A Sulta's Ransom

by White, Loreth Anne

“How do you know?”

  He frowned. She hadn’t been like this when he’d kidnapped her. She’d been resolute, even in her fear. Now that spark of independent defiance seemed to be missing. Was she also afraid of what tomorrow might hold? Could she possibly care enough about him to be worried she’d lose him? Rafiq’s heart began to burn. He held her even tighter.

  “I know it’ll be okay, Paige,” he whispered, “because I believe it will.”

  14:00 Charlie, Venturion Tower, Manhattan, Saturday, October 4

  Black clouds swallowed the dawn skyline. Rain continued to click against the windows. He hadn’t slept at all, and for the first time in decades, razor teeth of anxiety bit hard into his usual steel calm.

  The constant sound of the metronome from his antique grandfather clock was driving his anxiety deeper. It was already Saturday afternoon in Hamn. When was his man going to call? How much longer could he give him?

  He needed to meet with the others as soon as possible. But what to tell them? No one knew about his personal assassin. Knowledge of the murders he’d commissioned in the past would be ammunition against him.

  The door swung open behind him, slicing light into the dark room. He jumped and spun round.

  “Dad? I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you all right?”

  “Olivia, darling.” His pulse slowed to an acceptable pace. He held his arms open, stepped forward to embrace his daughter. “I’m fine. Just…planning my day.”

  “In the dark?” She reached over, flicked on a lamp.

  “I think better in the dark. What are you doing here at this hour?”

  “I wanted to pick up those policy papers before I fly out to Washington.” She checked her watch. “And I’ve got to run. My plane leaves in less than an hour.” She pecked him on the cheek.

  He cocked a brow and grinned. “Seeing Forbes for dinner tonight?”

  She hesitated. “No…I’m lunching with him tomorrow.”

  “Excellent.”

  “It’s social, Dad. There’s nothing…serious between me and Grayson.”

  Irritation twinged through him, but he showed no outward sign. He never did. Not to his daughter.

  “He’s the world’s most eligible bachelor. And you—” he skimmed her jaw with the back of his hand “—you’re one hell of a catch, darling, even for the vice president. You’re right for him, and he knows it.”

  You’re destined for the White House, Olivia. You will be first lady of the most powerful country on earth, once we’re done. The world will be at our feet.

  Olivia frowned. Something was bothering her father. The rest of the world might not be able to read him, but she could. And this subtle undercurrent she detected in him…it touched her with an eerie sense of déjà vu. It reminded her of another time he’d had that edgy look in his eyes.

  Olivia’s skin went cold as her mind dragged her involuntarily back to when she was nineteen years old, to the night she’d told her father that she was going to marry Jack Sauer.

  The night before the murder.

  14:22 Charlie, Asir Mountains, Saturday, October 4

  It was late afternoon by the time Paige and Rafiq began to traverse a high plateau, slowly making their way southeast.

  And it came out of the blue, exploded over a rock ridge and barreled toward them in a blur of snarling gray fur.

  A wild dog.

  Paige’s brain didn’t have time to register it before the beast flashed its teeth, gave a bloodcurdling howl and lunged at her camel’s legs.

  The camel lurched, screamed like a banshee, kicked, swung its serpentine neck round and sank its yellowed incisors into the dog’s neck.

  Paige was flung sideways in the saddle as she dropped the reins in a desperate bid to hang on to the kicking, spitting beast.

  The camel kicked again, hard.

  The dog went flying, rolled in a yelping blur, as Paige lost her grip and thudded to the ground, air whooshing out of her lungs in an explosion of pain.

  She scrambled to her feet instantly, thinking the dog was going to come at her, tear her throat.

  But it was shrieking in unearthly pain as it scampered back toward the ridge, red blood on the mottled grey fur at its neck. It collapsed in front of a rock.

  Paige tried to catch her breath. She was shaking. Rafiq was at her side, scimitar unsheathed, watching the ridge as if expecting another wild cur to barrel over and come at them. Then she heard why. A faint chorus of yipping grew louder and louder—a whole pack of dogs.

