by Rosie Pike
Chloe paused – this was the question she'd been asking herself. "That's what I'm going to find out," she said confidently into the phone.
"You sure you want to go back to the hotel?" Rachel asked, concerned. "You don't have to if you don't want to. I don't want to put you in any risk at all."
"I don't think there's any risk," Chloe said, sounding ninety-nine percent confident. "And if there is, I can't imagine they'd do anything in the hotel. I'll stay there."
"So what do you want me to do?" Rachel asked. "I have a team of – fixers, I suppose you'd call them – on call twenty-four seven for situations like this, so I'll put them on standby. I'll put them somewhere close by – inside the hotel, just text me if you need them, okay?"
"Okay," Chloe agreed. "The only other thing is – I don't suppose you have any sources in Saudi Arabia, do you? Anyone pretty senior. It's all well and good knowing that they want to kill Rashid, but we don't know when or where, or who else is involved."
"Don't worry, I'll look into it."
"Thank you, Rachel – I mean it."
21
Chloe checked her hair in the elevator mirror, making sure there wasn't so much as a strand out of place. The last thing she needed right now was for Khalid to notice that something had changed. As far as she knew, he had no reason to suspect her involvement in Rashid's disappearance – and in fact no reason to believe that the man even knew that Rashid had even gone on the run yet, but it seemed like an eminently sensible precaution regardless. She pulled a paper tissue out of her handbag and dabbed away an infinitesimally small section of smudged lipstick, smacked her lips together in satisfaction, and then pulled her chin up, shoulders back and faced the doors.
Ping!
The elevator doors slid smoothly open, and Chloe stepped out confidently – faking it, if truth be told, but doing so impeccably. The corridor around her was empty, so she walked the few feet towards the entrance of Tariq's suite, smiled for the camera, and was rewarded as the security system – still keyed to allow her restricted access – buzzed her in.
The doors whooshed open and she strode in, seeing Tariq and his war council all sitting on the comfy couches that surrounded the center of the enormous Presidential Suite. "I'm sorry I'm late," she began with a simpering smile, trying to give off the impression that – as a woman, at least in some of these particular gentlemen's eyes – she couldn't possibly be competent enough to constitute a threat. "Little family dinner."
Neither Abdul nor Omar even appeared to register her presence, Khalid merely scowled at her, unsurprisingly with a whiskey in hand, and only Tariq had the good grace to say anything – though his response was far more telling. As he noticed she'd walked in, his eyes widened and his mouth briefly formed a perfect ‘O’ – he couldn't have telegraphed his surprise that she was there any better if he tried. Chloe didn't think that any of the men – and most importantly Khalid – had noticed, but then again, they were all trained in either the military or the intelligence services, so she wouldn't have put it past them.
"Miss Rouhani, thanks… Thanks for joining us," Tariq said, stumbling slightly in his surprise. "We weren't expecting you."
"No?" Chloe said with mock surprise. "Oh – the dinner. It was great, but I came back early to see if I could be of any help."
"Well, thanks for coming," Tariq replied, returning to his normal, assured, self-confident self so quickly that – had she not seen it with her own eyes – Chloe wouldn't have believed the mask had ever been broken. "As you can see," he said, indicating the mountains of paperwork surrounding the three men. "Things have been pretty busy here."
For her part, Chloe pointed at the empty wine bottles arrayed around the men. "Well, at least you all recognized the importance of staying well hydrated," she quipped wittily. "Have you all eaten? I can get the kitchen to send something up, if you need," she suggested, making sure that she was every inch the model of a modern professional concierge.
"We have," Tariq replied. "In fact, I'm thinking about calling it a night. It's pretty late."
"We've got work to do, don't we?" Abdul replied in such a mocking, singsong tone of voice that Chloe didn't believe a word of it. She could see his desire to go to bed – or more likely to find a better bar – written all over his rat-like little face. She pinched herself – she couldn't be having that kind of thought, especially not right here, right now. If she thought she could read their faces, then it stood to reason that they might be able to do the same with hers… Anyway, of all of the men, barring Tariq – of course, Abdul was probably the least objectionable.
