by Erin Wade
“He wants to trade me a camel for you,” I explained with a devilish grin.
“I take you to Tata,” the man spoke to Alex in his native language. “Tata.”
“He wants to see my breasts?” Alex gasped as the man repeated the name of the town again. “Sloan, I don’t think—”
“You don’t expect him to trade me a perfectly good camel without seeing what he’s getting, do you?” I couldn’t suppress my laughter as I teased her.
I yanked myself from thoughts of Alex’s glorious breasts and explained the situation. “Tata is the closest town. He can get us there.”
“Oh, thank God,” Alex whispered, releasing the breath she’d apparently been holding.
“Come, come.” The boy motioned for us to follow him. He took one last look to make certain his sheep were safe and then led us to the top of a hill.
In the valley below was a house built of pink clay. It blended with the surrounding terrain. A small herd of camels milled in a corral.
Alex looked at me, perplexed. “You’re not trading me, are you?”
“No, I promised him enough money to get all the women he wanted, but he can’t have mine.”
The boy led us to the house and pushed open the front door. “Malika, we have strangers,” he yelled.
A beautiful, dark-haired woman entered the room. I was surprised to see that she was wearing none of the traditional Muslim apparel. She had on a simple skirt and blouse. She was tall and stately. Apprehension filled her dark eyes.
“Wasim, what is the meaning of this?” she demanded.
“Malika, they need to get to Tata,” Wasim answered. “They have money. They can pay.”
She contemplated both of us. “You have names?” I was surprised she spoke English.
“This is my wife, Alex Roland, and my name is Sloan.” I intentionally left off Cartwright, just in case the authorities were after us.
“Your wife? You are married to her?” She seemed more interested in the fact that we were married than the fact that we had emerged from nowhere in the middle of the desert.
“Homosexuality is a criminal offense in this country,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
“Will you help us?” I spoke to her in French.
“Yes,” she said.
##
“You will be less conspicuous wearing these.” Malika placed a pile of neatly folded clothes on the dresser in a bedroom. I was pleased to see we would wear black cotton shirts and pants under a hijab. I could hide my bullwhip and Glock beneath the clothing.
“I have drawn you a bath,” she said to me. “You will need one if you are to travel with me.”
I nodded. I was sure neither Alex nor I smelled like roses after our ordeal. I stepped aside so Alex could bathe first. I was certain there would be only one tub of water for us both to use.
“You are American,” Malika said once Alex was out of earshot. “How did you get here?”
“The less you know, the safer you will be.”
“Have you visited Morocco before?” she asked.
“I think so,” I said. It was an honest answer.
“You think so?” She raised a perfectly arched brow.
“I don’t remember,” I said. “But you have been educated in America.”
She nodded. “Texas A&M University. I did my doctoral research in animal science there.”
“Why A&M?” I queried. “Other universities are higher ranked.”
“Your Texas most closely compares to our climate and some of the challenges we face.”
“You must let me show you Texas,” I said, laughing. “It is truly nothing like Africa.”
“You are correct. Texas is nothing like Morocco, but you must admit that your Texas badlands are quite barren.”
I had to agree. “What will you do with an animal science degree?”
“The Rhino Conservation Project in Mozambique just hired me as their new director,” Malika informed me.
I cringed as I thought of the extreme danger she would be facing. I innately knew it was dangerous.
I looked up as Alex entered the room. She looked gorgeous. She wore no makeup. Her hair tumbled loosely around her face and caressed her shoulders—something I longed to do. I couldn’t stop the blush that crept up my chest to my face.
Alex nibbled her bottom lip as she approached me. “I always have that effect on you,” she whispered.
Then she turned her charm on Malika. “Thank you so much for your hospitality.” She all but purred at the woman, who soon was blushing too. Apparently, Alex has that effect on everyone.
##
Chapter 17
“A camel?” Alex shrieked. “It’s not even a real camel. It only has one hump. How can anyone perch on top of that?”
Malika rolled her eyes at Alex’s antics. “We have saddles,” she patiently explained. I have a feeling she thinks my wife is as cute as I do.
Wasim lifted heavy blankets and pads onto the largest camel, followed by a two-seated camel saddle. I ducked under the neck of the beast and started cinching the saddle in place.
Wasim moved to another camel and placed a single-seat saddle on it.
Alex frowned as she gauged the distance between the ground and the camel’s back. “Where are the stirrups?”
“Unlike Western equine saddles,” Malika explained, “camel saddles have no stirrups.”
Alex turned to me with a what-the-hell? expression on her face. “They lay down so you can mount them,” I said.
“Oh, of course they do,” Alex rolled her eyes. The look of disbelief on her face was priceless.
Malika made a soft kooshing sound, and both camels quickly bowed and then lowered to their knees and stomach.
I gave Alex a told-you-so grin and reached out to help her into the saddle.
“You drive,” she whispered. “I want to sit behind you so I can squeeze you.”
The thought sent a tremor through my body, and I hoisted myself into the front saddle.
“Have you ridden a camel before?” Alex murmured into my ear.
“I think so,” I mumbled.
