Panther's Prey

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “It seems that you would have done better to provide your niece with an armed marine from the barracks in Tripoli,” Danforth said musingly, pursing his lips. “Is this Spaulding woman available for questioning?”

  “Yes, I assume so. She was of course very upset when it happened but I’m sure she would want to cooperate.”

  Danforth nodded. “And the passengers were robbed, but only your niece was kidnapped?”

  “Yes.”

  Danforth nodded again. “It sounds like the work of the rebels to me.”

  “My wife thinks so too.”

  “Your wife?”

  “Amelia is actually my wife’s niece, her brother’s child. Beatrice thinks it was Malik Bey or his men.”

  “I agree. There are bandits abroad in the Empire who have no cause except lining their own pockets, but they don’t take chances like this and they don’t kidnap women for sale. They’re not organized enough to house and transport them. Bey has quite an extensive and efficient organization and this type of thing is his trademark, I’m afraid.”

  “So what can we do?”

  Danforth rose from his leather padded chair and strolled around the room, his hands behind his back.

  “The United States is in a very difficult position with respect to the rebels, Woolcott, and I’m sure you can appreciate why. They are seeking to remove a ruthless dictator from power and replace him with a democratic government, so we are of course in sympathy with their aims. But since they raise money for their operation by preying on well heeled travelers, many of whom happen to be British and American, we have to condemn their methods.”

  “This incident wasn’t just a robbery, Danforth. Amelia was kidnapped.”

  “Selling Western women into slavery is even more lucrative than banditry,” Danforth said, shrugging. “From the description I have here your unfortunate niece is just what these men are always looking for: young, blonde, and I assume untouched.”

  James nodded, not looking at Danforth.

  “That explains why the other women on the coach weren’t taken. They wouldn’t be worth much.”

  “What can we do?” James said again.

  “Well, the Sultan’s government is the official one, as you know, and I will file a complaint with his representatives, but I wouldn’t expect anything to come of that. If the Sultan could control the rebels we would not be having this conversation.”

  “My wife thinks I should ask Kalid Shah to intervene in this matter.”

  “Kalid Shah? The Pasha of Bursa?”

  “He is now a member of the family,” James said, looking at the ceiling.

  “Yes, I recall that your cousin eventually married her purchaser, quite a turn of events there.” Danforth considered the suggestion, biting his lower lip. “Shah has been trying to moderate between the rebels and the Sultan,” Danforth said slowly, “he might be able to help.”

  “Then you think it’s a good idea?”

  Danforth widened his eyes. “It’s worth a try. Like my government, Shah is caught between the two factions. He has a Western education, a Western wife and decidedly Western political leanings, but he is still the Sultan’s man and if the Sultan falls he loses the pashadom of Bursa for his son.”

  “I assume that Shah hasn’t been getting anywhere with the Sultan or the rebels wouldn’t be so active.”

  “Shah’s been trying to win some concessions from Hammid to placate the rebels and work out a compromise.” Danforth spread his hands to indicate futility. “But the Sultan is adamant about retaining his absolute power.”

  “That’s how dictators always fall. They won’t give a little to preserve what’s left and eventually they lose everything.”

  “Such is the lesson of history,” Danforth said sadly. “And in this case the Sultan’s attitude toward the rebels is exacerbated by the fact that the oldest Bey brother ran off with his daughter.”

  “Yes, I know. Roxalena is Sarah’s dear friend.”

  “Then you understand why the Sultan regards the Bey brothers as twin thorns in his side. Osman, his former captain of halberdiers, eloped with Princess Roxalena, and now Osman’s kid brother is organizing a grass roots army against Hammid. It’s a very tense situation.”

  “And Amelia is caught in the middle of it.”

  “We all are, but she’s in the most immediate danger. The rebels don’t hang on to their captives long, quick turnover is imperative. We must act fast.”

  James rose. “I’ll go to see Shah immediately.”

