Captive of the Desert King

by Donna Young

  “I am.” Pride flitted across the older man’s features. “She has been a blessing to her mother and I.”

  “Actually,” Quamar corrected. “Sandra needed a break from her research and is now our temporary coroner.”

  Dr. Haddad snorted. “Her break has been for over two years now. She is not temporary.”

  Sarah sensed the underlining disapproval from the older gentleman but didn’t comment.

  “How bad are Bash’s injuries, Doctor?” Quamar asked, changing the subject.

  “Over fifteen percent of his chest, arms and back are burned. He’s very lucky that King Jarek got to him as soon as he did. His burns could have been much worse. If we can stop any infection, he should grow back a third of his skin and we’ll graft the remaining. The king has already made arrangements for a team of specialists to fly in over the next few days to take a look at Bash.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes. King Jarek is very concerned,” Dr. Haddad responded, slowly, obviously curious over Sarah’s response. “We’ve been keeping him up to date on an hourly basis.”

  Surprised, Sarah didn’t comment. “Would it be possible to talk to Bash, Doctor?”

  “Only for a few minutes. He has just been given a sedative for the pain and will need rest. Within the next few hours, we’ll be moving him to a sterile room so we can remove his bandages. It’s being prepared now.”

  Sarah nodded and stepped into the room. Bash lay against the white sheets, a bandage covered his arms and chest. Another wrapped his forehead.

  “Bash?”

  The guard turned toward her, his eyes dull from the drugs.

  “Miss Kwong?” Automatically he tried to sit up using his hand for leverage. He let out a small grunt of pain and fell back against the pillows.

  “Please lie still, Bash. No need to cause yourself discomfort,” she told him. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anyone you need me to notify?”

  “No. The pain is minimal,” he lied. His face appeared paler than the sheets behind him, his voice no more than a thin whisper.

  “The king is arranging for your family to fly in from Europe, Bash.” Quamar explained quietly. “They should be here the day after tomorrow. King Jarek will come later today.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “See you tomorrow then, okay?”

  “There is no need.”

  “There is for me.” Sarah’s smile wobbled and the tears gathered behind her eyes. “You are my friend, Bash.”

  “Thank you, Miss Sarah.”

  Quamar nodded to Ivan, a silent signal for the younger man to stay a moment longer. When Quamar and Sarah stepped out of the room, she noticed that Bash’s eyes had already closed.

  “That was very kind of you,” Quamar noted. “Most people wouldn’t have come and visited a soldier.”

  “Not kind,” she admitted. “If I hadn’t insisted on going to the crash site, he wouldn’t have been injured.”

  “Bash knows the risks that come with his job, Sarah. Do not blame yourself.”

  “I’m glad his family is coming.” She thought of her family. No matter how different their paths have gone, she would be nothing without their support and love.

  “Trizal is completing the arrangements.”

  A thought suddenly occurred to Sarah. “Quamar, did Ramon have any family?”

  “He has a daughter living in London,” Quamar answered. “Trizal has not yet been able to contact her. Once he does, Jarek will arrange for her flight to Taer.”

  “Were Ramon and the king close?” Sarah asked.

  “They had grown closer over the past few years,” Quamar answered quietly. “Ramon was the much younger brother of an old friend. Now they are both dead.”

  “Both?”

  “Arimand was Jarek’s Captain of the Guards. During the rebellion, the Al Asheera left him hanging in a tree for the buzzards,” Quamar said grimly. “He died in my arms.”

  “Where was Jarek?”

  “He was in a cell beneath the palace. Being tortured by the Al Asheera.”

  Chapter Twelve

  For the second time in three days, Sarah flew over the Sahara in a royal plane.

  “The fields are to the northeast of the country. An hour by airplane. Nearly a day by car. Half that by train.”

  Over the crest of the horizon rose two towers. The steel beams crisscrossed up three stories, ending in a narrow point that flashed bright like a beacon in the sunlight.

