by Dana Marton
He hadn’t thought he could be more scared for her than he had been for the past hour, but her question turned his blood to ice. She could be arrested. She had broken into the palace and freed a prisoner. She could be charged with a pile of offenses, not the least of which was espionage. What she did and did not do wouldn’t matter. They would try and hang any charge on her they could.
“Would you?” she asked again on a quiet voice.
He would take the palace apart stone by stone. “No.”
“See? Because I’m your guest and according to your customs, you’re responsible for me. According to my orders, I’m responsible for you.”
He took a deep breath. “You are more than a guest,” he said.
She stayed quiet after that.
Cars approached, then moved on. He waited a few minutes, backed out of the shed and took off in the opposite direction, making sure to note the house so he would know where to send reparations later. He didn’t slow until they hit the desert and then he had to, the luxury sedan being not exactly designed to race over sand.
Still, he drove as fast as he could. It wouldn’t be long before their pursuers figured out where he was heading.
MAJID GRABBED THE EDGE of the table, willing his rage to subside.
“How could it be?”
The captain of the guards would not raise his head to look at him, but remained bowed. “He had help from inside. A servant woman.”
A woman? Preposterous. “Search the servants’ quarters, find out which one is missing then deal with her family. An example must be made.” He would not have traitors in his own palace. “And all who were on guard. For failure of duty. I want them executed in front of the rest.”
He watched as the man’s skin turned a shade paler, and for a moment considered ordering his execution, as well. After all, he was the captain, responsible for his men.
No. He tossed away the thought. He trusted this one, and trustworthy men were few and far between these days. He couldn’t afford to lose any. Too many of those around him, especially in the government, he suspected would favor Saeed.
Saeed. It had always been Saeed. His cousin had been the one their grandfather had groomed for the throne, the man everyone thought golden. Even Majid’s own father, Abdullah, had sworn upon becoming king after his brother’s death to rule only until Saeed came of age.
He pushed that memory away, almost too painful to bear. He had gotten his uncle, King Ahmad, out of the way. It had been Majid who had made it possible for his father to take the throne. And even then Abdullah had favored Saeed. The muscles tightened in Majid’s face. His father had been too soft, unfit to rule.
Majid poured another drink. He, too. had Sheik Zayed’s blood in his veins, stronger than in any of the great man’s other descendants. He always knew he would sit on the throne some day; although, he hadn’t planned on making his father king first.
But when the opportunity had come to get rid of Saeed’s father, Ahmad, it had been too good to pass up—the perfect chance to change the line of succession.
They had been on a hunt in the desert and Majid had gotten separated from the rest with his uncle, the king. The hawks had been circling, looking for prey. One of the salukis had scared up something, he couldn’t remember now what it was, and he had taken aim, racing his hawk to the prey. His uncle had ridden in front of him and without notice veered into his path. He had shouted at the man, scared at how close he had come to shooting the king.
He could recall that moment in detail, the still that had come over him at the thought, the clarity of what he had to do. He had aimed again and pulled the trigger.
Afterward he had tied his uncle’s body to the saddle and forced his horse into quicksand, then he’d ridden to tell the rest of the hunting party of the terrible accident.
He had never told the truth to anyone, not even his father. Abdullah had been too weak. He would have been shocked to know that it was his son’s quick thinking and not the mysterious will of Allah that had put him on the throne. The throne on which he had been ill-equipped to sit. And hadn’t he proven it at the end, making one ill-advised decision after the other, allowing the country to slip into civil war. At the beginning, Majid had tried to save him, but at the end he had done whatever he could to hasten his father’s demise.
And then with an iron fist, using all the wealth he could raise honestly and by other means, he had created his own army and restored order. The country had accepted his rule without any serious resistance; as Abdullah’s son, he was the rightful heir, after all. He had proven that he was fit to sit on the throne by being strong enough to take it.
But now that he had accomplished what he had dreamed of since boyhood, now that the country was his, along came Saeed like a persistent ghost from the past. The people demanded Saeed—the same people Majid had saved from civil war.
It grated on him to have made this one mistake—to have underestimated his cousin. The man had fooled everyone, hadn’t he? All his talk of peace and reconciliation, of brotherhood and standing together, and all along he had been planning a rebellion against the rightful king.
“He’d go to his brother.” He named the range of dunes where he knew their fakhadh would be settled by this time of the year. He had spent enough time there as a child. “He has betrayed me. I wish not to see him alive again.”
As soon as the captain of the guards bowed deeper and backed out, Majid reached for the phone.
The country needed a distraction from this rebellion. A common enemy would bring everyone together. The sooner he started the war on Yemen, the sooner the people would realize his vision for the country and would unite behind him.
But first, the U.S. Air Force base across the border had to be destroyed. And then, he would take what was meant to be his.
BY THE TIME THEY GOT within sight of his people’s camp, Saeed was vibrating with impatience.
“We have to move fast.” He stopped the car at a good distance, stuck his head out the window and called to the guards.
