on a guarded American compound know all this?”

  She was nervous but met his glare head-on. The air crackled between them. A horn sounded down in the street. Lute music wafted in from a rooftop nearby.

  She leaned slightly forward, heart thudding, and she spoke low and soft. “I know this, Rafiq, because I got to know the local people who worked on the compound. I’ve lived there for five years, and during that time I got to know the women who washed our clothes, cooked our food and dreamed of freedom. I got to know them so well, that they opened up to me, taught me their language. And they told me of their dream. I understand that dream, Rafiq, better than a hired mercenary ever could. You not only betray these people with your deceit, you endanger their lives.”

  Pain twisted through his features so fleetingly she thought she might have imagined it. He jerked back to his feet, glared down at her.

  “This mission is bigger than Hamn,” he snapped. “The entire world will suffer if the Cabal topples the U.S. government. These guys are imperialistic capitalists. If they take control of the White House they will kill democracy. They will launch an era of aggressive expansionism designed to bolster their global assets, and they will use weapons like those created in your lab, Paige.”

  He paused, his eyes searing hers. “This is bigger than you. Or me. Or some Hamnian legend. This, Paige, is quite literally about saving the world.”

  She’d unleashed something in him, a mad kind of passion she couldn’t quite fathom. She wondered just how far she could push him, and what she might learn if she did
.

  “You might want to save the world, Rafiq, but these people know little about that world. All they want is to save themselves. All they want is a future without Sadiq. And their underground network is fragile. If they’re under the misguided belief you have brought support and weapons, they may become bold. You might force them to tip their hand. A breach like this could kill them.”

  She looked up at him, trying to hold herself steady in spite of her thumping heart, in spite of the ferocity crackling in his eyes. “I’m sure they’d kill to prevent that, Rafiq. I’m sure they’d hate to find out you’re a fraud.”

  He stared at her, his eyes dark, unreadable. “Is that a threat, Doctor?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  And yes, a threat.

  Paige finally had a bargaining tool, and damned if she wasn’t going to use it.

  Chapter 5

  11:00 Charlie, Na’jif, Thursday, October 2

  Rafiq’s eyes glittered with anger. “You—” he pointed his finger at her face “—have no right to judge me. You are the one who created this diabolical disease. You’re the one who works for a Cabal corporation.”

  “That’s not—”

  He raised his hands. “Don’t even begin to try and tell me that you had no idea what you were doing sitting in that guarded compound. It’s a lab built on foreign soil, specifically to avoid U.S. legislation. You work for a corporation that pays hefty fees to the sultan—fees he uses to bolster his corrupt regime. You—” he wagged his index finger at her “—you are the one destroying dreams in Hamn, Paige. You are the one betraying your own country.”

  She lurched to her feet. “I am not! I told you I knew nothing about this alleged Cabal. I took the job at Nexus to do research and development—to develop cures so that the world will be ready when the next big epidemic hits. That’s the Nexus mandate. And believe me, if we’re sitting there manipulating the DNA of viruses, you can bet the enemy is, too. And what would you rather do? Sit around and wait until they release the next pandemic, or rely on a company like Nexus that has done all kinds of preemptive research and has vaccines?”

  “That it sells for massive profit to desperate governments through its pharmaceutical subsidiaries?”

  “So what? The whole damn pharmaceutical industry operates that way. And the reason we do the work in places like Hamn is because we can’t do it back home. Our research makes people uncomfortable.” She took a step toward him. “Steel can be used to make both plowshares and swords, Rafiq. The diseases we create at Nexus are not dangerous. It’s not the steel that’s dangerous. It’s the intent.” She looked pointedly at his sheathed scimitar. “And if someone comes at you with a sword, you’re going to be damn thankful you have one in your arsenal to fight back with.”

  His eyes drilled into hers. “You honestly believe this?”

  She hesitated. Right now she really wasn’t sure of anything anymore. “I used to.”

  She tried to look away but he gripped her jaw, forced her to look into his eyes. Fear rippled through her, and her eyes began to water.

  Then he suddenly released her, spun round and strode to the edge of the parapet.

  Paige felt her body slump. She told herself it was exhaustion, stress, but in spite of her show of bravado, he’d defeated her. In a few hours, this man had managed to shatter her notion of who she was, and what she did as a scientist.

  And suddenly she felt lost.

  Paige made her way shakily back to the chaise lounge. She sat, watching him stalk along the parapet.

  Rafiq stopped and stared out over the city he’d once loved so much.

  His nails bit into his palms. Who the hell did Paige Sterling think she was, anyway? How could she profess to care so much about his people, implying she cared more than he did, or could.

  Hell, maybe she did.

  The only reason he’d come back was because his hand had been forced. And now that he was here, guilt sliced into him like a scimitar, and it fueled the flame he hadn’t realized still burned so fiercely in him.

  He paced along the parapet, feeling her questioning eyes on his back, feeling the intense heat of direct sun on his head. Dr. Paige Sterling wasn’t supposed to have righteous moral beliefs about her work. He hadn’t anticipated this aspect of her personality when he’d seen her image and read her file in the FDS situation room.

