Finding Sheba (Omar Zagouri Thriller Book 1)

by H. B. Moore

  Rising, Nicaula crossed to the tent opening and lifted the flap. It had rained during the night, and beyond the traveling party, thunder rolled atop the distant hills. She could almost distinguish the line where the desert floor transitioned into scrubby green. They had been traveling for ten days since leaving Eloth. They were almost to Jerusalem.

  Preparations were already under way for their traveling day, and a short time later, as Nicaula sat upon her horse to lead the procession, a whisper filtered throughout the caravan.

  Jerusalem is near.

  It had been several weeks since Azhara had left with the others to prepare for her arrival in Jerusalem. As the caravan set out, Nicaula’s sense of foreboding increased. When the midday sun had waned and in its place, tiered clouds of fiery orange and pink blanketed the sky, the wind picked up. It swirled the sand around the camels’ feet, yet the great beasts plodded faithfully without protest.

  Nicaula’s hands tingled in anticipation. Against the first hillside, black tents perched stoically next to one another, forming a small community. Naked children ran from their shelters toward the approaching caravan, and several women, clothed in black robes, followed, their tongues clucking sharp reprimands. The children—their eyes liquid brown, hair matted with wriggling lice, and stained teeth bursting through wide grins—heeded no one and arrived at the first camel.

  Batal urged his camel to the ground and disembarked. He met the children and joined them in their rapid dialect. Nicaula watched with amusement, focusing mostly on the children so that her gaze wouldn’t stray to Batal’s broad shoulders, or the hands that had caressed her . . .

  “We have reached Ophel,” Batal announced. “The children say this wall begins the kingdom of Jerusalem.”

  Nicaula gazed along the wall as excitement coursed through her body. The children ran alongside the camels for several minutes, then eventually drifted off, their tiny chests heaving with exertion. The mothers stood grouped together, watching the travelers, periodically calling to their children.

  The young boys reminded her of the child David, whom she had met just outside of Saba—the child who first told her with all the wisdom his small body could muster of the great king of Jerusalem. She had provided young David a home, and now he lived within Saba’s walls with his ailing mother.

  As the caravan moved along the sloping hill leading to the city, she noticed an old olive tree. A soft glow surrounded it, as if the sun shone through an opening in the clouds and illuminated only the tree, but the sky above was clear. A few clay lamps sat at the base of the trunk, as if it were a point of worship. She raised her hand in the air, and the caravan stopped.

  Batal reached her side. “Has something happened?”

  “I do not know.” She had the sudden urge to touch the tree. Batal helped her down, and she walked to the silvery trunk. The rustic leaves rattled in the breeze, welcoming her and warding her off at the same instant.

  She ran her hand along the roughness. An image jolted through her mind: a man hanging from a rudimentary cross, his hands and feet nailed to the wood. She drew her hand back, stepping away from the tree. Her body trembled. The vision had been horrible, yet fascinating at the same time.

  Nicaula turned to face those watching her. They spoke quietly among themselves as they adjusted the camels’ baggage and appeared not to have noticed any change. “Batal?”

  He hurried to her side, his expression curious.

  She pointed at the gnarled trunk. “Do you see the man on the cross?”

  “No.” His eyes searched hers. “Are you feeling well?”

  “I am well. But just now I saw a man nailed to a wooden cross.”

  “I do not see anything.” His brows pulled down in concern as he looked from the tree back to her.

  She could not deny the image she had just witnessed. It was clearer than any dream she had ever had. Her toes tingled, the sensation spreading up her legs to her other limbs. Had it been a dream? Perhaps, yet she had been awake.

  “The sun is strong today,” Batal said in a gentle voice.

  “Yes, and so was the image upon this tree.” She turned away. “Come. Perhaps the great king will have an answer.” She knew her retort stung Batal, but she could not be doubted. The image had burned itself in her mind, and she would not rest until she found out why.

  The gates of the city were flung open in welcome, and an army of at least fifty lined the entrance.