They came over, not lowering their weapons until they were close enough to recognize him. He greeted the men then drove on, finding not the sleeping camp he had expected, but everyone very much awake.
Tents were coming down, animals herded together, people packing. When he was close enough for them to recognize him, a shout went up with his name, and everyone dropped what they were doing to gather around him.
Nasir, too, came running, hugging him as soon as he stepped out of the car. “You’re free.”
“A long story. You are moving deeper into the desert?”
“The women and children are—the rest of us were coming to get you. I have sent word to the other tribes.”
Saeed glanced around and for the first time, he noticed the men, more heavily armed than usual, weapons piled on the backs of pickups. An impressive feat considering the short time they had had, but still nothing compared to Majid’s army.
“I have sent Salah to Saudi with Fatima and Lamis,” Nasir said.
He nodded, relieved to hear that his son and sisters were safe. “To Gedad?”
“Yes.”
Good. Gedad’s house was as safe a place as they came. Their second cousin was a supplier to the U.S. Air Force base just on the other side of the border, his home right next to the base.
“Try to get as many men in the cars as you can, the rest can follow on horseback,” Nasir ordered.
Saeed watched the men obey, men for whose lives he was responsible. “We are not ready for a war.”
A flash of anger crossed Nasir’s face. “Too late. It has already started.”
“We haven’t the manpower, nor the weapons.” But Nasir was right. The war had already started. Majid would come after Saeed and anyone who supported him. He would be damned if he would let his people be massacred by his power-hungry cousin. They didn’t have much time; they had to prepare. He needed resources.
“I need Hawk.”
Nasir looked at hi
m with some surprise, but then said, “I’ll help you saddle him.” And moved ahead. “There are thirty tribes behind us. We have more than you think,” he said too calmly. “Everything is arranged.”
How could everything be arranged? How could he have made alliances in such a short time?
And in a moment of understanding, it dawned on Saeed. “You are involved in the rebellion.”
His brother smiled, a mixed expression of pride and relief spreading across his face. “I started it.”
For a second he was too stunned to comprehend the words, then everything fell into place. Small comments, times when Nasir went here or there on business and then could not be found. But still, bringing together hundreds, thousands of people, had to take enormous coordination, arming them would cost…
“You know of the cave.”
Nasir hung his head for a moment before he looked up, passion burning in his eyes. “Forgive me, brother. I could not stand by and watch Majid ruin our country. It boils my blood to see him rule when it should be you.” He fell silent for a moment. “Or our father still.”
“His death was an accident.” They had covered this ground many times before. However misguided Majid was now, bent by the weight of ruling, Saeed had a hard time thinking him capable of murdering his own uncle. Majid had been but a youth at the time, not yet tainted by politics. He remembered their childhood too well, times they spent in the desert, the summers Majid had spent at the palace. He had loved the place.
Loved it too much, maybe?
“He arrested you for treason.” Nasir walked next to Saeed with barely controlled fury.
“He felt threatened by the revolt you started.” No. He’d seen Majid’s eyes. He’d known what he was doing. He had planned it. Saeed could no longer make excuses for his cousin. “You’re right. We’ll do what we must.”
They reached the horses at last. He greeted Hawk and grabbed his saddle.
Nasir helped with the bridle. “Where are you going?”
“To the cave. I imagine our assets were seized the moment I was arrested. We need money for better weapons if we’re to take the palace.”
And it was necessary, even he had to accept it now. The tribes had risen. The fight would not end until either Majid or he was dead. “Wait for me. But not here.”
Nasir nodded. “Will you leave the foreign woman with us?”
He hesitated for a moment, looked back to where she was rolling something into a blanket, helping a couple of women. “I’ll take her. If I don’t, she’ll steal a car or a horse and come after me anyway.” He did believe that. Dara was nothing if not stubborn.
His brother raised an eyebrow.
“Where will I find you?” Saeed changed the subject to ward off some uncalled for remark on his inability to control a single woman.
“At the old oasis.”
“Shelfa?”
The place had been named after the traditional Bedouin spear that it resembled—a long narrow strip of fertile land they rarely used because of the undependability of the weak water source beneath it. Still, for a day or two, it should support the camp. And that was all the time he needed. “Ma’al salaama, Brother.”
“Alla ysalmak.”
He rode Hawk to Dara, watched as she hung food and water on the saddle, and wondered if he was wrong for taking her with him. He should send her to Saudi, to the safety of the American embassy. Of course, she wouldn’t go. He could try to talk her into going with Nasir to Shelfa under the relative safety of the camp, but he had a feeling she would refuse that, too.
He held his hand out to help her up behind him, knowing he wasn’t doing it because she would demand it, or even because he wanted to keep an eye on her to ensure her safety. He had decided to take her for one reason only—because he wanted her with him.
The admission rocked him. She was the wrong person at the wrong time.
It didn’t matter.
