Finding Sheba (Omar Zagouri Thriller Book 1)

by H. B. Moore

  Shisur, Oman

  Muddled shapes leered above him—foul, chanting. He shrank from the knife, but the cuts continued, one after another, until he was mercifully numbed from the pain.

  Opening his eyes with a start, Alem realized he’d been dreaming. He exhaled in relief, trying to block out the images. From where he had slept in the open desert, he saw Omar leaning against the Land Cruiser. A cigarette butt extended from his mouth, the dull glow a point of light in the dark, competing with the canopy of bright stars.

  Alem stood and crossed to Omar. “How long did I sleep?”

  “A couple of hours. I was just about to wake you.”

  Nodding, Alem looked toward the tents of the Yemeni workers. “Any sign?”

  “Not yet,” Omar said, flicking the cigarette to the ground.

  “I didn’t know you smoked.”

  “I don’t.” Omar kicked sand over the smoldering cigarette. “Let’s go.” He handed Alem something cold and hard.

  “What?” Alem looked down at the pistol. “I don’t think I—”

  “Pray you won’t have to use it then.” Omar grabbed a length of rope from the Land Cruiser and slung it over his shoulder, then gave Alem a backpack.

  They moved to the line of palms and the roped-off excavation area.

  “Wait!” Alem grabbed Omar by the sleeve. “There’s someone sitting on the other side.” The men stood for a moment, gripping their guns.

  The figure rose, silhouetted against the moonlight. “Jade?” Alem said. She brought a finger to her lips.

  “What are you doing here?” Alem asked.

  “I was waiting for you. Isn’t Mia coming?”

  “No.” Omar unwound his rope, secured one end to the closest palm, and then handed a flashlight to Jade. “Don’t lose it.”

  “Thanks for doing this, guys,” Jade said.

  “Alem, you go first,” Omar said.

  Alem was surprised at how little effort it took to go down the rope. As he descended, he thought of the lecture Omar had given him about the signs of a cave-in, how to keep himself oriented to which way was up, and how much time he’d have to dig himself out before running out of air. His feet touched solid bottom. Then he pulled the rope taut and waited for Jade’s descent. Soon, she came down the rope and joined him. Omar was next.

  The three of them stood in a circle, each shining flashlights in different directions.

  “There’s the stone,” Jade said, her voice sounding hollow.

  Alem swung around and arced his light over the rectangular shape. He sucked in a breath of air as he realized the magnitude of what he was seeing.

  “Amazing,” Omar said as he walked toward the rock. He ran his hands along the top and the sides. “Just as I thought.” He focused his light on the top of the sarcophagus. “See the inscription to the left? The ancient cuneiform lettering predates Aramaic. ‘Wila’at.’ ”

  “Wila’at was one of the many names used for the queen of Sheba,” Jade said.

  Her words sent prickles along the back of Alem’s neck.

  “What does the rest of it mean?” Jade asked.

  Omar studied the ancient lettering for several moments. “I don’t believe it.”

  Alem moved closer. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know if Wila’at is the name for the person in this sarcophagus because there’s another name here—Batal.” He looked at Alem. “The names on the sketch of palm trees—one was Batal.”

  Alem’s breath caught.

  “Let’s have a look around,” Omar said. They walked deeper into the cave, brushing away the dirt along the walls as they went. “Whether or not this is the queen’s tomb, you certainly didn’t imagine anything,” he said to Jade.

  She exhaled slowly, a smile on her face as she stopped next to him.

  He tore away some dried roots from the stone wall. “Look at this.” They stood in silent awe as he deciphered the cuneiform lettering. “ ‘The queen of the Sabaeans.’ ”

  Omar lowered his flashlight, his face glowing in the artificial light. “It appears, Ms. Holmes, that you may have discovered the queen of Sheba’s tomb.”

  “Bravo!” a voice boomed behind them.

  The three turned and found themselves gazing into the barrel of an Uzi.

  Alem instinctively moved in front of Jade.

  “What a surprise,” Omar said in a cold voice.

  “Indeed.” Ismail grinned. “You just couldn’t stay out of this place, could you?”

  To Alem’s astonishment, Ismail spoke flawless English.

  “Why?” Jade asked, her hand on Alem’s arm as she maneuvered to stand next to him.

  Ismail’s gaze moved to her face. “Do you really think I’d let someone like you, an American woman, come to my country and find my queen’s tomb? I’ve been seeking to find Bilqis’s resting place my entire life. I inherited that right from Dr. Lyon and the patriarch. I’ve done the research, made the sacrifices, and worked years in these conditions. I have paid my dues.” His grin appeared again. “Too bad you had to involve so many.”

  With a trembling hand, Alem pulled out his borrowed pistol, seeing Omar do the same.

