The fanatical look in eyes fast glazing over makes me go cold. “You’re dead, Kadar. And your English whore will get what she deserves.” His voice is only just audible through the gurgling from his lungs.
“Who’s your leader?” I shake him, trying to get confirmation that Abdul-Muhsi’s behind this, but it’s too late, and he’s gone.
All the sheikhs are on their phones. Rais locks the door, and I place a call to Nijad. I ask my question tersely and receive his quick assurance he’ll investigate. I look around at my companions, throwing a nod of sincere appreciation towards Jibran.
“The English whore?” Rais raises his eyebrows at me as he finishes his call summoning his men to the palace.
“An employee,” I tell him while wondering why the fuck she’s been included in this, unaware I’m giving away more than I want to with the blatant admission I’d known immediately who the guard had been referring to. I ignore the questioning look he throws me; now is not the time for explanations.
It’s only moments before Nijad rings back with the information that chills me. I listen to him explain. “Who?” I ask him, curtly, “Who is the fucking traitor?” When he tells me the answer, I’m shocked, reaching out my hand to the table as though I need the support. Unable to believe how it could be true, but having to accept the veracity of what my brother said. It was Richard. Richard, my most trusted assistant. The man who’s worked by my side for years. The man who knows almost every secret. Richard, who has betrayed me. Curtly, I leave Nijad with a request to find out as much information as he can and when I end the call turn to let the others here my disturbing news.
“The Royal Guard were given instructions they were not needed in the palace, but instead required urgently at one of the border points. The direction came from my office, so was immediately obeyed. I regret my assistant has turned against me.” I pause for a second, betrayal like a physical pain in my gut. Why, Richard, why? I clear my throat and continue. “Any guards remaining in the palace should be treated as enemies of the state.” I manage to keep my emotions and the betrayal out of my voice.
“They want to kill us.” Sofian sums up what we all know, “You, and your supporters, Kadar.”
The sound of shots come from outside, but not directed at us; it would appear the insurgents believe we’re safely under guard. I nod to my fellow leaders. We are all sheikhs, protected daily by our soldiers and trusted men. Yet none of us are strangers to violence or have forgotten our military training. Albeit, for some like Ghalib, that might have been a long time ago. Whatever’s going on, our enemy has underestimated their ruling sheikhs by sending just one man to control us. We’re no fat-bellied sloths lounging around on thrones. We’re warriors, taking pride in honing our fighting skills and keeping fit. With these men beside me, we have a chance to get out of this. If I doubted any before, I have no such concerns now. These men are with me, united by a common foe. As I unlock the door, they take their places behind me, ready to proceed with stealth, needing no further direction.
Rapidly I consider the layout of the palace, cursing I don’t know it as well as I do that in Al Qur’ah. I hadn’t heard any gunshots or sound from the direction of the staterooms and assume whoever’s attacking the palace continues to think we’re confined and controlled. My quickly formed plan is to get to the armoury, and once suitably equipped, find out what the fuck is going on.
The English whore. What has Richard done? It hasn’t escaped me that he must have betrayed Zoe to St John-Davies and is probably now a million fucking pounds richer. And that means she’s now in very real danger. I have to get to her, but first I need to know who, exactly, is currently in control of this palace. The only thing for certain is that at this moment is that it certainly isn’t me.
Reaching the armoury without a problem, I pass out guns and ammunition with just one thought in my head. Before I lose my mind with worry, I need to find Zoe, to discover whether she’s alive and indeed, still in the palace. And to do that, the sheikhs and I need to split up. Begging a favour of Rais, who I know has better knowledge of this palace, I ask him to take Sofian with him and go to the harem gardens to try to locate Zee and Sean knowing that’s where they were headed today. Both sheikhs waste no time agreeing to my request. In my gut, I already fear they’re on a fool’s errand.
Chapter 30
Zoe
I’m determined not to ask Sean what Kadar’s reaction was to my note—I didn’t have to, I could imagine it. I’d put my decision in the strongest possible terms, leaving him no room for doubt or manoeuvre. Now I need to forget him, to leave behind useless dreams, to throw myself into my work. My intention is to do what I’m officially here in the desert city for; to visit the harem gardens.