THEY RODE THE BETTER PART of the night before they reached their destination, Hawk held back by the weight of two people and their supplies. A car would have been faster and more practical, Dara had thought as they rode, but understood Saeed’s wisdom once they walked into the cave. The opening was large enough to allow Hawk in, leaving no telltale sign of their presence that could be seen from outside.
He turned on a flashlight and panned it around. Rocks, rocks and more rocks. She watched as he picked up one from a knee-deep pile in the corner and set it aside. Then another, then another. She went to help him.
“Rest,” he said.
“You know, women are not really the weaker sex.” She kept on working.
He turned to her and she could see the dark shadow that settled over his face. “They are strong. But still they should be protected.”
His voice was hollow, and she got the idea that he was no longer talking about lifting rocks. And the question flew from her lips before she could stop it. “What happened to your wife?”
He went back to working, disassembling the rock pile methodically, stone by stone.
Fine. If he didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t have to. But she couldn’t help wondering if he had been very much in love with her, if he was in love with her still.
“She was hit by a car,” he startled her by saying.
And it sounded so ordinary, as if it were almost unreal. She had expected a scorpion bite or a snake or an overly hard childbirth in the desert without medical help.
“We were in Tihrin. She was shopping for clothes for Salah. She stepped out in front of a speeding car,” he went on. “Didn’t see it from her burka. They don’t allow much peripheral vision.”
Didn’t she know it. The few times she had to have the thing on drove her crazy. And suddenly she was angry for the death of the woman of whom a moment ago she was jealous. She was angry for Saeed’s loss and for Salah’s.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He nodded and went back to work.
When he was done, she looked at the exposed slab, about three feet by two. He tried to push it out of the way, but it didn’t budge. He sat on the floor, wedged his body against a side wall, pushed with his feet. The large stone moved aside a fraction of an inch.
“If we could move it just a little more we could get a rope behind it and have Hawk pull it,” she said as she grabbed on to help.
He nodded and pushed again.
Even with help from the horse, it took over half an hour to move the stone.
Dara peered into the dark narrow shaft open before them. She’d once spent two days in the rat-and-snake infested sewers of Baghdad. She really didn’t care to repeat the experience. “You first,” she said, and when he crawled forward, she followed him.
After ten yards or so, they came out into an open area, about eight by eight and half as high.
“It’s nice down here.” She picked up his flashlight and looked around, enjoying the air that stood still instead of swirling with sand. The temperature was comfortable, too.
But he didn’t seem to notice it long enough to appreciate it. Saeed ran his hands along the wall, apparently searching for something. Then he found it—a loose rock. He pushed. The rest of the section gave easily, and when she looked closer she realized a small part of the wall wasn’t rock after all, but carefully concealed mud brick.
The shaft that opened in front of them was slightly more spacious than the previous one. He grabbed the flashlight and moved forward. They were able to crawl on their knees and elbows, instead of having to slide forward on their bellies.
“This thing has an end, right?” she asked after about fifteen minutes. “I mean you’re not planning on hiding out in Beijing, are you?”
“China?” His muffled voice reached her.
What was opposite on the globe from Beharrain? Hawaii? “I mean Honolulu. I feel like we’re tunneling straight through.”
They came out into another opening, about half the size of the previous one. Saeed sat up and leaned against the wall, set the flashl
ight aside, and pulled her out of the shaft.
There wasn’t all that much room. They were pretty close. “Pink beaches,” she said to distract herself, but then the picture of Saeed in a Speedo popped into her mind. Distracting all right, but not exactly what she needed to think about when their knees were touching.
“How about a private beach?” he asked and the slow smile that spread on his face screamed, “Swim-wear optional.”
“You have one?” She stared at him, dumbstruck both from the idea of owning a private beach in Hawaii and the thought of being there with Saeed.
“My father was king.” He laid his hands on the wall again.
The opening they cleared this time was the size of a regular door, and the room behind it too large to be fully lit by the single flashlight they carried.
They stood still while Saeed ran the light over the walls. Wow. The cave before them was as big as a couple of ballrooms put together, the floor littered with jars and rolled up carpets, crates piled high against the walls. Some sort of an ancient warehouse.
“What is this?”
He walked to a hip-high terra-cotta jar, pried the wax seal from its mouth with his dagger and tipped it. Gold coins showered to the ground. “The treasure of my Bedu ancestors,” he said.
From time to time she had experienced events in her life that were so far from the expected, so unimaginable, her brain had struggled to accept them, insisting she was dreaming or hallucinating. This was one of them. They were probably dying of exposure somewhere in the desert and she was imagining the comfortable cave and the soft trickle of water….
“Wait a minute—there’s water?”
He walked forward, turned a corner behind a larger boulder. She followed him and gasped at the sight. In a side wing of the cave where the ceiling was lower, a steady trickle of water ran over the rocks, collecting into a pool about eight by eleven or so.
From the look on Saeed’s face, he didn’t expect this, either.
“My grandfather said there was some water down here. I always thought he meant a well.”