  She nodded to the soldiers, keeping her lips pressed together as the men bowed at her passing. On the other side of the wall, Nicaula joined Batal as he waited on the rocky path. Pulling her horse next to his, she laid first sight on the great city of Jerusalem.

  “Mount Moriah and the temple of Yahweh,” Batal said. His gaze was not on the city, but upon Nicaula when he said, “Splendid.”

  Nicaula’s face warmed, and she looked away to scan the valley spread before them. Because of the young David’s stories, she was familiar with the names of the important locations of the great city.

  The ivory buildings echoed the golden sun, nestled against the green escarpment. To the west, another hill arose, crowned by a temple. She drew in her breath as she marveled at the elegant structure. Next to the temple of gold was a palace fit for a very wealthy king. The legends preceding the king did him little justice.

  Jerusalem was like a hidden emerald in the desert. There appeared to be some construction taking place surrounding the temple. Four towers flanked the adjacent palace, but she could not tear her gaze from the panorama spread before her. White tendrils of smoke curled from some of the lower shelters, most likely cooking buildings. Nicaula assumed that each day a feast was provided for so great a king. She wondered about his many wives and concubines. Did they live in the homes at the base of the hill? Or did they live in a vast compound on the opposite side of the palace? It would take many fields of crops to feed so many women and, undoubtedly, so many children.

  The sound of horse hooves brought Nicaula from her reverie. A thick man approached them, his large, hairy hands guiding his animal with precision. His smile was broad as he climbed off his horse and bowed low to the ground. “Welcome to our land. Our king desires an audience with you.”

  “Tell him it is my pleasure.” Nerves twisted in her stomach. After all this time and all the travel, she had arrived at the day upon which she would meet the man who haunted her dreams.

  “I am Yigal, faithful commissioner to the king.” His deep voice resonated through the afternoon air. “We are honored to have the queen of the South as a guest in our land.”

  Nicaula held his gaze for an instant longer, then let a slow smile creep to her lips. “Thank you.” She motioned to the camels behind her. “I have brought gifts for your king and his god.”

  Yigal’s eyes shifted to the bags of bulky wealth. “Our king sends you his blessings and will be pleased to give you audience. We have also prepared quarters for your use, and you will find your servants waiting for you there.”

  Nicaula bowed her head in acknowledgment, then raised her eyes to meet his. “Take me to the king first.”

  CHAPTER

  25

  Oman

  They’d driven all day in silence, and Omar sensed that Mia’s mood was no better. He’d spent the time vacillating between complete disgust with himself and wondering how he could have let David Levy have so much control. It was bad enough listening to his boss at work, but worse to have the guy invade all his thoughts. Omar would be thirty-seven in the fall, and though Mia was a few years younger, it wasn’t as though they were lovesick teenagers, flying into jealous rages. Well, at least she wasn’t.

  Mia suddenly straightened, pointing. “There’s someone up ahead.”

  Omar saw a billow of dust coming toward them from the north. “Military?”

  “Can’t tell yet.”

  “Any ideas?”

 
“We’ve done nothing wrong. Why should they pick on us?”

  “They don’t need a good reason.” Omar let off the gas pedal and tried to catch a glimpse of the driver. The truck up ahead stopped, and someone jumped out of the back. It was a veiled woman—carrying a rifle. And she was walking toward them.

  Then a man climbed out of the driver’s side and caught up with the woman. Omar threw his door open. Several long strides put him within shooting distance of the two people. He stopped, surprised to see that the man looked European. Omar decided he had nothing to fear and waved Mia over.

  “Do you have any medical supplies?” the man asked in Arabic when he reached Omar.

  “A few of the basics. What’s wrong?” Omar said in English.

  The man switched to English, though with a French accent. “A botched sacrifice. An African man—hasn’t told us his name, but he’s pretty bad.”

  Alem! Omar sprinted toward the truck, ignoring the shout from the French guy. He reached the passenger side of the truck and wrenched the door open. There, lying perfectly still, was his battered friend.