Seeing the layout, cataloguing the types of plants and how the irrigation system works will give me ideas for the harem in the Palace of Amahad, and that’s what I need to concentrate on now, to bury myself in restoration details and forget my night with the emir.
The day is hot, so I dress in light blue Capris and a white long-sleeved blouse. Although I’ve become used to wearing the Amahadian clothing that Kadar provided for me and which, undeniably, is far better suited to this climate, wearing European clothes mentally helps me distance myself from him as far as possible. I get a sense of my old self back as I dress in practical but modest and familiar clothing. I’m here to do a job; that’s all.
Trying to regain my excitement for the project I speak as enthusiastically as I can, “I want to go the harem gardens.” I stand up straight, and look up to Sean’s eyes.
He recognises my determination for exactly what it is—a cover-up for my pain. “Now?”
I allow him to make his appraisal of how I’m coping, and steadily return his gaze. All tears have been wiped from my eyes, and my mouth is set. When he nods, recognising the fortitude on my face, I reply, “Now’s as good a time as any.” Without wasting time, I put on my wide-brimmed hat and collect my sunglasses from my bag. In my other hand, I hold my IPad for taking notes, and to photograph anything of particular interest.
It only takes him a moment to rifle through his bag and extract a baseball hat and what looks like expensive Ray-bans. “Let’s go explore these gardens then.” I follow him out of the suite, my short legs having trouble keeping up with his far longer ones.
At the end of the corridor is a surly looking servant. I’ve been surprised at the hint of hostility that seems to exude off the resident staff, certainly not what Cara led me to expect. She’d spoken in glowing terms of Lamis, her personal maid who’d stayed in the Palace of Z̧almā, and who she’d asked to look after me during my visit. But I hadn’t seen anything of her at all, or anyone who acted like I expected a maid would. Was it because we’re Caucasian? I really couldn’t believe there’d be such discrimination here, especially since Cara is white British herself, and she’d led me to believe she’d been welcomed with open arms. But some of the expressions on the faces of the staff actually make me shudder. And now I’m without the protection of Kadar, it unnerves me.
But at least I have Sean with me. I couldn’t be more grateful for that, especially when, in perfect Amahadian, he asks the servant for directions and ends up persuading him to be our guide. We follow him through the maze of corridors until eventually, we came to the harem. Part of which was boarded up and, as I now know, behind the boards is a Dom’s Dungeon. As there’s no entrance to it from here, I won’t have to curb my curiosity. The only entrance is from the Royal Suite, and I feel a shiver for entirely different reasons, thinking how fiercely Nijad and Cara protect their privacy, wondering just what they might get up to in the partitioned off half of the harem. I can’t stop my traitorous mind from speculating what it would have been like if I’d had the nerve to play with Kadar there. I force that thought out of my head as quickly as I can.
Bringing myself back to the business in hand, I start by looking around, soaking up the atmosphere. The unaltered half of the harem is in much better repair tha
n the one in the Capital’s palace. There’s a mosaic on the floor that gives me an idea of how the ruined one in Al Qur’ah might look once repaired. But it’s the gardens that capture my interest, and I move forwards trying to recognise and mentally catalogue the plants growing here. There are fruit trees, oranges and lemons, and immediately I imagine where I would place them in the garden I’m going to restore. Sean patiently walks around with me, pointing out where the irrigation channels run. He’s a typical man, more interested in technology than plants. He wanders away to see how the water gets into the garden as I continue to make my rounds, drawing and sketching the layout so I can have something to refer to later.
I lose all sense of time; the garden is peaceful and soothing. The sun beats down, but there’s sufficient shade to sit and cool off for a while. The fountain plays, and soon I can’t resist slipping off my sandals and dipping my toes into the refreshing water. As I relax, I study my surroundings. Walls that must be twenty feet high enclose the harem, and there was once a massive arched doorway to the outside that has been bricked in. Perhaps, at some point, the resident Sultan wanted to ensure his women were kept secure and safe. Or, didn’t want them to escape. My mind starts wandering off on a tangent, thinking of the women who lived here. Were they here by choice? Or were they forced? What did they think of being held at the whim of the Sultan, having to vy for his attention and to become his favourite?