  Her eyes flashed to his in terror. “It’s okay.” He stayed her with his hand, pointed his scimitar at the ridge. “Watch.”

  A dusty brown figure, a man who looked as if he’d been sculpted out of the dry earth itself, materialized over the ridge, leading a horse and two mules. He was surrounded by a pack of dogs.

  The man saw them, and stopped. He studied them from the distance, then dismounted from his horse. He bent down and scooped the wounded animal into his arms. He carried it over to his horse, and deftly lifted himself and his dog into the saddle. He took his reins in hand, cradling the wounded animal in his lap, the others milling quietly about his feet.

  Paige stared in shock.

  Only then did the man lift his head and look at them again. His dust-caked and leathered face was expressionless under his tattered dun turban. His shoes were old leather but his sword, knife and rifle looked newer. He made no move to touch his weapons.

  “Mountain hunter,” Rafiq whispered. “They use both wild and domestic dogs. They go after the Asir leopard, and anything else they can find. See the hares and the hyena strapped to the mules behind him?”

  She nodded. But it was the man’s face that snared her attention. The hunter’s wordless, expressionless stare seemed to be working its way right into her soul. And she found herself feeling sorry about his dog.

  The hunter turned his attention back to his animal. He began to manipulate its leg, then its fur, assessing the extent of injury. The dog didn’t make a sound. It was either badly hurt, or it trusted its master implicitly.

  “I…it just came for me,” Paige called out in Arabic. “My camel—”

  “Shut up!” Rafiq hissed, his eyes hot with warning.

  She glared at him, angry at herself for having spoken, for having needed to say something to the man with the injured animal.

  The hunter edged his mount forward, studied her closely, but said nothing. Then he looked sharply, directly, at Rafiq.

  Rafiq raised his hand in a salute of greeting.

  The man bowed his head suddenly. He sat like that for a long moment. Reverent. Then he turned his horse, continued along his path, his pack of dogs mobilizing, yipping behind him.

  They watched until he disappeared through the rocks and the sound of his dogs died into the wind.

  Paige realized her heart was thumping hard, that her hip hurt. She began to wonder if what had just happened had been real.

  “You shouldn’t have opened your mouth,” he snapped. “You speak damn fine Arabic but you still have an accent, especially in these parts.”

  “I’m sorry. I…I couldn’t help it. His dog was hurt.”

  “Wasn’t your fault!”

  “I…I know, but…there was something about him. Something…kind.”

  Rafiq’s eyes softened. “It’s okay. Your speaking probably makes no difference, anyway. We stand out a mile around here no matter what.”

  “Will he report us?”

  “That man—” said Rafiq, gazing at the gap in the rocks where he’d disappeared “—he saw nothing.”

  “He looked as if…as if he might have recognized you. Do you think word has spread this far, already?”

  Rafiq nodded slowly. “He knew who I was.” He turned to her. “But men like him, they keep secrets, Paige.”

  She stared at the rocks where he’d disappeared. What if he didn’t? She shivered suddenly with a chilling sense of foreboding.

  Chapter 13

  17:59 Charlie, Asir
Mountains, Saturday, October 4

  The hunter could sense danger in the long evening shadows before he even saw his small stone house. He placed his hand on the fur of his injured dog, rode slowly forward. His wife and children were waiting for him.

  When he saw no smoke rising from the chimney, he knew something was wrong.

  The soldiers materialized like ghosts out of the twilight, rifles trained on him.

  They wanted to know what had happened to his dog, who he’d seen up in the peaks.

  He said nothing.

  They forced him to dismount, jabbed muzzles into his thin ribs, cracked a rifle butt across his face. Blood ran warm down his cheek.

  He insisted he had seen no one.

  They pushed him through the door of his own home…and his heart stilled.

  A man—a ghost-man with colorless eyes—stood holding the blade of a scimitar across his daughter’s neck. The hair on the back of the hunter’s neck rose. His body could tell evil.

  His eyes adjusted to the dimness in his home and he saw his wife and son bound and gagged in the corner, pushed up against the stone wall. His wife’s face was sheened with tears, her eyes huge and frightened.