Malika led the way as we tried to find our balance on the rocking animal. A camel’s gait doesn’t compare to a horse’s pace. The long-legged beasts rock from side to side as they lumber along, because both legs on the same side move in unison.
Alex was clinging to me for dear life, and both of us were flopping around like rag dolls on a mechanical bull. I gripped the saddle’s pommel and let my body relax as I tried to find the rhythm of the animal.
##
Malika slowed her camel so we could ride abreast one another. “Tata is only ten miles away,” she said. “We will arrive there in an hour.”
Camels don’t run; they just shuffle faster. But I was pleased to find that we were moving about ten miles per hour.
Alex laid her cheek between my shoulder blades. It was a feeling I liked.
“Are you aware of the dangers in Mozambique?” I asked Malika.
Her soulful eyes fixed me with a long, cold stare. “Yes, that is why I accepted the job. There is tremendous corruption in the entire game reserve system. I intend to make a difference.”
“You do know that ninety of the rhinos slaughtered on their game reserves so far this year died as a result of the reserve police working with the poachers?” I said it with confidence but wondered how I knew this.
“Yes.”
“They will kill you too, if you get in their way,” I added.
She stared at me for a long time as our “ships of the desert” lumbered toward Tata.”
Suddenly, Malika caught her breath. “I know you. You spoke to our class on the preservation of elephants and rhinos. You’re Sloan Cartwright.”
Alex squeezed me tighter and pushed her soft breasts into my back. God, give me strength! I knew it was her way of saying, “What are you going to do now, Bwana?”
“I’m not. Really.” I shook my head. It was a lame response.
&
nbsp; She studied me closely. “Yes, you are. I could never forget your eyes. They are exceptionally green. I think they would glow in the dark.”
Alex lifted off me momentarily and turned her head so she was facing Malika. Alex can be possessive. I hoped she wasn’t making the Muslim woman uncomfortable.
“I purchased your documentary, Ivory Traders in Africa,” Malika declared. “It made me cry. I watched it over and over, determined to help stop the carnage.”
She paused for a minute and waited for me to respond. When I said nothing, she continued.
“You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”
“Yes, we’re in trouble,” Alex huffed. “Sloan is hiding from the very people who just hired you.”
“How can I help you?” Malika asked. “Do you need help getting out of Africa?”
“Yes!” Alex shouted when I didn’t reply fast enough to suit her. “We need to get the hell out of Africa.”
God, I love her. I leaned back into Alex, seeking more contact with her. She squeezed the breath from my body. I wondered if she has always been able to read my mind.
“I can help,” Malika said as she urged her mount to move faster—something I deemed completely unnecessary.
##
Chapter 18
Tata is a city of great discrepancies. For the few wealthy enough to afford it, there were modern conveniences and luxuries. For the natives who were unfortunate enough to be born in Tata, there was poverty and hopelessness.
It was a city of contrasts—the ancient versus the ultra-modern. We rode through centuries-old ruins, remains of civilizations long past.
I had the strongest feeling I’d been there before.
Malika led us to a stable outside of town where we left the camels. A dollar tip to the old man watching the animals and a promise of the same amount upon our return guaranteed our rides would still be there.
Alex perked up as we walked past a delectable French restaurant. “Can we plan over dinner?” she asked.
“Yes,” Malika said, “but not in there. That is an expensive place. We would draw unwelcome attention.”
We followed her down streets which were no more than alleyways to a narrow storefront with a single-entry door. A snake charmer was entertaining a crowd on the other side of the alley.
Alex’s shoulders slumped. I could tell her hopes for a savory meal had taken flight. Malika pushed the door open, and we followed her into the aromatic restaurant.
“Oh Sloan! What is that heavenly smell?” my wife exclaimed, suddenly relishing the taste of good food.
Malika led us to a cozy table in the corner and greeted the woman emerging from the kitchen.
“May I order for you?” Malika asked Alex.
“Of course,” Alex said. “That would be lovely.” Malika momentarily rested her hand on Alex’s arm.
Was she flirting with my wife? She was indeed! I was quite certain of it. A sudden pain akin to being stabbed in the heart roared through my body. Malika excused herself and went to the kitchen to speak with the woman.
“What?” Alex shrugged as I glared at her. “Now you know how it feels when other women touch your woman.”
“I don’t like it,” I growled.
Alex flashed that cute little smile I’ve become accustomed to when she is pleased with herself. “It won’t happen again, dear.”
I leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I want you so badly it hurts.”
“Yes,”—that smile again—“I know.”
Malika returned with ice tea—a rarity in Tata—and the woman bearing bread and fruit. I thought I was in heaven.
“We are ninety-five miles from Al Massira Airport,” Malika informed us as we gorged ourselves on the fresh food. “It is an international airport, so you should fit in with the tourists nicely.”
“Ninety-five miles on that camel?” Alex’s painful expression made us laugh.
“I have a friend who will drive you to Al Massira,” Malika said, her voice syrupy-sweet as she spoke to Alex. “I will ride with you to guarantee your safety.
