by C. J. Miller
“That seems wise,” Sarah said, letting Ms. Bourabbi lead her into another room.
Saafir turned his attention to Frederick and his secretary of health and human services. “I have forty minutes until I’m speaking at the disaster relief center. Update me on our progress.”
Frederick looked at the tablet he was holding. “We’ve evacuated everyone in direct range of the oil fires. The winds are changing directions, and we’ve had reports of acid rain across the region. We’re looking for more spaces to accommodate families and pets. Our lead engineer is telling me they have a plan in place and they’ve slowed the spread of the fire.”
“Tell me more about the displaced people,” Saafir said.
Frederick and the secretary grimaced. “We’ve opened mosques, government buildings and schools. Most are overcrowded. We’ve arranged for regular meal deliveries once a day, but water and basic hygiene facilities are at a premium.”
“We’ve helped put people in touch with family members in other parts of the country, but it takes time to transport people across the region. We’re battling meeting basic needs and providing services,” his secretary said.
“Open the royal compound. Move people there. Contact every hotel in the region. Negotiate deals with them. Get a timeframe from the lead engineer when people can return to their homes,” Saafir said.
“I don’t think moving people into your home is wise,” Frederick said. “Rabah Wasam has followers everywhere. If they get into your home, no telling what they might do.”
Saafir wasn’t an overly trusting man. He knew what a well-placed informant could find out. He didn’t have anything to hide. “What are you afraid will happen? They’ll report on what I’m doing? I’ll stay here or at our country home with my mother. As long as my family is safe, that’s priority one. Should I be the only Qamsarian not inconvenienced? How can I ask others to open their homes if I will not do the same?”
“Your excellency, I must again plead my case. Go after Rabah Wasam. Find him. Lock him away. Don’t let your history with him color this situation. We’ve already heard rumors that he’s fled the country. He deserves no pity,” Frederick said.
Saafir had contemplated his response to Rabah Wasam on the long plane flight. He had spoken with Sarah about it at length. “The people of Qamsar come first. Finding Wasam is a high priority, but it comes second. It is not pity I feel for him. It is contempt.”
Sarah opened the door and joined them in the hall. Saafir had never seen her look more stunning. She wore an emerald-green gown that set off her deep brown eyes. It was ornate and stylish and for an instant, he was transported to a moment where he was looking at Sarah as his bride.
Except she could never be.
His tongue felt too big for his mouth as he struggled to say something to her that was appropriate in front of others but also conveyed how seeing her dressed this way struck him.
“Do I look too awkward?” she said.
“Not at all. You’ve taken my breath away,” he said.
His breath and another piece of his heart.
* * *
Saafir’s national, televised address to his countrymen was important. They were looking for their leader to provide reassurance and explain the incidents of late without alarming them. He had to convey confidence in stopping the oil fires, in preventing more fires from being started and in the trade agreement negotiations with the Americans. The media had run the stories of the trouble he’d experienced in America and Adham’s presence, or lack thereof, was noted. Adham remained in a hospital in America recovering.
With the weight of the country on his shoulders, Saafir strode to the podium. The media snapped to attention and cameras flashed. He was not taking questions until the end and the atmosphere in the room was heavy with curiosity and desperation. People wanted answers from their leader. They needed to know they and their families were safe.
“My fellow Qamsarians,” Saafir said, his heart rate escalating. As many times as he had spoken in public, the importance of it was never lost on him.
“Our country has again suffered at the hands of terrorists. Men and women who would rather see their selfish ends met than the welfare and good of the Qamsarian people addressed. Our recent history proves that we won’t bow under pressure. We will not let the extreme actions of a few angry extremists divert us from our goals. To move Qamsar forward, to see our families prosper and to show the world we are a capable, strong and important member of the international community, we must stand together.”
Saafir took a deep breath. Sarah was standing to his right, off the elevated platform, but her complete confidence in him and her strength made him feel like she was at his side. She had her hands clasped together and he wished she were standing closer, as his mother had often stood at his father’s side. A wave of emotion choked him and Saafir put thoughts of his family and Sarah aside. A display of emotion could be misinterpreted.
“I’m here to communicate our plans to cope with the disasters that have befallen our nation. I am opening my family’s homes to those who have been displaced. Those who have been forced from their homes are being welcomed into mine. I have asked hotels and camping grounds and motels to open their doors to everyone who needs a place to stay. If you have an extra room, a trailer, a motorhome, a houseboat or a tent, I urge you to call the center for disaster relief and let them know of your willingness to provide shelter and food to those who need it. If you don’t have room to spare, maybe you have extra clothes, blankets, pillows, towels or food to share.
“I’ve heard from grocers and restaurants who want to help. I’ve heard from bus companies who are willing to pick up those affected and deliver them to safety. I have deployed the national emergency response team. Employers are making temporary working arrangements. Everyone is working together to get our country back on track. We will not allow this act of malice to take us off the path of success.”