  The ghost-man said something, and a soldier translated. “Tell us who you saw in the mountains or we will slit your daughter’s throat.”

  The hunter swallowed. “I saw no one. What makes you think I saw anyone?”

  “Who hurt your dog?”

  “It was a baboon,” he said, looking into his daughter’s eyes, wondering how much he must pay to protect the sultan he’d seen in the hills…how much he must pay to save Hamn.

  “You are lying, old man.”

  He shook his head. “I saw no one,” he said softly, unable to betray the king, the promise of a future for his people.

  The ghost moved his hand, pressing the blade into his daughter’s neck. She gasped. Her eyes went wide, pleading for help.

  “Wait! I did see someone.”

  “Who!” barked the soldier in charge.

  “A man and a woman, traveling on camels.”

  The ghost-man said something. The soldier turned sharply to the hunter. “That man and his woman are fugitives. We have lost their tracks. You will use your dogs. You will find them. And then your family will live.”

  The big ghost flung his daughter to the side. She sank to the floor in a sobbing heap. His son stood silent and brave. His wife’s eyes held his.

  He prayed that God and his country would forgive him for what he was being forced to do.

  18:05 Charlie, Asir Mountains, Saturday, October 4

  Clouds rolled over the peaks, swallowing the trail with curtains of hot mist. This region of the Asir was subject to Indian Ocean monsoons October through March. This looked like the first of them.

  Paige was beyond exhausted, and her mind kept wandering, seeing shapes in the mist.

  A wolf howled somewhere in the grayness.

  She shuddered in spite of the heat. The sound was eerie, distorted through the swirling layers. It was getting darker, visibility becoming even more challenging. The chador didn’t help. Rafiq was now just a shape in the fog ahead of her. If she lost sight of him, she’d be lost for good.

  He was right; she’d never have made it over here alone.

  Then just as the mist swallowed him completely, she saw them—gathered along the ridge, dark forms watching their progress. Her heart stalled.

  She halted her camel, spun round in the saddle. There were more, on the opposite ridge, fading in and out of the mist.

  They were surrounded!

  Her heart began to jackhammer. “Rafiq!”

  He materialized out of the mists. “What?”

  “Look!” she whispered. “Up there on the ridge.”

  He turned slowly. Stilled. Then he threw back his head and laughed loud.

  Confusion spiraled through Paige. “What—”

  “Paige, sweetheart, I thought you of all people would recognize a troop of wild primates.” He leaned forward in his saddle. “Those are baboons. They’ve been following us for a while now.”

  “Oh,” she whispered. She looked back up at the blurry dark shapes that surrounded them. “I can’t believe I did that…I can’t…I…” Emotion swamped her. She blinked it back. She was so tired, and her mind so confused she’d thought they were soldiers. And now she really was frightened, because she’d lost her mind, the one thing she relied upon most.

  She turned to Rafiq in desperation.

  He squeezed her arm. “Happens to the best of us.”

  “No, it doesn’t!” she snapped. “They’re Hamadryas baboons. Indigenous to Arabia. I should have recognized that’s what was up there. They have one of the most highly structured social systems among primates,” she said, trying prove to Rafiq she was not a total jackass, that she was not totally dependent on him. But it was a lie. She was.

  And now it was worse. Because she’d fallen for him, and she didn’t want to lose him. And that fear was burrowing deep into her soul in a way she couldn’t control. It was beginning to consume her. She kept trying to fight it off, telling herself it was fatigue. But it wouldn’t go away.

  She somehow had to stop it. She had to pull herself together. She needed to block herself to all this emotion.

  To him.

  Before she did something really stupid, dangerous.

  18:30 Charlie, FDS base, São Diogo Island, Saturday, October 4

  December Ngomo seated himself in the leather chair in front of Sauvage’s desk. He wiggled a fat file of papers in the air. “Zayed was right—the Venturion Corporation is linked to Nexus, Science Reach and BioMed. It’s the common denominator.” He slapped the dossier onto Sauvage’s desk with a broad smile. “Check it out, mon ami, there’s more. Lots more. These guys, this board of directors—” he jabbed his index finger on the dossier “—are the Cabal, I’d stake my life on it. I’ve got our techs digging into the history of each and every one of those Venturion board members. By the time we’re done, we’ll know who was toilet trained by whom and when. I guarantee it.”