  “Alem!” The markings along Alem’s face and torso were hideous. Angry bile rose in Omar’s throat. “What did they do to you?” But his friend, with clumsy bandages across his chest and arms, didn’t respond.

  The Frenchman and his companion arrived, staring through the driver’s side. “You know him?” the woman asked.

  “Yes. Where did you find him?”

  “Not far from here,” the Frenchman said. “We found him half-dead on a camel’s back. It was a religious sacrifice. See the markings on his face? The sun, the crescent moon, and the star inside the crescent? They are repeated on his torso. All were worshipped as pagan gods by early civilizations. This man was to be offered to the djinns of the desert.”

  Omar’s stomach twisted in disgust. “Djinns? But those are myths, genies that young kids tell stories about.”

  “Myths to some,” the man said. “Sure, there are good djinns, but there are also many powerful, evil ones. The ancient traditions surrounding worship obviously still exist. Even Muhammad worshipped the pagan gods before his conversion to monotheism.”

  Omar didn’t know how anyone could believe in djinns. “Who would still practice something so diabolical?”

  “Those who believe the ancient legends.” The man shook his head. “The sacrifice of a human guarantees the promise of greatness, the discovery of a wonder, or the resolution to conflict.”

  Mia cut in. “We’ll worry about all that later. He needs to get to a hospital.”

  Omar had already decided to help. “I’m taking him.”

  She seemed to sense that now was not the time to argue. “All right. Let’s get out of here.”

  Omar ran to the jeep and drove closer to the truck. All together, they lifted Alem into the rear seat.

  Omar extended his hand toward the Frenchman. “Name’s Omar.”

  “Lucas Morel. Try the hospice at Thumrait. If they can’t help, Salalah has the closest hospital.”

  “Thank you—both of you. This man saved my life once.”

  After farewells were made, Omar started the jeep’s engine and drove in the opposite direction of Shisur. The oasis would have to wait.

  CHAPTER

  26

  Shisur, Oman

  The ride continued to be hot and uncomfortable, but Jade took reassurance in knowing the poor man was on his way to get help. This quest to travel to the oasis of Shisur, which Dr. Lyon believed was part of Ubar—the queen’s “garden”—was proving to be more of an adventure than she’d expected. She glanced at Lucas as he maneuvered through the barely perceptible road littered with dried roots, camel droppings, and an occasional thorny bush. She could see nothing else for miles—just endless stretches of sand and the changing colors of the landscape as the sun finished its journey across the Arabian sky.

  “Shisur.”

  Jade pulled her mind from its cobwebbed corners and looked at Lucas.

  “See the rocks?” he said.

  “I thought it was an oasis.”

  “It is. There’s a well.” He flashed a smile.

  The “oasis” consisted of a few palms crowded together as if they were gleaning off one another’s shade, looking scraggly and bug eaten. Some pine trees rounded out the greenery, looking more robust than the palms. A short distance away sat a small settlement of buildings and homes. Jade spotted the awkwardly pitched tents and trucks from their group. The evidence of digging was apparent—lengths of yellow rope had been laid out, marking off certain areas.

  The men came out of their tents and waved. When Lucas pulled the truck to a stop, Jade climbed out and greeted the men.

  After the formalities were over and some animated discussion about the border patrol finished, Lucas said to Jade, “They’ve curtained off a section of palms over there that you can use at your convenience.”

  She thanked him and walked quickly to the curtained-off section.

  Later, Lucas showed her the different areas of Shisur. They walked through the scant village and greeted the curious children. When they reached the larger ruins, he said, “These structures are at least three thousand years old, maybe older.”

  Jade touched the stones with reverence, trying to imagine the caravans that had stopped here to water their camels. Was it possible that the queen had touched these very walls?

  Lucas continued, “This area was a lot more fertile, and groups of people camped here for weeks, perhaps months—especially during the dry season, when crossing the sands would have been unbearable.” He picked up a broken piece of stone. “If only something more remained of their history.”