He noticed a few misted eyes and hoped his message was finding a spot in the hearts of Qamsarians.
He provided more details for how to help and then he opened the floor for questions.
“Can you tell us what your administration is doing to find those who started the fire and prevent them from doing something more drastic?” A question from a reporter near the front.
Saafir knew who had started the fire and he knew whom he needed to watch. He would not openly accuse Rabah Wasam and declare war on the Conservatives, not now when he wanted the focus to be on helping. “Qamsar’s intelligence community and military tactics teams are monitoring the situation. We have boots on the ground and ears to the wall on this. Any further provocation will be met with an immediate and relentless response.”
“Why not strike back now?” Another question from a reporter.
“We will not lash out at those we believe responsible until we have evidence to prove it. More than that, I want all available resources directed at helping those in need. An assault takes time and money better spent elsewhere.” Not that he hadn’t assembled a team to search for Wasam and infiltrate his political party. If they tried other tactics, Saafir would know before they had a chance to attack.
“If you’re worried about the country, why did you bring an American here? An outsider doesn’t belong in your home.” The question and comment came from a reporter in the fourth row.
Out of the corner of his eye, Saafir saw Sarah stiffen. Saafir had brought Sarah and that opened him to criticism and thinly veiled insults.
“I have traveled here with a friend I made in America. She has been working with the trade agreement committee and she’s here to consult on some other matters.”
“Those other matters being your wedding?” a reporter asked.
The media had put together that Sarah was an event planner and Saafir could have lied and pretended she was in Qamsar to plan his weddi
ng to Alaina. He wouldn’t insult her with the lie. “Despite what the tabloids may have reported, I am not engaged and therefore I do not have plans for a wedding,” he said. “Are there other questions about our plan for handling the oil field fires?”
* * *
“Alaina’s father wants to meet with you. He saw the press conference and he knows you’re in the city. Give the man thirty minutes of your time,” Frederick said. “He’ll be your family soon.” He took a sip of his coffee and a bite of his biscotti.
They’d stopped at a local restaurant for something to eat.
Something in Frederick’s voice reeked of censure. Frederick didn’t approve of Sarah and the sooner he and Sarah had the distance of thousands of miles between them, the better, in Frederick’s point of view.
Saafir couldn’t think of a reason why he couldn’t meet with Alaina’s father, except that he wanted to return to his home after a long day and be alone with Sarah. The reminder of his impending engagement highlighted how little time he had remaining with her. Meeting with Mohammad Faris would show the Conservatives he was not punishing the entire party for Wasam’s actions and Saafir could use the meeting to learn what the rest of the party was thinking.
Sarah was stirring her bowl of soup and staring into it.
“Everything okay?” he asked. She was being unusually quiet.
“Feeling a little lost. I don’t speak the language.”
Some of the conversation was in Arabic and he didn’t know how much Sarah was following. He considered lying to Sarah about whom he planned to meet, and then thought better of it. “Mohammad Faris wants to meet with me.”
Sarah looked up from her bowl, dropping the spoon into it. “Now?”
He nodded. “Mr. Faris wishes to discuss the current political environment.”
“And your engagement to his daughter,” Sarah said, looking out the window, a vacant expression in her eyes. While their table was in a private corner of the restaurant, they were still being watched. How could Saafir communicate better with her without stirring up controversy?
He had no doubt his engagement would come up in the conversation with Alaina’s father. Mr. Faris would have read the media reports detailing his relationship with Sarah and want answers. “I am sure he will ask me about his daughter.”
Sarah cringed. “I assume I am not wanted for this meeting?”
“It’s a political meeting,” he said. He felt awful for putting Sarah in this place. “It was selfish for me to invite you here. But I needed you. I need you.”
“We’re fooling ourselves,” she whispered. “This can never work.” Sarah stood. She looked at one of Saafir’s guards. “I’m ready to leave.”
The hurt on her face was plain. “Please take Sarah to our country home,” Saafir said. “I will be along shortly.”
“Shortly” turned into two hours. Mohammad Faris, a high-ranking member of the Conservative party, had questions he wanted answered about Saafir’s plans for the country, his response to the oil fires and the trade agreement.
Saafir was as honest as he could be with his answers. Faris seemed to respect that.
“There is talk in the party about publicly distancing ourselves from Wasam and his extreme rhetoric. Many of the party believe he is taking his stance too far,” Faris said.
“The royal family appreciates support in condemning terrorism and extremists.” If Faris and other prominent members of the party openly discussed their viewpoints with the media, it would alienate Wasam and his followers and he would lose power.
Only after hashing through the topic of their strategy for Wasam in great detail did Faris turn the conversation to his daughter.
“Mikhail has been working hard to make sure your marriage to my daughter proceeds unencumbered. Do I need to be concerned that you’ll back out of the arrangement? Jilting my daughter would be embarrassing for our family and create more tension between our party and the royal family.”