  Sauvage reached for the file, drew it across his desk toward himself. “Who is head of the Venturion board?”

  “Samuel Killinger, photos are at the back.”

  Sauvage froze.

  He felt the blood drain from his head.

  He said nothing as he opened the file, shuffled quickly through to the back, slid out a set of black-and-white glossies.

  He stared at the photo on top, and his throat closed. “Where is this one from?” His voice came out hoarse.

  December frowned, leaned forward. “Got that one off the news wires. That—” he pointed to the image “—is Samuel Killinger with his daughter—”

  “Olivia.”

  December glanced up. “You know her?”

  Sauvage concentrated on his breathing. Steady. Slow. In. Out. “Once. In another life.”

  December nodded slowly, his eyes searching Sauvage’s face. But he said nothing. They never talked about the past—ever. Each of them had things to hide. Serious things.

  Sauvage flipped over to the next photo and his gut clenched.

  “That,” said December, “is Olivia Killinger with Vice President Grayson Forbes.”

  Sauvage closed his eyes. His head swam. He couldn’t breathe, goddammit.

  “Forbes is dating her. If the Cabal wins this one, Olivia Killinger looks set to be the first lady.”

  Sauvage slammed his fist on the desk and jerked to his feet.

  This mission had just taken on a whole new meaning.

  20:01 Charlie, Asir Mountains, Saturday, October 4

  The first few drops shot like bullets from the sky, and within seconds, the rain was a lashing curtain, and darkness was complete.

  Rafiq realized they’d have to stop. It was getting treacherously slippery along the narrowing plateau. From the topo maps he’d memorized, the plateau would squeeze into a rocky bridge between the peaks and then fork out into two
trails—one that led to the southwest, and another that circumnavigated wadi Bi’sash, a large body of water trapped by an underlying lava bed.

  The route via the wadi opened out onto a ridge overlooking the southern flanks of the Asir. Beyond it, the Yemeni plateau stretched to the Gulf of Aden. That’s the way they had to go.

  He pushed his sodden turban back off his head. It was pouring water into his eyes. Blinking into the rain, he took the camel rope from Paige and yoked her animal to his. “You just have to hang on until we can find a place to hole up until the worst of this monsoon blows itself out,” he yelled into the storm.

  He leaned into the sheet of rain and pressed on, searching for shelter among the rocks.

  Then he heard it again—a faint yip carried on the wind, so distant he almost wondered if he’d imagined it. But then there was another snatch of sound. And another. Rafiq slowed, trying to ascertain the direction from which the sounds came. For a while he heard nothing more.

  They rounded a ridge of rock, and the wind abated for a second. Immediately he heard the distant yelping.

  He tensed. Hunting dogs!

  No hunter with half a brain cell would be out in this weather. That could mean only one thing. Someone was hunting them.

  He stopped the camels, pulled Paige’s animal up close so that she could hear him over the storm. “I think they’re using dogs to come after us,” he yelled into the rain. “Sounds like they’ve picked up our trail. If that hunter we saw this morning told the military, whoever is coming for us is going to be well armed, and we’re going to be outnumbered. The only option we have is to try and outrun them, and pray this weather destroys our tracks. Trust your camel, okay, Paige? Just stay behind me. And hang on.”

  “You said the hunter wouldn’t talk,” she shouted into the wind.

  “Maybe he had no choice.” He leaned over his animal, pressed the hilt of his jambiya into her hand. “Take this.”

  She resisted,

  “Take it, Paige!”

  Rafiq said a silent prayer to the powers of nature. It was something he hadn’t done in decades. But he needed the rain to keep coming hard, to cover their scent. He was no match against a pack of wild hunting dogs. Blind faith and sure-footed camels were going to have to pull them through these next few hours.