  “And I will meet with the Ambassador today to see what we can do from our end.” Danforth reached out to shake James’ hand. “Good luck, Woolcott.”

  “Thank you,” James said.

  He had a feeling he was going to need it.

  * * *

  Amy watched as the man entered and dropped the tent flap behind him. From his height and his eyes she recognized him as the first bandit who had kidnapped her.

  “What are you going to do with me?” she demanded, tugging on the ropes which held her bound to the pole.

  The man surveyed her without replying. He was now dressed in loose homespun trousers with a belted tunic slashed deeply at the neck. His coal black hair waved loosely over his forehead and his collar, and she saw that his mask had covered a thin, high bridged nose and a wide, sensuous mouth with a full lower lip. She had been right about his age; he was no more than twenty-five or thirty, but his intense, serious gaze bespoke a responsibility and a drive far beyond his years.

  She could not tear her eyes from his.

  “Answer me,” she said. “I know you speak English.”

  He said nothing, merely walked in a circle around her, surveying her as if she were the blue ribbon heifer at the county fair. The scrutiny made Amy intensely uncomfortable and she was finally able to look away from him. At that moment he stepped forward and lifted her chin with his finger.

  He studied her face, and at such close range Amy was able to study his. He had the longest eyelashes she had ever seen, so thick and dense that they made his eyes seem huge in his olive skinned face, and when his lips parted she had a glimpse of strong white teeth. He stroked her chin absently with his thumb, looking her over, and she shivered at the touch, mesmerized by his stare. Then she realized that she was submitting to this humiliating examination without a struggle and she jerked back from him angrily. He smiled slightly, which infuriated her even more.

  “You’ll never get away with this,” she hissed.

  He removed the veil the old woman had pinned to her hair and ran his hand lightly over the flaxen mass, lifting it from her neck, as if weighing gold.

  “Stop touching me!” she yelled, close to her tears at her inability to get away from him. She hated her helplessness, as well as the way he was making her feel.

  In response he undid the single button at her neck and slipped his hand smoothly inside her collar, as if to sample the silken texture of her skin.

  Amy reacted instinctively, not taking time to consider the rashness of her action. She spit in his face.

  He looked surprised for a moment, then his expression hardened. He grabbed her collar and was pulling her toward him roughly when the tent flap lifted and the second bandit came in, calling, “Malik!”

  Malik, Amy thought. Where had she seen that name? Then she remembered. Malik Bey was the sworn enemy of the Sultan, the rebel with an enormous price on his head she had read about in the newspaper.

  Amy felt her throat close with fear. Her first guess had been correct then, and she was destined for the slave markets. That’s why she had been bathed and handled so carefully, why this man was examining her as if she were some rare commodity. To him she was; selling her would bring him a fortune that he could then spend on weapons and supplies to outfit his men.

  Amy refused to cry, but she began to tremble helplessly. Finding the flyer and the rebel leader in the same camp was not a coincidence.

  She was lost.

  The second bandit stop
ped short at the scene before him and then burst out laughing. He said something jokingly to Malik, but the rebel leader did not smile. He released Amy suddenly and then stalked out of the tent.

  Anwar Talit dashed out after him and said again in Turkish, “Come on, let’s strip her naked and have a look. That’ll help to put a price on her.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t have to mistreat her to see that she’s worth fifteen hundred kurush, maybe two thousand. She’s very young, probably a virgin.”

  “Probably? I’ll make sure!”

  “I said no. If we start violating our captives then all the men will want to do it and we’ll be running an orgy here, the revolution will be forgotten. I must demand the same discipline of myself that I expect from my soldiers.”

  Anwar studied his friend and then his face changed. “You want her, don’t you?” Anwar said slowly.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. All she means to me is the price she’ll bring.”

  “But you like this one. That hair, the gray eyes, the white skin. She’s much more beautiful than any of the others we’ve sold. And she has spirit, you always respond to that.”