Visions of semi-naked women relaxing round the pool, spending all their days pampering and being pampered fill my head when suddenly there’s a deafening explosion, making me jump out of my skin. To my utter astonishment, the bricked in archway slowly disappears from view, stones and mortar crumbling down as if in slow motion, the whole gateway gradually becoming concealed in a cloud of dust and smoke. I just stand there, transfixed by the image in front of me that my brain can’t quite compute, my mouth gaping open in shock when Sean, having recovered faster, wastes no time rushing over, grabs my hand, and drags me through the gardens and back into the harem. We reach the door that leads back into the palace. Sean turns the handle, but it’s stuck and won’t move. He gives it another try, but it won’t budge. Realising we’re locked in he uses his karate-type kick to seek to break the lock but the thick stubborn wood has no give at all. Glancing at each other, I can see we share the same concerns. Neither of us would be daft enough to run towards the gaping hole in the harem walls not wanting to meet whoever’s on the other side. If we can’t get out this way, we’re trapped.
“What’s happening?” I gasp out. Probably too loudly, as my ears are still ringing.
He shakes his head, “I don’t know. It’s likely to be an attack on Kadar. It’s the first time he’s visited the desert since he became emir, too much of a coincidence to be anything else. Christ, we hadn’t factored that in!” I can only just make out what he’s saying.
“But why blow the harem walls?” I don’t expect him to have an answer; I think I’m just talking for the sake of it. I’m scared.
“I don’t know—they might think this is an unguarded entrance into the palace, or perhaps they just saw a weakness they could exploit? Whatever, we’ve got to lay low.” He looks around the furnishings of the harem and pulls me over where there’s a day bed with curtains behind it. He pushes me until the fancy drapes hide us from sight. “Whoever it is won’t know we’re here. Hopefully, they’ll just want to get into the main part. Keep your head down and be quiet. We should be safe.”
“But why’s the door to the palace locked?” I try to swallow, but my mouth has gone dry.
He shrugs, “I don’t know.” But the look he throws me is full of worry. “It could be that someone inside has acted quickly to try to prevent them getting into the palace that way.”
I notice he’s already got a gun ready in his hand; a sign he’s taking the situation very seriously. He looks out through a gap in the curtains, ready to spot any trouble before it gets to us. I don’t want to think about it, but we’re hemmed in here, between God knows who presumably even now clambering over the rubble and entering the harem garden, and that damn bolted door into the palace proper. Was he right someone inside was diligently protecting the palace from anyone coming in via the harem? Or were we trapped here on purpose? Were we, or more particularly, was I the target? My heart almost stops in my chest as I get that dreaded feeling in my gut. Ethan. Ethan’s at the bottom of this I’m certain. I pray that I’m wrong, but I’ve always thought it was dangerous to entice him to Amahad.
We hear the sound of pounding footsteps; I try to count how many there are, but can’t make it out. Half-a-dozen at least. But they are not running for the entrance; they’re systematically searching the harem. I was right to be scared. Trying not to panic or even breathe in an attempt not to expose our hiding place, I edge closer to Sean, and he puts his free arm around me. The people hunting us shout at each other in a language that I don’t understand. Sean does, I can tell by the way he freezes when someone shouts a particular sentence. I can’t ask him what they are saying; I have to stay silent. But the footsteps keep getting nearer; whoever they are, they are close to finding us.
Suddenly a heavily accented voice rings out, “Come out, Miss Baker. We know you are in here. There is no escape. Come out now, and you will not be hurt.”
My heart slams in my chest, and for once I take no pleasure in being proved right. They are after me. Oh shit! He’s found me! The only comfort I can take is that I can’t hear either Ethan or Hargreaves voices. Maybe there’s a little time left, another opportunity to escape before I meet my fate. Sean squeezes me. As I crane my neck to look up at him, I can almost hear the wheels turning in his head. He bends down and whispers in my ear, “There are too many for me to fight. We have to assume they are armed. If I get a shot off it’s likely to start a gunfight, and I don’t like the odds, I won’t be able to protect you.” Lowering himself into a crouch, he slips his gun into his ankle holster that I hadn’t even been aware he was wearing. He touches his lips briefly to my forehead as if trying to imbibe me with some of his strength. Then, placing his body in front of me as a shield, he leads me forwards.