"Let's go find a bar, Tariq," Khalid growled. "I haven't had a woman in days."
"You go, I'm going to turn in," Tariq replied. "I'll see you guys in the morning."
Abdul chuckled, a high-pitched keening laugh that sounded to Chloe more like the barking of a pack of wild dogs than anything she'd expected to come out of the mouth of a civilized man. "You just want to get your hands on this piece of meat here, don't you Tariq… We all know your game."
Chloe's cheeks went red, pints of blood rushing to them in an instant. She couldn't believe that he'd just said that – it was so unfathomably rude. But then, he'd given her no reasonable expectation that he might react in any other way. She waited for Tariq to jump in and defend her.
"Don't ask, don't tell," Tariq smirked, a wicked grin curling across his face. "But if you'd give me – and this pretty young lady here, of course – a little bit of privacy, then, let's just say, it'd be greatly appreciated…"
Omar gave the Prince a knowing smile, Abdul threw his head back and indulged in a smug, self-satisfied cackle, and Khalid banged his empty whiskey tumbler down on the coffee table. "Let's go," he barked. "Leave the Prince here to fuck this whore."
He stood up, and the two other Saudi colonels followed him – they might not be junior in rank, but they acted it in person. Chloe just stood there, blushing and hot all over – she'd never been so embarrassed, and she didn't know how to respond, didn't even know where she would begin.
The doors closed smoothly as the three men left, and Tariq turned back to Chloe, his shoulders sagging in relief.
Smack!
The sound of Chloe's unstoppable open palm colliding with Tariq's immovable cheek echoed around the room, and he half theatrically, half out of necessity, staggered back in shock and surprise, bringing his hand quickly up to his lip.
"I suppose I deserved that," he said drily, dabbing at his ever so slightly bloody bottom lip with a cotton handkerchief pulled out of his suit pants.
Chloe was trembling with rage and barely listened to him.
"If you'd waited a second, though," he said, his smile wrinkling his red cheek, which now rivaled the color of Chloe’s own, “I’d have been able to tell you that was all just for show…"
"For show?" Chloe replied stupidly, tongue heavy with confusion. "You mean…" She broke off halfway through her sentence, leaving it unfinished.
"Yes," Tariq agreed, wincing again. "That's exactly what I mean. I just wanted to get rid of those idiots. I didn’t want you to hit me as part of the bargain!"
"Well, you could have warned me!" Chloe exclaimed grumpily. "How was I supposed to know that's what you were doing?"
"A little trust would have been nice," Tariq replied with a Cheshire cat grin. "Anyway," he continued, probing at his lip with an extended finger, "I don't think there's too much damage. I'm a shade less maroon than you are, anyway…"
"Oh, shut up," Chloe said, a hint of a grin creeping to her lips. She tried kicking out at Tariq to reinforce the message, but he deftly sidestepped her like a trained swordsman and deftly swiveled, reached out a hand and pulled her into him.
"Okay," he said, grinning, and planted his lips on hers. She thought about struggling for a second, considered not making things too easy for him, but in the end just melted into his delicious kiss, fiercely pressing her lips against his and tasting the slight hint of metallic iron from his lightly bleed
ing lip. She broke away. "I can taste that!"
"You shouldn't have hit me then," he replied wickedly, releasing her. "Chloe," he began, the grin falling off his face. "Why are you here? Did you get Rashid to safety? Tell me what's going on."
"He's safe," Chloe said carefully, not knowing what to make of the man. As she'd said on the phone to Rachel, she was ninety-nine percent sure that Tariq was in no way involved with the murder plot – but that one percent meant everything. It meant her life – and not just hers. Tariq would have to be a well-practiced sociopath to be able to lie so well, for such a long period of time, but she couldn't rule it out – especially not after what her father had revealed about his own father.