  He hadn’t really bothered thinking about her at all. He wasn’t supposed to have engaged her in any way.

  And now here she was lecturing him about his own people.

  God, he even respected her for it. She hadn’t just been sitting in that ivory tower of a lab; she’d been out there, feet in the sand, getting to know the locals, learning the dialect. And if she really was telling the truth, if she was being used, he was obligated to go easy on her. To keep her safe.

  Yet he was furious with her for slamming him in the face with what he’d chosen to ignore for the last fifteen years. Because now he couldn’t look away anymore. Now he was obligated to do something for his people

  And he couldn’t. His hands were tied.

  He had to fulfill this mission or put millions of innocent lives at risk.

  He stopped pacing, raked his hands through his hair. He couldn’t afford to think about Paige or Hamn now—there was work to be done. And he was going to do it.

  Rafiq stalked back to the desk and began to jab at the keyboard. He hit the Enter key and the satellite radio crackled to life. He hit another sequence of keys, ensuring encryption. A voice transcended distance. “Sauvage ici.”

  “C’est Rafiq.”

  “Zayed, are we in?”

  He pressed another series of keys, hit Enter. “Yeah, we’re in.”

  There was moment of silence as the satellite feed locked onto its target from the FDS base on São Diogo Island off the coast of Africa.

  “Bien. I see the screen now. I’ll get December and his crew started on the download ASAP. We’ll know within 24 hours how long the process will take. It’s going to depend on the encryption and pass codes, but we can start analyzing the data as soon as it begins to come through.”

  Rafiq glanced sideways at Paige. “There is just one other thing.”

  “What?”

  “I have the doctor.”

  “What!”

  “She was working in the lab and saw me. I couldn’t leave her.”

  “What about the Cabal? Why haven’t they reacted to her disappearance?”

  “Made it look like she had an accident. Brake failure—car over the cliff.”

  “They won’t find a body.”

  “The water off those cliffs is notoriously deep and full of hammerheads, and the currents swift. Even if there was a body, and even if they went looking, it might never be found under the circumstances. I think it’ll hold.”

  Silence stretched. “We use her, then. She can help with access codes. It could speed the process considerably. I’ll let you know what the techs need from her.” He paused. “Do what it takes to get the information from her.”

  Rafiq signed off with an irritable jab at the keyboard and consulted his watch. All he could do right now was sit here, couped up in this apartment with Paige, watching the clock tick down on a global threat of incomprehensible proportion.

  Waiting did not sit easy with Rafiq.

  He sucked air in slowly, and he turned his thoughts beyond the download, to getting out of Hamn.

  If he was going to take Paige with him, she would need a regulation chador. And they’d need another camel, more supplies.

  He looked at her.

  She’d removed her hijab, and her hair lay smooth, like pale moonlight, on her shoulders. Her eyes were fixed on him as she ate bread dipped in yogurt. She really was very attractive, in a cool and unattainable way. And too damn smart for her own good, with a mouth to match. Beauty, brains and a whole lot of pain in the ass, that’s what she was.

  He stood, strode over to the table in front of her, picked up a glass of tea. As he b
rought the glass to his lips he caught sight of the bloody nick on her neck, the skin going red around it. His hand froze mid-air.

  He’d done that to her.

  A sick sensation sunk through him. He took a deep drink and plunked his glass back on the table. “Finish your food,” he said, more brusquely than he needed to. “We’re going to the market. You need a chador.”

  She swallowed her mouthful and her eyes widened. “You’re going to take me with you?”

  “I’m not leaving you here with my equipment.”

  Her eyes flicked over to the desk. He could literally see her thinking, and he felt himself steeling for another verbal sparring session. He’d prefer to avoid that, prefer she kept that pretty mouth of hers shut, because he didn’t like what kept coming out of it.

  “You could tie me up,” she offered.

  “No,” he said simply, but by God he’d like to. He could think of a couple of good reasons, and not all of them business-related.

  “Why not? It didn’t bother you before.”

  “You done eating yet?”

  “You’re worried that your rebel ‘friends’ might find me bound up in your apartment, is that it? You’re afraid I’ll tell them who you really are.”

  “Don’t you ever stop asking questions?” he snapped.

  “It’s what I do for a living—ask questions. Then I find answers.”

  He donned his tunic, snagged his turban off the chair and began to wind the fabric over and around his head. He refused to allow her to engage him again.

  “How did you explain me to the carpet dealer? Did you tell him we were married?”

  “I told him you’re my annoying American wife and that you’re here to help us rebels. I told him the offshore money contacts were yours and that you wanted to see the situation in Hamn firsthand before authorizing the release of cash for weapons.”

  She fell silent.

  He flipped the end of his turban over his shoulder, stepped right up close to her, toe to toe, forcing her to crick her neck to look up at him. “And think about this, Paige—your safe passage out of Hamn now depends on those people and their underground network. You’re just as complicit as I in deceiving them. Blow my cover and you go down with me, I guarantee it.”