Saafir hated lying to Mr. Faris, hated lying to Sarah and hated what he had to say next. He didn’t have a choice. “There is no reason why Alaina and I will not be married.” Though Sarah was the woman who took first place in his heart, he could not put his needs and desires before those of his countrymen.
Chapter 9
“Our oil fields, the most economically significant resources at our disposal, are being destroyed while our leader is gallivanting in America with an American consort. Where are his loyalties?”
Saafir pressed Mute on the television, shutting Rabah Wasam’s words from reaching his ears. Wasam was speaking live from somewhere outside Qamsar. His decision to flee the country was telling to Saafir.
Saafir had been in meetings with his disaster relief chief and the lead of the engineering team he’d brought in to stop the oil fires. His priority was stopping the fires from spreading to protect human lives and the environment.
His phone rang. Only the highest priority calls were being sent through. Saafir answered.
“I heard you met with Alaina’s father,” Mikhail said.
It was good hearing his brother’s voice. “Yes, I did,” Saafir said.
“Will you see Alaina while you’re in Qamsar?” Mikhail asked.
“My time is booked.”
“Of course,” Mikhail said. His voice hitched.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Saafir asked. Mikhail had been in his shoes. He knew better than anyone that this job was a balancing act that required careful prioritization.
“There are murmurs among the Progressives that you’re not taking a strong enough stance against Wasam.”
He could count on Mikhail to be honest. “My plan is to keep this country running, even if I have to do so with my last breath. You know Wasam’s problems with me are personal and he’s using every possible angle to attack me.”
“How will you counter?” Mikhail asked.
“I have a team looking into Wasam’s activities.”
“Be careful, Saafir. People are not always what they seem. Be careful who you trust and what intelligence you believe,” Mikhail said.
Saafir’s curiosity rose. “If you know something, say it plain. I don’t have time for verbal games.”
Mikhail sighed. “I don’t know how you’ll react to this and I considered not telling you, but I heard a rumor that Sarah Parker is working for the Americans and is using you to manipulate the trade agreement. She’s a plant, Saafir.”
Saafir bit his tongue over an adamant denial. After his brother’s experiences with his former fiancée, Saafir understood why Mikhail would be quick to believe a conspiracy. “She is not a plant. She wouldn’t betray me.”
A long pause. “If she does?” Mikhail asked.
“She won’t,” Saafir said. Mikhail hadn’t seen his fiancée’s deception. Saafir knew Sarah’s heart and intentions were pure. While she had initially approached him in the bar, she had not pursued him aggressively. She had been ready to walk away from their relationship. Her actions were not those of a mole.
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything else. I have to go,” Mikhail said.
They said their goodbyes. The distrust from Mikhail was understandable, but Sarah had never asked him about the trade agreement, at least not about the terms or his thoughts.
As if knowing he was thinking about her, Sarah entered his private office. Her cheeks were flushed and she was carrying a stack of magazines in her arms. “I went with two of your guards to the souk.” She set the magazines in front of him.
On the cover of the top magazine in the stack was a picture of Sarah on the left and Alaina on the right. “No one will tell me what this says. What does it say about me?”
Something uncharitable that implied she was a whore bent on breaking up his marriage to Alaina. “You can’t worry about what ev
ery tabloid is saying about you.”
“Then it says something bad.” She moved aside the top magazine and spread them out across his desk. “Are they all bad? Does everyone think I’m a home-wrecker?”
“Home-wrecker?” he asked, unfamiliar with the phrase. His English was good, but not perfect.
“It means a woman who causes problems in a marriage and destroys families.”
He picked up one of the magazines. “This one is calling you an American princess.”
He flipped it open and found the article. Her pictures danced across the pages. They’d included a few of him and Sarah together, all taken in America.
“What does it say?” she asked. She muttered something about needing to learn Arabic.
Saafir tossed the magazine onto his desk. “Please don’t torment yourself with these things. I could gather a dozen political magazines that have bad things to say about me.”
Sarah rubbed her forehead. “About your politics. Not about your personal life.”
“To many, they are one and the same.” In Qamsar, the royal family was fodder for the tabloids, especially when a member was of marriageable age and single. Saafir had learned to ignore the stories about him. Usually, their perspectives were skewed, their sources some distant acquaintance of the royal family with little information and the articles borderline libelous.
“An entire country of people hates me,” she said.
Saafir gathered Sarah against him. “It’s not a country of people. There are a few reporters digging around for information about you. Normally, you’d have a PR person who would make a statement, but since we are denying any official relationship, it is best to ignore this trash.”
“Tell me what the article says and then I will ignore it.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “No. Ignore it. I have to get to a meeting. Can we have dinner after?”
She turned away. “You haven’t said anything about your meeting with Alaina’s father.”
“It went well.” Telling her the details was akin to twisting the knife.