A heavily armed Arab man in traditional clothing stands on the other side of the curtains. Even though I know nothing about guns, I recognise the shape of an automatic rifle from having seen them in films. It’s a serious piece of armoury; this man means business. I’d underestimated the number, as well. There are around a dozen men, all in robes, all carrying weapons. Apart from guns, they have ugly looking scimitars in their belts that do not look ornamental at all. But there’s no sign of Ethan or Hargreaves.
“Zoe Baker, the English whore.” The man who’s the obvious leader speaks then spits on the ground.
I swallow sharply at his manner of address but am wise enough not to say anything, taking my lead from Sean who remains quiet, though I felt him tense at the name given to me. I examine the man holding us at gunpoint. He looks around fiftyish and has a paunch which makes his belt sit up over his waist. He has a deep scar from the corner of his eye to his mouth making him look cruel and fierce, and he’s regarding me with a distinct expression of distaste. Then he switches his attention to my companion.
“Who are you?” He waves his gun as if trying to encourage a response.
Instead of the deep, authoritative voice, I’ve got used to with the bodyguard from Grade A; Sean answers in a high pitched squeaky voice, “I’m a plant expert; I’m advising Miss Baker on the desert flora.” He allows his hand to hang limply from his wrist.
“You’re a worthless piece of shit!” Having given his dismissive opinion of Sean, the leader spits on the ground again. “I’m Sheikh Abdul-Muhsi. The rightful Emir of Amahad. You,” he waves his rifle at directly at me, “You are now my prisoner.” He seems to think for a moment, and this time, the barrel of the gun points at my bodyguard. “We’ll take you with us. But we don’t need you, Mr Plant Expert, so be very careful. Any heroics and you’re dead.”
Sean seems to shrin
k with the threat, but I’ve seen this behaviour before and understand he’s biding his time, lulling the man into a false sense of security. To emphasise the weak front he’s portraying he puts trembling hands up into the air. “You’ll get no trouble from me,” he assures the sheikh, his voice shaking.
Abdul-Muhsi spits again then indicates with his rifle that we should precede him and his men fall in around us. There are too many of them to attempt an escape. We’re led across the harem gardens and out through the large hole in the wall made by the explosion. Sean takes my hand to help me across the rubble. Once outside there’s a parade of jeeps, their engines idling.
“Wait!” The terse instruction comes out. The sheikh says something in Amahadian, and two of his men approach us, and they roughly grab my hands. Quickly, giving me no time to struggle, my left wrist is cuffed causing a bolt of pain to go through me, and then equally fast I’m chained to Sean’s right. Sean’s glance of sympathy shows he knows of the weakness in my wrist, and the discomfort the handcuffs cause.
Once secured we’re pushed up against the side of the first of the jeeps then one of the men steps forwards while the other trains his gun on us menacingly. Neither of us has a chance to evade the rather too personal body search they subject us too; luckily completely above my clothes, although Sean isn’t quite so lucky as his T-shirt’s pulled up and his trousers down, as they rummage to find any hidden weapons. Of course, they find his gun and take it away, along with both of our phones. Any optimism I’d retained that we were going to get out of this fades to almost nothing, but I try to stop myself sinking into despair, unwilling, just yet, to give up, hanging onto that one point in my favour. Ethan hasn’t appeared. Once they search us to their satisfaction, they shove us brutally into the back of the jeep and then with a second pair of cuffs, fasten Sean’s left wrist to the door handle on the side. As we’re handcuffed together, it’s is an efficient way of ensuring neither of us can escape. The man who’s been holding his rifle steadily on us throughout the procedure gets in the front and turns to face us, his gun continuing to make the threat clear. The other who’d conducted the search gets into the driver’s seat.
Second Chances (Blood Brothers #3) Page 32