"Don't worry, I don't want to know where he is. It's safer that way," Tariq replied, his face now all business. The comment made Chloe feel better – after all, what kind of murderer wouldn't want to know where their putative victim was hiding out? More than anything, Chloe couldn't believe that someone who made her feel like this, someone who made the butterflies do backflips in her stomach, could be anything other than as honest and upstanding as she believed he was.
"Good." Chloe smiled. "It's not that I don't trust you…"
"Well, you certainly don't trust me enough not to hit me!" Tariq jibed.
"Oh, quit it. When are you going to let me live that one down?" Chloe asked, giggling. "I didn't mean it. Anyway, that face is settling down nicely."
"Oh, all right. I couldn't stay mad at you anyway." Tariq grinned.
"Oh, come on." Chloe laughed. "That's the soppiest line I've ever heard, and believe me – I've heard a few."
"Oh yeah?" Tariq raised an eyebrow. "Had a lot of suitors, have you?"
"Look at this." Chloe giggled, doing a little twirl. "What do you think?"
The phone rang, it's loud, blaring ringtone reverberating from every speaker in the Presidential Suite and killing the jovial mood in an instant, bringing them both back to the real world.
"Shit," Tariq muttered under his breath.
"Who is it?" Chloe asked, surprised at his reaction.
"It must be my father. Anybody else would ring the cell."
"I'll go next door, alright?" Chloe said, pecking Tariq on his cheek with her lips. "I'll give you some privacy."
"No, don't go," Tariq replied, catching her wrist to prevent her from leaving. "I want you to listen into it."
"You do?" Chloe asked, surprised.
"Yes. The only thing is, it's a video call, so you've got to stay away from the camera – okay?"
Chloe nodded and made herself scarce as Tariq fiddled with his collar before pressing a button on a remote control he retrieved from his right suit pocket. One of the large televisions chimed and sprang to life, revealing a stern looking Middle Eastern man in full, gold-trimmed white robes sitting at a heavy, mahogany desk with a green leather surface.
"Father," Tariq began formally. "How are you, sir?"
"Worse and worse every time I hear the news from London," the man spat, not bothering to stand on ceremony. "What the fuck are you doing over there, boy?"
"Things are," Tariq paused, considering his answer – his father wasn't a man who took fools lightly, "progressing."
"Progressing how? I don't want excuses, Tariq – if you screw this up, you're coming back, and believe me it won't be a pleasant reception."
Tariq bit his lip to avoid snarling back a response. "Forgive me, Father. How would you suggest I respond? I've made contact with this protester, Rashid, and we've reached the beginnings of an agreement."
"You think we're going to negotiate with this," the man on the other end of the line paused with apoplectic rage, "this beast of burden? Are you my son, or aren't you?"
"Either we negotiate with him," Tariq said firmly, biting back a more aggressive response, "or we accept that this Eurofighter deal is as good as dead. We're on British soil here, we have to play by their rules – and they aren't just going to lock him up for us, convenient as that would be."
Chloe sat on the sofa, lurking in the background and listening into the conversation eagerly. It was a fascinating insight into the way that the powerful world leaders operated.
"Who says we need him locked up?" Tariq's father asked, with an evil grin on his face. "Go with Khalid's plan."
The blood drained from Tariq's face as the shock of what his father had just said hit him with all the force of a train. "Khalid's plan?" he croaked, sounding as though the last thing he wanted to hear in reply was the response he was inevitably going to receive.
"This Rashid is a roach. And what we do with roaches? We eliminate them. Why should we treat him any differently?"
"Father! We can't kill him. We'd never be allowed back," Tariq replied weakly, shocked.
“Pah!" his father spat, dismissing Tariq's objection in an instant. "These Brits, all they care about these days is money. They'll be annoyed for a while, but eventually they'll take our cash."
"I'm not sure that's true, Father. You don't know the situation on the ground – the facts, he's been all over the news, if he disappears, or worse – he's found dead, then there'll be public uproar."
"Are you questioning me, boy? Remember who's in charge here, understand?" his father hissed. "Are you telling me you aren't willing to eliminate this cockroach?"
Tariq looked down at his feet and didn't reply for a long time.