  “Land rigs.” Jarek pointed to the nearest tower outside of the window. “Most of the equipment and materials you see were provided by the United States after we made our tentative agreement to do business with them. Now that we’ve started production, they receive the majority of our crude oil. In return, they give us money and access to certain technology your government is developing.”

  “Is that why you chose not to join OPEC?”

  “The oil market is changing. We have other industries like textiles to help sustain Taer. We are using the oil as a bargaining chip for more sophisticated technology. We want to be with the United States in the forefront of new energy technology. This is the first step. We could not do that with ties to OPEC. Already we are seeing a surge in our population. Some from foreigners, but others who are returning to our country—educated professionals—because we are now productive and can offer them competitive jobs.”

  “What kind of technology did we agree to share with you?”

  “Alternative fuel and energy. Wind and solar, mostly, with some communication technology. Also Nano and others.”

  “Weapons?” She studied the soldiers patrolling the perimeter. Others stood guard over several buildings and the land rigs.

  “Some,” he acknowledged slowly.

  “Like the Apache helicopters that flew us in from the desert?”

  “Yes. While most of our neighboring countries approve of our agreement with the Americans, others are not so…open to our relations overseas. It leaves us vulnerable.”

  “People who don’t appreciate social advancement?”

  “Essentially, yes. Many believe in the old ways. Others believe we should show unity only to our own people.”

  “And what do you believe?”

  “I believe in unity and tradition. But I also believe in progress. My position is to find a balance for all three.”

  “Any one of those other countries could be behind the Al Asheera’s attack on the plane?”

  “Yes. In theory.” Jarek studied the oil site below. “I do not know for sure. But I’ve been trying to find out through different channels. So far, I have discovered nothing to support my suspicions.”

  One of the guards in the front seat handed Jarek two yellow hard hats.

  “You’ll need to put this on.” Jarek gave her a hat.

  “How long will it take for you to get the oil fields fully operational?”

  “We are relying heavily right now on the United States for its training and specialists. The man in charge of the transition is Booker McKnight. He’s an American. One of the last working here. Most of the others have left over the last several months. I’ve arranged for him to give you a tour while I take care of some business.”

  They landed on a single strip runaway of packed dirt and immediately loaded into two black SUVs with four soldiers. Quamar in the first. Sarah and Jarek in the second.

  Sarah expected a little village filled with people. What she found beside the two steel land rigs were several huge white oil containers and a line of single barracks. Twenty single rooms that looked more like small storage units. Each held little more than two single beds, a toilet and lockers. A pair of mobile trailers were parked toward the end. One for mess and one for the site manager’s office.

  Bulldozers, excavators and cranes spotted the area. “Do they use the machines for landfills and trenching?” she asked Jarek.

  But it wasn’t Jarek who answered.

  “Yes, and adding roads or airstrips.”

&
nbsp; The man was dressed in jeans and T-shirt. He wore a New York Yankees baseball cap with a handkerchief tucked into the back to protect his neck. He was a big man, tall, with heavyweight muscles that stretched a dull, gray T-shirt tight across a massive chest and tucked into a low-riding pair of Levi’s jeans.

  A pair of sky-blue eyes flickered over her with absolute male appreciation. For once, Sarah was glad she was wearing big framed sunglasses. It wasn’t too often she was taken by surprise.

  “Miss Kwong,” Jarek introduced. “My field foreman, Booker McKnight.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Booker said, a smile widened across his sun-darkened features. “A real pleasure.”

  Because she felt Jarek stiffen behind her, she sweetened her own smile. “Likewise,” she replied, then realized she truly meant it. “You said airstrips. There is more than one?”

  “We have three,” Booker responded. “The one you landed on is for private planes. There are two other, larger strips we use for cargo.”

  Booker turned to Jarek. “I’m sorry to hear about Ramon, Your Majesty.”

  Jarek gave a short nod. Sarah noticed his jaw tightened, a dead giveaway to the depth of the king’s feelings.