“When we are through eating, I will take you to my uncle who owns a travel agency and is the government passport agent for the Tata Province. He will issue you passports with photos of you in your hijab. That will completely change your appearance. Instead of looking like gorgeous models, you will look like peeled onions.”
Alex laughed at Malika’s description of us and touched her arm
I snorted, a little jealous that Alex was touching and laughing with Malika. I’d had Alex’s undivided attention for the past few weeks, and I found it difficult to share her now.
She looked at me and placed her hand on my knee under the table.
“Signs of affection between women are greatly frowned upon here,” Malika whispered.
Alex removed her hand, and a coldness settled on my leg where her hand had rested.
##
After a savory lunch, we followed Malika back into the alley. The snake charmer had attracted a group of tourists and a few local men who appeared to be his friends. The crowd watched in silence as the charmer played a flute-like instrument and an Egyptian cobra swayed back and forth in front of the face of a little girl. It was obvious the child was terrified.
Alex inched toward the child. Before I realized what she was doing, she snatched the girl out of harm’s way.
As Alex found the child a safe place to sit, a roar went up from the local men. Two of them grabbed Alex and forced her to her knees in the spot the child had occupied. The tourists gasped and backed away from the scene unfolding in front of them.
The local men laughed and babbled among themselves about how the snake might bite the beautiful woman. Alex remained motionless as the charmer continued to play his flute.
One of the locals poked the snake with a stick. The serpent drew back, flicking its forked tongue in and out of its mouth. It was clearly getting agitated. It fixated on the stick that was now between Alex’s face and the snake.
Malika gasped. “She is in danger. They are trying to make an example of her by making the snake bite her.”
It all happened in the blink of an eye. There was no thought on my part. I pulled the whip from my clothing and snapped off the viper’s head. The man with the stick shook it at me. Another snap of the whip broke his wrist. I recoiled my whip.
The snake charmer screamed at me. “You kill my snake! He is harmless. No fangs. No fangs!”
Many charmers defang their snakes and replace the missing teeth with fake ones.
I picked up the snake’s head and squeezed the jaws, forcing the mouth open. There were real fangs—deadly fangs.
“They are fake,” the charmer yelled.
Alex caught my coiled whip, and I pulled her into a standing position as I sank the snake’s fangs into the arm of the snake charmer. His eyes widened as he began to scream, “Poison! I will die!”
While the locals attended to the snake charmer and his buddy with the broken arm, Malika pulled us back into the restaurant. “Out the back door,” she commanded as she pushed us into the kitchen.
Following Malika, we quickly lost ourselves in the marketplace. After walking in silence for at least a mile, Malika led us to an official-looking building in an upscale part of town.
“Wait here,” she instructed as she went inside.
“I want to hold your hand,” Alex said to me.
“As much as I would like that, we better not.” I nodded toward two Moroccan soldiers strolling along the street.
“You were amazing back there,” Alex said. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes sparkling as she crinkled her nose at me.
“You are so sexy when you do that,” I whispered, mesmerized.
“I know,” she said. Then she winked at me.
Malika opened the door and motioned for us to follow her inside. The office was decorated with ornately framed prints of works done by the Old Masters. The furniture was sparse but of good quality.
&n
bsp; Malika stopped in front of a door bearing a sign that said Government Passports. Inside, a portly man dressed in a black suit stood to greet us.
“My Uncle Benjamin,” Malika said, introducing us. “I have explained your situation. He will help you.”
“I will require a thousand dollars for my services and a thousand dollars for your airline tickets to Spain.” His head wobbled on his shoulders as he shot us a lopsided grin—a human bobblehead. “In American money, of course.”
“Of course.” I nodded back at him.
“I’m sorry, but I am in dire need of the lady’s room before we go any further,” Alex said, fluttering her eyelashes at Malika.
“Of course.” Malika caught her hand and pulled her from the room.
As the door closed behind them, the man got down to business. “So, you are Sloan Cartwright?” Uncle Benjamin walked around me.
Somehow I was certain I was not nearly as impressive in a hijab as I am in my usual attire.
“That’s what I’ve been told,” I said.
“My niece is enamored of you.”
You mean enamored of my wife.
His smile had been replaced with a stoic expression. “Malika admires the work you have done to save the African rhinos and elephants.”
“I’m afraid it’s too little, too late,” I informed him. “It’s difficult to save a country’s species when its own government is butchering them for a dollar.”
Uncle Benjamin’s eyes filled with dispair most Americans could never imagine. “Still, Malika and I appreciate your efforts to inform the world of the travesty that is happening in Africa.”
Alex returned with Malika, and Uncle Benjamin motioned for us to follow him. In less than an hour, we had two airline tickets, passports, and US driver’s licenses issued to Rita Smith and Melba Johnson.
Alex produced twenty 100-dollar bills from her pocket, and we thanked Uncle Benjamin profusely. Malika led us out the back way, and her friend met us with an honest-to-God air-conditioned car.
In a couple of hours, we would be in a hotel where we would spend the night before flying to Spain the next morning.
I dozed during the trip while Malika flirted with my wife. What part of “she’s married to me” did Malika not understand?