  Malik shrugged.

  “Then why were you undressing her when I walked in?” Anwar persisted.

  “I wasn’t undressing her, I was merely seeing if the report I got from the women was accurate. She must be perfect to demand that much money for her.”

  “And?”

  “As far as I was able to see, she is flawless,” Malik answered quietly.

  “Then take her. If it knocks a few hundred off the virgin price, what’s the difference? She’ll still bring more in one shot than we could raise with several train raids.”

  Malik swallowed hard, not meeting his gaze.

  Anwar chuckled knowingly. “You should go to bed with one of the camp women every now and then, my friend. It does ease the tension.”

  Malik didn’t answer, remembering the captive’s yellow hair and creamy skin. “Let’s sell her off as quickly as possible,” he said abruptly. “Contact the Greek, Diomedes, the one who buys for the auctions in Medina, first thing in the morning.”

  “He’s cheap, Malik, he won’t offer what she’s worth,” Anwar said.

  “Then call in Halmad from Beirut. I want the top price, but she has to be gone by the end of the week.”

  Anwar nodded, correctly reading the tight expression on his friend’s face.

  Obviously, Malik didn’t trust himself around her.

  * * *

  Amy tried to get into a comfortable position on the ground, but she was bound so closely to the pole that she could only move a few inches. Darkness had descended and most of the camp was asleep, but she could see the shadow of her guards on the tent, moving slowly, a menacing puppet show backlit by the firelight.

  The women had left her alone at last, and of her captor there was no sign.

  Amy had rejected the dinner the old woman produced, and since then she’d been ignored. The noise outside the tent had gradually diminished with nightfall, and the silence seemed to conceal a thousand threats. She had rubbed her wrists raw trying to loosen her bonds. Her legs were cramped and she was starving and she had a skull cleaving headache.

  And she was scared.

  There was a sound outside and she quickly feigned sleep, cradling her head on her arm and watching the entrance through her lashes. Malik Bey came in and pulled his tunic over his head, exposing broad shoulders and sinewy arms to her view.

  Amy quickly closed her eyes to slits, dropping her lids, straining to see by the light of the banked fire and the smoky oil lamp sitting on a chest. Bey took a step closer to her and unrolled a woven floor mat from a bundle in the corner. He dropped his belt, his hand going to the knife stuck into the waistband of his pants.

  Amy caught her breath, keeping still with an effort. He was clearly undressing. Was he going to sleep here? It made sense in terms of his desire to safeguard his investment, but the thought of having him so close by all night, breathing the same air, made her shudder inwardly.

  He moved and she shut her eyes completely, listening tensely as he knelt next to her. She froze, trying to keep her breathing deep and even, as he touched her hair and then put the back of his hand to her cheek. Then he rose abruptly, sighing deeply, and she heard him go back to the mat and drop onto it, his remaining clothes rustling softly as he settled down.

  Amy risked a look and saw that he was turned away from her, a cloak flung carelessly over his upper body. She watched as his respiration settled into a steady rhythm, then she stretched her legs to ease a cramp and tried to relax a little herself.

  Why had he touched her so tenderly? It was hardly the action of a ruthless body broker who was preparing to sell her, but she knew that must be his plan. Why else would he have taken her? No one was bothering her sexually, and that had to be because he wanted to get the maximum price for an innocent girl. Was he staying with her tonight to make sure none of the other men interfered with her? Amy was hardly sophisticated in such matters, but she had been fascinated by the details of the newspaper article about the rebels and remembered it vividly.

  The light from the oil lamp was blurring as her eyes grew heavy. She couldn’t believe that she would sleep under such circumstances, but the events of the day had simply been too exhausting. Her mind drifted along the precipice of consciousness and then dropped over the edge.

  Chapter 3

  When Amy awoke it was full day and the old lady was with her again.

  Bey’s pallet was back in the corner and he was gone.

