by Dana Marton
The truck slid back to the bottom. Fine. The water was still only about six inches deep, nothing the vehicle couldn’t handle. She would drive on until she reached a spot where the bank wasn’t as steep as here.
Helicopters flew overhead. Black Hawks, she recognized their distinctive sound. She stuck her head out the window but couldn’t see the birds from the bottom of the wadi.
“We have to get out,” Majid said, the anger in his voice tinged with fear.
“Not yet.” She kept the gun on him.
She could see just the spot a few hundred feet ahead and pushed forward. She turned the wheel carefully when they got there, gave the motor more gas. They were making it.
But they didn’t make it far before the tires spun out on the muddy incline and the truck began to slide back, pulled by its own weight.
“Damn.” She tried again.
It didn’t work.
And they couldn’t get out of the vehicle. They weren’t far enough from Majid’s guards. She could not allow them to catch up. She had to get away from the men and their semiautomatics.
She backed down to the wadi bottom, thinking she would go forward some more, find a better spot to get out, but the water was up to the top of the tires now. God, it was rising fast. Once it reached the motor they’d be screwed. She drove forward a few hundred feet, tried again, but got stuck.
For good this time. The loose sand had mixed into mud on the side of the wadi and trapped the wheels.
“Stupid, stupid woman, you will kill us both.” Majid swore and berated her some more.
“Shut up.” She tried to switch from forward to reverse, rock the truck out of the bad spot. It dug in deeper.
The rain was getting louder. Not the rain. She looked up just as Majid said, “Allah be merciful.”
A wall of water raced toward them, frothy with anger, carrying bushes and entire palm trees on its back.
Holy heavens. For a split second she considered whether it was safer to stay in the truck or try to swim for it. She decided on the latter, thinking the force of the water was going to roll the truck something fierce. She didn’t want to get trapped inside.
“Out!” She shoved the gun she’d stolen from Majid into her waistband, and went for her door, made it no more than a couple of yards up the bank in the slippery mud before the water reached them.
She slipped, fell, then was carried away at a frightening speed. A palm tree rushed by her but she couldn’t grab on. She saw Majid close to her right. He went under, came up again, latched on to a good chunk of driftwood.
It took all her strength to keep her head above water. She tried to angle herself toward the edge of the wadi that was now a three-hundred-foot-wide rolling river, but didn’t make much progress.
She chucked the gun and her boots, not wanting anything to pull her down, but she still got tumbled under. An eternity passed before she could claw her way up to the rolling surface and cough the sandy water out of her lungs. If her situation wasn’t so desperate, she would have laughed at how bizarre it all was.
She was drowning in the middle of the desert.
She saw a handful of the royal guards up on the bank as the water rushed her by them. When the water spun her around for a second, she could see them running along the edge of the wadi, yelling what was probably encouragement to their king.
Her muscles were growing weak from the desperate struggle. She fought against the current, getting a little closer to shore, although not on her own effort but by chance, pushed by the unpredictable waters.
Except that now there was an obstacle in her way. A giant boulder loomed a couple of hundred feet ahead, directly in her path. She put all her strength into trying to swim, trying to give her movements some direction. If she smashed against it, she was done.
The water rushed her forward with amazing speed. She put everything she had into reaching shore, but everything she had was not enough. At the last second she pulled her legs up in front of her, and bent her knees. Then she hit.
The position absorbed most of the shock. She latched on to the boulder, refused to go under.
She wasn’t going to drown, damn it.
She tried to drag herself up but the pull of the water was too strong. She struggled to find a foothold. After an eternity, she finally did. Her thigh muscles trembled as she pushed up, found an outcropping to grab onto, then lifted her upper body out of the water.
Rain pounded her face but she ignored it as she ignored the cold that wanted to suck away what little remaining strength she had in her body.
Her fingertips were bleeding by the time she made it to the top of the boulder, roughly three feet above water level, a safe spot for now. Until the river rose higher.
She saw the royal guard running down the bank. Then she spotted Majid’s dark head in the water. The current seemed to push him toward his men, and they held their rifles out for him.
She watched him struggle before he caught one, only to have it slip out of his fingers. But he was lucky; a second later he grabbed on to another and this time he was able to hang on.
As much as she disliked the man, she did not wish for him to drown. Having gotten so close to a watery death herself—and still not completely clear of it—she couldn’t wish that on anyone. But it burned her that he would be getting away, after what he had done to Saeed and his own people.
When his men finally pulled Majid out, he sprawled on his back in the mud, gasping for air. She knew how he felt.
Then one of the guards spotted her and yelled something. Even over the rain and the noise of the churning water she could hear the triumph in the man’s voice as he raised his rifle.
Chapter Eleven
Dara threw herself on her stomach. This was the end. She could not go back into the water, and up here she had nowhere to hide. Still, at least it would be death by a bullet and not by drowning. All in all she preferred it this way. But it galled her to go out like this, defenseless. She would have given anything for a gun, to be able to take at least some of those bastards with her.