He tried one last time to forestall the inevitable. "Father, I don't think this is the right course –."
The Defense Minister interrupted him irritably. "Yes or no, boy?"
"It's as you wish, Father," Tariq muttered into the floor.
"Good," the man on the other end grunted, leaning forward and punching a switch off camera, killing the feed.
Tariq slumped back into a wall, shaking. "Are you – alright?" Chloe asked tremulously, no idea how he was about to respond. And he didn't, not for a few seconds at least.
"The man's mad," Tariq finally said, shaking his head in incredulity. "Mad."
"Are you going –." Chloe began, but she was quickly cut off.
"Of course not!" Tariq replied, turning to look at her accusingly. "I wouldn't hurt him, couldn't – it's not the way I was made, much as my father wished that wasn’t the case."
"I'm sorry," Chloe said desperately, laying her palm on the shoulder of the emotionally distraught man in front of her, soul rent with shock. "What are you going to do?"
22
Tariq didn't respond – not for a long while, anyway. Chloe looked at him pityingly, understanding his pain. After all, it couldn't be easy to realize that your father wasn't the man you believed him to be.
"I didn't know," he said blankly, looking off into the distance. "I promise you, I had no idea."
Chloe could tell just by looking at him that he was telling the truth, and in an instant, her fears about his true allegiance vanished, dispersed and smashed into a thousand tiny fragments.
"I know," she replied, consoling him. The hand she'd rested on his shoulder was stroking him, almost as though it had taken on a life of its own in her desire to care for the young man whose life had just taken such an enormous detour. "But it's not your fault."
"I should have known," Tariq replied, ignoring her – his face wrought with the creases of aching sadness. "I always knew –" He paused, as though trying to make sense of a lifetime of memories. "– I always knew that my father was a hard man, I knew he had a vision for my country that not everyone would agree with, but I also thought he was just." Tariq looked up at Chloe, his empty face begging her understanding – and forgiveness. "We had plans, Chloe. At least, I thought we did…"
"What plans?" Chloe asked gently, more for the sake of allowing Tariq to work through his emotions than out of any great desire to know.
"We talked for hours, days even, about the direction the country was going in – what we could do to change it." Tariq broke off, standing up and shaking off Chloe's hand almost as though he hadn't noticed it was there in the fi
rst place. "I don't understand," he continued, clenched hands trembling with delayed rage, or maybe shock. "I don't understand how he could turn his back on all of that and become – this!"
"It's not your fault, Tariq," Chloe murmured quietly, only intending to sympathize, not interrupt. "You're right, you couldn't have known. It's what you do now that matters."
Tariq turned back to her, eyes threatening tears, face burning red with suppressed anger, and perhaps even a little embarrassment – not at being seen in this state, but because he had been fooled for so long by his evil father.
"I don't know," he finally admitted, punching the air with frustration. "What can I do? He has all the money, all the power, access to the right people, and knows the right ears to whisper poisonous half-truths into. How can I fight that?"
Chloe felt awful for him, because he was right – and she couldn't think of anything that would change the stark, bare facts of his situation. After all, her own father hadn't even tried to challenge the power of the Saudi state, and had nevertheless been strung up and tortured for it – and he'd just been a low-level diplomat who had the misfortune, or fortune depending on whose eyes the situation was being viewed through, of falling in love with a foreign woman.
"What happens if you don't do what he asks?" she asked, her question cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
"When I don't do what he asks," Tariq corrected her instantly and firmly. "I don't know. No, that's a lie – I do. He'll kill me."
"But surely he wouldn't?" Chloe gasped. "You're his son!"
"His first son," Tariq corrected her again. "He has others, my brothers – from my mother and others. If I don't do what he asks me to do, he'll see me as having betrayed him, and therefore his own actions as just."
"But that's, that's – barbaric!" Chloe exclaimed. "You're family…"
"It's different where I come from, Chloe." Tariq smiled sadly. "It's a hard land, full of hard people – and nobody would blame my father for doing what he needed to do."
"I can't even imagine…" Chloe said sadly, trailing off.