  “You knew Ramon?” she asked, for no other reason than to draw Booker’s attention from Jarek and give the king a second to wrestle down his emotion.

  “When Ramon wasn’t needed at the palace, he would make personnel runs for us. Give the men a chance to see their families,” Booker acknowledged. “I don’t have family here, but most of my men appreciated the opportunity.”

  “Before Ramon died, he mentioned a man by the name of Roldo. You wouldn’t happen to know if he was a friend of Ramon’s, would you?” Sarah asked, her instincts suddenly alert.

  Booker’s gaze flickered to Jarek’s before he answered. “We have a demolition guy who works for us occasionally. His name is Roldo Costa.”

  “Demolition? As in explosives?”

  “Yes. Sometimes we have to blast some of the site. Al Qassar shipping keeps explosive experts on retainer. We use their men since we have a contract with the company,” Booker answered slowly.

  “And Roldo is one of those experts,” she prompted.

  “Sarah, you are out here to get information on the drilling site. Not to investigate a murder,” Jarek demanded.

  “My apologies,” Sarah replied, but her eyes narrowed into slits of green ice. Hungry for answers, she wasn’t about to let this bone go. “I caught Booker’s look, Your Majesty. Obviously, you knew that Roldo worked for Al Qassar.”

  “Yes, Quamar discussed the situation with Booker yesterday.” Jarek let out a long sigh. “But that has nothing to do with you or your story. Booker has agreed to take you on a tour, while Quamar and I take care of some business. You will be safe with him.”

  “Fine.” Sarah planted a wide smile on her face. “So, Mr. McKnight—”

  “Booker will do,” he said, trying to cover a grin.

  “All right, Booker,” she responded, turning on the charm. “I have to admit, I don’t think I’ve had a better looking babysitter.”

  “Sarah,” Jarek warned.

  “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” She nearly batted her eyes. “Don’t let me keep you from your business.”

  “Do not step out of line,” Jarek warned before he turned on his heel. Two Royal Guards fell into step with their king.

  Sarah’s eyes lingered on him until he reached the main office.

  “I guess I won’t let that ‘good-looking’ comment go to my head,” Booker murmured.

  “I’m sorry. Sometime my temper gets away from me.”

  “No, problem. Ma’am.” He tilted his cap back farther on his head. “Ready for the grand tour, Miss Kwong?”

  “It’s Sarah. And yes, I’m ready.” She reached into her bag and pulled out her recorder.

  She punched the record button. “Now tell me, how many people are you in charge of here?”

  “We have almost thirty men. Including the cooks,” Booker continued after a moment. “Each works twelve-hour shifts. Six days a week.”

  “That’s a lot of hours.”

  “They like the money,” Booker replied, studying the recorder. He tapped the dent with his finger. “Looks like your equipment got banged up a bit.”

  “A bullet winged my purse. Destroyed my wallet but only nicked the recorder.”

  “A bullet?”

  “Long story. One you can ask your boss about later.” Sarah smiled at Booker’s confused expression. “Does everyone here work on the rig?”

  “Most do.” He gestured to the train tracks a few hundred yards in the distance. “Some are handlers. They load the crude oil onto the tanker train.”

  “Train?”

  “We ship the crude oil to the ports by tanker train.” He pointed to south of the drill site. “The tracks go directly through Taer and then travel farther south to the Qassar shipping yards. Where they’re loaded on ships.”

  “Qassar shipping,” Sarah commented.

  “Yes.”

  Sarah put her hand above her eyes to shield the glare of the sun. “And in the opposite direction? Where do the tracks lead?”

  “Nowhere in particular. Sometimes the trains can be over two miles long, so we installed tracks for another ten miles. At the end is just a barricade made of cement and steel. A dead end, you might say.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The heat of the afternoon dissipated as the sun melted into the blurred line between sand and sky.