She flinched as the first shots rang out and bounced off the rock a few inches from her. As a soldier, she was used to being under fire, but this was different. This was target practice. Being the target wasn’t a comfortable feeling. Screw them. She raised her middle finger and waved it in the air.
They responded with more bullets. How predictable.
She thought of Saeed, his smile, his mesmerizing blue eyes, the time they had spent in the cave, riding Hawk in the desert in the moonlight. Whatever little time she had left, she wanted to spend with him, even if only in her imagination. She hoped he had found his sisters and Salah by now and they were all safe.
She loved him.
The admission scared her as much as the bullets that buzzed like angry bees around her, maybe more. But staring death in the face brought her feelings into sharp focus, and there was little point in denying them. She had fallen in love with the future king of Beharrain.
Love wasn’t something she’d ever seen in her parents’ marriage, and she had been convinced it would be impossible to find in her line of work, anyway. But here she was, in love. In a way, she was glad to have gotten this unexpected gift, to know what love was before she died.
Another spray of bullets hit close to her face and she pulled her head down to protect herself from the flying shards of stone.
And then she heard more shots, but coming from a distance. Then more and more and more.
She lifted her head and blinked at the sight of dozens of vehicles flying through the rain over the muddy sand. Camels? She blinked her eyes. Yes, Bedu warriors on camels behind cars. The scene was bizarre, an updated version of Lawrence of Arabia.
They reached Majid and his guards fast and surrounded them. Her heart stopped for a moment when she recognized the man who stepped out of the car in the lead.
Saeed.
She stood on the rock, yelled, waved, but it wasn’t necessary. He had seen her already.<
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He had come to save her.
Relief coursed through her body. She was breathless, her mind reeling at having gone from sure death to seeing Saeed again. He had found her somehow.
He ran toward her, leaving Majid to his men. He found a palm trunk that had been wedged between the stones on the bank and freed it, holding on to one end while he floated the other out into the current. She could only stare at the superhuman feat. The tree trunk was a good twenty feet long, but he held its weight against the rushing water.
A dozen of Saeed’s men were right behind him, helping now. She prayed as the water pushed the trunk toward the boulder. It was long enough, the end of it catching on the rocks. It held. Her muscles went weak with relief. But she couldn’t relax yet. She scooted over and lowered her feet into the river.
“Stay where you are,” Saeed shouted and jumped in, disappeared under the frothy water.
She didn’t breathe until his head broke the surface again.
She watched him struggle with the current, hanging on to the palm trunk that was anchored by her boulder on one end and by his people on the other. He should have tied a rope around his waist. Of course, he probably didn’t have a rope. Or he didn’t want to waste time, fearing the water would rise and sweep her away. It reached almost to the top of the boulder now.
Then a terrible possibility occurred to her—if the water washed over the rock, it would lift the end of the log and take it. The current was strong enough to rip the other end from the men’s hands. And then both Saeed and she would be lost.
She kept her eyes on him as she slipped into the river and moved forward with renewed desperation, gripping the log, frustrated at how little progress she was making. The water battled against them, but they held on, never taking their gazes off each other. When they finally met in the middle, he held a hand out, and she slipped into his embrace, feeling his strong arm slide around her and hold her to him.
And for a moment they clung together, her head buried in the nook of his shoulder, relief shaking her body.
“Are you okay?”
She looked up into clear blue eyes that seemed to see to her soul and nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”
They made their way back in the lashing rain, hanging on to each other and to the palm trunk. When one slipped for a moment, the other pulled harder.
They were within three feet of shore when the palm trunk shook and swung around. The men held fast, yelling at them in panic. Saeed grabbed her tight, then let go of the log and heaved his body toward the bank, pulling her with him through the rolling current.
Water rushed into her lungs. She coughed, clawed forward, reaching nothing solid she could grab onto. She swam for all she was worth, refusing to give up. They were not going to die. Not today, damn it.
Then they were pulled up by a dozen seeking hands. She lay on the shore and gasped for air, still dizzy from the effort when Saeed lifted her into his arms and walked away from the river’s edge with her.
The movement triggered something in her body and she heaved water out of her lungs. “Sorry,” she managed to say, embarrassed.
He held her tighter and pressed his lips to the top of her head.
SHE WAS SAFE. Saeed took the first full, relaxed breath since the double golden doors had closed behind Dara. She was safe. His heart had nearly burst with fear when he had driven over the dunes and saw her on that boulder with bullets flying around her.
If he had lost her… He couldn’t even think about that. She was his heart.
He carried her toward the car, pausing when they passed by Majid and the man spoke to him.
“Cousin, I was coming back to ask for your understanding and forgiveness.”
“You must ask our people,” Saeed responded. “You can ask them when you stand trial.”
“You cannot put me on trial. I’m of royal blood,” he said, looking shocked. “I’m of your blood.” The last words came out laced with anger.
“You committed many crimes against the people. You must answer to them.”