  He led her to a low wall. “Here are the inscriptions Dr. Lyon studied.”

  Jade crouched and inspected the letters. “What do they say?”

  “It’s a prayer, and interestingly enough, the Hebrew god, Yahweh, is mentioned.”

  “No wonder Dr. Lyon was interested.”

  “Exactly.” Lucas crouched next to her. “Solomon taught the queen of Sheba about the God of Israel.”

  Jade touched the engraved stone, tracing the foreign letters with her finger. “Yahweh.” A gust of wind whipped through the site, stirring up the sand beneath her feet and loosening her ponytail. She didn’t mind the wind as a thrill of pleasure coursed through her at being so close to the artifact. She looked over at Lucas. “It’s really amazing.”

  Lucas tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. “Yes, it is.”

  Jade looked away, afraid of getting lost in his eyes. “Aren’t these inscriptions of Yahweh evidence enough of her existence here in Oman? We know she converted to the God of Israel after meeting with Solomon. Before that, her kingdom was pagan worshipping.”

  “You might think so,” Lucas said, straightening. “But the carbon dating is disappointing.”

  Jade rose beside him. “Maybe the queen taught her people about Yahweh, and this inscription indicates that they continued those teachings.”

  “An argument I’ve heard from the professor himself many times.”

  She gazed at the low wall, a thrill running through her at the thought of what the ancient inscription might reveal about the queen. If only more could be found. Soon the sizzling fire and smell of cooking meat drew her attention.

  “Let’s eat.” Lucas cradled her elbow as he helped her step over the rocks.

  Jade tried not to shiver at the warmth his hand brought. It had been a long time since she had known a man to be such a gentleman, yet so appealing at the same time.

  She glanced at Lucas. His white shirt was untucked, olive pants frayed at the hem, tennis shoes worn. But he walked with confidence and assurance. He was an experienced—pretty much brilliant—man of the world. Just because he’d paid her a couple of compliments and was extremely polite didn’t mean he really liked her. A
fter all, they were pretending to be engaged, so his guiding her by the elbow was really no big deal.

  As they neared the circle of men, Lucas lowered his hand and slipped it into hers. Jade’s thoughts tumbled as she realized how much she wanted him to hold her hand without pretending. The gesture had its desired effect. Every man noticed. She had nothing to fear at being the only woman among this crew.

  When they reached the fire, Lucas spread a rug onto the ground and indicated for Jade to sit. Then he brought her a paper plate of rice and dark, aromatic meat. Looking around the group, Jade saw that she was expected to eat her first official meal in the desert with her fingers. Lucas, who now sat next to her, leaned over and whispered, “Eat with your right hand.” He handed her a Sunkist.

  She smiled. Classic modern mixed with an ancient setting. “Thanks.”

  The conversation during supper turned serious as Lucas told the men about the stranger they had found half-starved and half-dead on the camel.

  Ismail spoke first. “Human sacrifice is bad luck. We cannot sleep here tonight.”

  Lucas raised his hand in protest. “Leave the fire burning, and all bad djinns will stay away.”

  Ismail looked doubtful, but he nodded. “We’ll take turns standing guard.”

  “I’ll take first post,” Lucas conceded.

  When the others retired for the night—some in tents, others huddled near the fire on top of sleeping bags—Jade moved to her designated tent. Lucas had told her to check for scorpions and snakes with a stick first. She had. She spent a few minutes writing her observations about Shisur and typing the prayer inscription into her phone. Then she lay against the stiff earth and burrowed inside her lightweight sleeping bag. Thinking of possible creatures invading her tent, it took at least an hour for her to drift to sleep.

  She awoke sometime later, needing a bathroom. She reached for her stick and swatted the top of her sleeping bag before climbing out. Her small flashlight illuminated the way to her draped facility. The fire had gone out, and any signs of smoke had disappeared into the cooling night. All was quiet, and the apparent concern for bad luck had fallen asleep with the men.