  Anna lifted her baby girl up in the air and laughed when the child squealed. A boy, no more than four years old, played in the wade pool with Rashid.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” Sarah said softly. Although a few features separated both boys, they were both dark, like their fathers and could pass as brothers.

  “Not at all.” Anna smiled and set the little girl down. “I had a break in my afternoon schedule, so we decided to play a bit.”

  Rashid lifted his head from under the water. “Sarah! Are you here to swim?”

  “I don’t think so, sport. Not today.” She brushed the wet hair from his forehead, watched the water spike his long sooty lashes. Her heart flopped in her chest. “Missed you today.” Damning herself when she realized she spoke the words out loud.

  “Me, too,” he whispered back.

  “I’m Kadan.”

  Grateful for the distraction, she turned to the younger boy and smiled. “Hello, Master Kadan.”

  “Guess how old I am.”

  “All right.” Sarah knelt down next to him, took a moment to study him seriously, trying desperately not to laugh as the little boy puffed up his chest. “I think you’re six years old.”

  Rashid rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

  A smile flashed across Kadan’s cherub face. “I’m almost five years old.”

  “Really?”

  “No.” Rashid took Sarah in with one somber glance. “He just turned four last month.”

  The baby squealed and slammed her hands into the water, splashing them all.

  “And this is Jenna.” Anna laughed at the baby she held steady in the foot-high water. Jenna jumped up and down on her tip toes.

  “She’s only a year,” Kadan explained, with a small frown for his sister. “She doesn’t even talk yet.”

  “Then I will forgive her for splashing me.”

  When the children turned back to the water, Anna patted the cement next to her. “Do you have a few minutes to fill me in on the site?”

  Sarah glanced at Ivan who was standing a discreet distance away. “Yes, but only a few if that’s all right. Ivan and I wanted to see Bash before I have to get ready for the ball tonight.”

  Anna nodded. “Quamar told me earlier that Dr. Haddad is pleased with Bash’s progress.”

  “That’s very good news.”

  Sarah took off her shoes and rolled up her pant legs. She sat down and put her feet into the cool water. She sighed and wiggled her toes fo
r good measure. “That’s heaven.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Anna chuckled. “Especially after a hot day out in the sand.”

  “And it was hot,” Sarah admitted. “But exciting. I think I really could grow to love this country, Anna.”

  “I felt the same way when I first came out here. There is something calming in the colors, the endless sea of sand and textures.”

  “But recklessly wild, too,” Sarah added.

  “Exactly,” Anna agreed. “Once, Quamar compared the Sahara to a woman. A beautiful woman, who refused to conform or be tamed.”

  “I can see that. Men certainly are fascinated by her, aren’t they?”

  “Yes. I believe so.”

  “I met one of those men today, I think,” Sarah mused. “A man by the name of Booker McKnight.”

  Anna dipped the baby in the water. “The foreman at the drill site.”

  “Yes. What do you know about him?”

  “Off the record?” Anna asked, but didn’t take her eyes off of Jenna.

  “Absolutely.”

  “I only have met him once,” Anna confessed. Jenna tugged free of her mother and slapped at the water, then laughed when it splashed back at her.

  “Booker arrived about six months ago. He stayed here at the palace one night. Spent most of the next day in conference with Jarek and Quamar, then he left for the site.”

  “Who did he replace?” Jenna wobbled, then latched onto Sarah’s knee. She gripped the pants tight in her little fist.

  “I don’t remember the man’s name, but he was French. He left shortly before Booker McKnight arrived. A family hardship, I think. Why?”

  “Just reporter’s instinct,” Sarah answered, then dribbled some water down Jenna’s shoulder and smiled when the baby squealed. “I caught a glance between him and Jarek. I just have a feeling he’s holding a few secrets.”

  “He’s from the States and is friendly enough. He speaks about five different languages and seems to know his job.”

  “I might be overanalyzing things.”

  “With everything that’s happened in the last forty-eight hours, who could blame you?” Anna insisted.

  “My life certainly has changed, hasn’t it?”