“I will go into exile.”
“If the people so decide.” Saeed inclined his head. “But I don’t think they will.”
He watched his cousin’s face turn redder by the moment, saw his snap of control, remained motionless when Majid lurched against the men who held him fast.
“I should have taken care of you when I took care of your father.” Majid spat the venomous words.
Saeed let Dara slip to the ground, his peripheral vision narrowed, his entire being focused now on the man in front of him.
“You were responsible for my father’s death?” He barely recognized his own voice, so cold it could have turned the rain to hail.
Majid just grinned at him, the pleasure of causing pain obvious on his face. Then Saeed stepped closer and the look on his cousin’s face turned more serious.
He could murder him. He wanted to—here and now.
He felt Dara’s touch on his arm, a tenuous link to reason.
He glanced around at his men and saw his anger and outrage mirrored in their eyes. They would not have disapproved if he ripped Majid’s throat out with his bare hands. He was the victim’s son, the blood revenge his right according to the Bedu code that was hundreds of years older than any written law of the land.
Dara’s hand tightened on him. He took a deep breath. By tomorrow this time he would be king, sworn to uphold the laws of the country. But today, right now, the urge to harm the man in front of him was overwhelming.
“Saeed.” Dara’s voice reached him through the fog of anger.
He turned to look at her, and her troubled gaze was like a slap on the skin.
He stepped away from Majid. If he were to be king, he would be a just king or not take the throne at all.
“Take him to the palace prison,” he said to his men as he strode away in the rain.
Dara was by his side. “What was that about?”
The words hurt on their way out. “He killed my father.”
She glanced back at Majid then at Saeed, anger and sympathy mixing in her eyes. “Nasir was right. I’m sorry.”
He nodded and squeezed her hand. He loved having her beside him.
“Did you find Salah and your sisters?” she asked in a transparent attempt to distract him.
“They are with Nasir.” She was right. That’s what he needed to focus on. His family was safe, Dara was safe. “Thank you for what you did for them.”
“You’re welcome.” She glanced at Majid as he was being led away. “It is over, the throne is yours.”
And it hit him that it was over. He was safe from Majid. Her mission in Beharrain was done.
But there was no way he could let her go.
The sound of helicopters filled the air. The U.S. rescue, he thought. They must have figured out when they got to the oasis that Dara had already escaped.
And through the rain, he saw trucks heading toward him, a half dozen or so. They were fleeing from the Americans.
When they got closer, the trucks stopped and the men got out. They were Beharrainians, he could tell at a glimpse from the distinctive curve of their daggers.
“We come in peace, brother,” their leader said. “We ask for your protection from the foreign dogs.”
Saeed watched two helicopters land behind the men who were moving toward him. The well-armed group wanted to melt into the sea of two thousand warriors who stood behind Saeed, thanks to Nasir who had alerted the tribes in the area to join him.
“Allah be praised, we found you,” the leader said not more than ten meters away now.
Saeed watched the men, the military trucks behind them that did not belong to the country’s army. He knew who they were—terrorists, lawless, honorless men whom his cousin had tolerated in the country to do his dirty work for him.
Smug relief spread across the leader’s face. He knew the two dozen U.S. soldiers behind them could not stand up to Saeed’s force.
Saeed watched
as the men came closer still. They were Beharrainian; he owed them his protection from the foreigners. They were his blood.
No, he thought then. They had betrayed that blood. He had nothing in common with them. They were cowards and murderers. They were probably the very people who had attacked the U.S. Air Force base in Saudi.
He signaled to his men and the next second their weapons were raised. The terrorists froze, confusion and anger on their faces. They swore and threatened, but did not open fire—they knew when they were faced with an overwhelming force.
“Come.” Saeed turned to Dara. “Let’s go talk to your people and see what we can do to make sure justice prevails.”
“You called in the U.S.?” Her ebony eyes were round with surprise.
“When I thought I might lose you—” A cold fist squeezed his chest when he thought of it even now. He cleared his throat. “I realized how insane it was to argue over who is doing what when we have the same purpose. If you were hurt because of my pride, I would have never forgiven myself.”
“I’m tougher than I look,” she said with a smile that lit up her beautiful face.
“I know,” he said. “But maybe I’m not. Not when it comes to you.”
DARA SOAKED in the luxurious pool in the guest room of Saeed’s house in Tihrin, enjoying the hot water that was beginning finally to take the chill out of her.
She closed her eyes and tried to relax. She had done it. She had given her resignation to the Colonel over the phone. Sometime soon she would have to go back for a debriefing and to sign the paperwork, but otherwise she was free. The Colonel hadn’t been overexcited, but wished her the best, and consoled himself with having some crucial new information on the gun trade, and a number of wanted terrorists in custody.
She was officially out of the military.
Strangely, the thought did not fill her with panic. For the first time in her life, the abundance of possibilities filled her with excitement instead of fear. She knew who she was. She would not lose her way like her mother had.