  “Where’s your boss?” Amy said to the old woman, who rose when she saw Amy looking at her and left the tent.

  That accomplished a lot, Amy thought dismally, gazing down at her once spotless gown, which was now smeared with dirt from her night on the ground. Her head felt as if it were filled with cotton wool and her stomach was growling. She hardly had time to register these discomforts before the crone returned with a steaming bowl full of the same grayish meat Amy had rejected earlier.

  “I’m not eating that,” Amy said firmly, although she was already feeling lightheaded from hunger.

  The woman placed it on the dirt floor in front of her. Amy shook her head.

  The woman reached under her shawl, took out a leather pouch, and began to roll cigarettes impassively.

  The girl who had helped with Amy’s bath entered the tent and said, “Matka!”

  The old woman glanced up and listened to the girl’s message, then nodded. The girl left.

  “Matka,” Amy called.

  Matka looked at her.

  “You tell your boss for me that I’m not eating this or anything else. I’ll starve to death before I’ll let him auction me off like a side of beef.”

  Matka didn’t understand the words but the defiant tone came through clearly. She looked down and continued to work, her expression neutral.

  Amy passed the day in this fashion, refusing all meals while Matka continued to sit with her, going through her routine of homely tasks and ignoring Amy’s outbursts completely. Amy was taken outside twice for walks with the guards, and was subjected to the humiliation of being supervised by Matka while she relieved herself. It was dark again and Amy’s leg muscles were screaming for more exercise when

  Malik swept through the tent opening and gestured abruptly for Matka to leave.

  “Getting rid of my keeper?” Amy said, as the old lady vanished outside. “And she was such stimulating company, too.”

  Malik squatted before her, his eyes on a level with hers, and said, “You must eat.”

  “He speaks! And English too, what a miracle.”

  “You have eaten nothing since you came here.”

  “That’s right, genius. So if you plan to fatten me up for the slave market you’re going to be disappointed.”

  “I’ll force you,” he said smoothly.

  “Then I’ll bring it up again. If you think I ca
n’t, try me and see.”

  Malik sat back on his heels and said evenly, “You’ll make yourself ill.”

  “That’s right. And I’ll be too skinny for you to sell me. What a shame.”

  “You won’t be here long enough to lose much weight,” he said, standing up in one smooth motion.

  “What does that mean?” Amy demanded, as he turned away from her.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Turn me loose!” Amy yelled as he left, yanking on her bonds.

  “Don’t leave me tied up like this, I can’t stand it!”

  Her voice echoed in the empty tent.

  He was gone.

  * * *

  Sarah was s in her classroom when Memtaz entered and bowed, saying, “Pasha Kalid requests your presence in the audience room.”

  Sarah nodded. She dipped her pen into the inkwell one more time, made a note, and then rose.

  “Take my place here, Memtaz, all the children have their tasks and I should be back before they finish.” Sarah looked across the room at the bent heads as the Circassian slave bowed again.

  “And if Nessim gets restless just play that ball game with him until I return.” Sarah went into the hall as quietly as possible, remembering the time when she couldn’t travel anywhere in the palace without an escort of her husband’s eunuchs. Now she flew through the corridors, her lightly shod feet almost soundless on the pink marble floors. The tapers of ten years earlier had been replaced by oil lamps, but they cast the same glow on the sandstone walls. Two halberdiers bowed as she approached, then banged on the carved double doors with their truncheons.

  “Come,” Kalid called from within, and the doors swung open to admit Sarah. She walked across the colorful bird of paradise carpet to the other end of the audience chamber, where Kalid sat with her cousin James in a small, plush anteroom hung with orchid silk. For friends and relatives Kalid ignored the large, formally appointed room where he received foreign dignitaries and used instead the cozy nook in which he felt more comfortable.

  James rose to greet his cousin as Sarah offered her cheek for him to kiss.

  “Dear Sarah,” James said. “You’re looking very well.”