  “Ah, this looks interesting,” Ismail said. “Unfortunately, by the time you pull your triggers, my baby will have obliterated all three of you.”

  “Your glory will be short lived, sir,” Omar said. “You may be credited for discovering a tomb, but it will be only a matter of time before you’re left to rot in prison.”

  “Very unlikely.” Ismail raised the Uzi. “After I finish cleaning your blood off the walls, I have the perfect place to bury you. Not a soul in the world will have guessed what happened.” He shone his light on Omar. “And your pretty lady out there will join you. In fact, she may already be meeting her maker, if the others have followed my instructions.”

  “What about Lucas? Is he in on this with you?” Jade asked.

  Ismail cocked his head to the side. “I’m very close to persuading him. It turns out that he has some serious financial concerns—a couple of his grants fell through after Lyon’s death. I believe a healthy million will convince him.” He glanced upward. “If he refuses, he’ll be the offering to show our appreciation to the djinns and the god Bel.”

  In the instant that Ismail lifted his face, a flash of memory crossed Alem. This was the man who’d worked with Rabbel to mutilate him. Alem’s body grew clammy all over as though he were going to vomit. Rage welled up from the deepest recess of his soul, and he moved forward, his pistol aimed dead center at Ismail’s forehead.

  “No!” Jade shouted.

  Omar collided with Alem, shoving him against the wall. “What are you doing?”

  “No one move!” Ismail shouted.

  Alem took a shaky breath, his trembling body pinned between Omar’s frame and the rock wall. “He’s the one.”

  “Move back, all of you!” Ismail’s tone bordered on alarm.

  Omar raised his hands. “Relax, man.” Another glance at Alem. “Right now we’re going to do as he says.”

  Alem felt as though his chest would burst with the swollen anger.

  “All right, we’re putting our guns on the floor.” Omar backed away from Alem, hands in the air. “We surrender.”

  “How convenient for you.” Ismail’s lip curled in a sneer.

  Alem noticed a hump on Omar’s back as he bent to put his gun down. Another weapon?

  “Come here, woman.” Ismail shifted the Uzi so it was level with Jade’s heart. She clenched her fists together as she stepped forward.

  “You don’t have to,” Alem said, moving toward her protectively.

  “One more move, and you’ll be wearing her blood,” Ismail said.

  Alem glanced at Omar—whose face was unmoving, as hard as the stone surrounding them.

  J
ade walked to Ismail, who promptly grabbed her and turned her around, then wrapped his muscled arm about her neck in a headlock. She gasped, her chin trembling.

  “What do you want with her?” Alem yelled, receiving a warning glare from Omar.

  “The same thing any man wants from a piece of chattel,” Ismail said. He spat on the ground, his eyes wild, fanatic. “Before the prophet Muhammed put restrictions on the lusts of man, women were in the place they were born to be—creations for man’s pleasure. It’s time all things were restored to their proper order.”

  Alem looked again at Omar. But he continued to stare straight ahead as if he had fallen under a trance.

  It’s up to me. Alem couldn’t stand by helplessly. He’d come through the valley of death and risen to the other side for a purpose. Perhaps it was for this—to sacrifice his life for Jade. Being shot couldn’t be much worse than what he’d already suffered.

  As Ismail forced Jade to her knees, Alem dove for the pistol he’d abandoned. At the same moment, Omar lunged toward Ismail and Jade.

  Several shots rang out, but Alem didn’t have a chance to discover who had fired before everything went black.

  CHAPTER

  43

  Ubar

  959 BC

  As the months passed quietly in Ubar, Nicaula secluded herself, away from the eyes that might notice her flat stomach. The only visitor she received in her private chambers was the commander of her military.

  Today she had summoned him and waited until he knelt at her feet to ask her question.

  “Have you found her yet?”

  Batal’s steady gaze seemed to pierce through her. “Yes. She is about your age and will give birth very soon.”

  “Husband?”

  “None. Her parents have hidden her in their shame.”

  Nicaula looked past him, knowing she had no other choice. “Smuggle her into the palace tonight.”

  When Batal bowed and left, she rose. It had become an obsession—to hide her deceit to her people. She could not turn back now. There was no other way to carry on her legacy unless she chose to marry. But to marry was to relinquish her power.

  Nicaula stood at the window opening, overlooking Ubar from her room. She watched the people scurry about, a pet goat bleating in the street, a child crying. It was her world, yet she no longer felt a part of it. She stood there as the sun moved high in the sky then watched as it descended beneath the west dunes. The evening deepened into night, and still she waited. When the moon had risen, the knock finally came.

  The queen threw open the door and ushered the two people inside. Batal tried to say something, but Nicaula ignored him and stared at the girl. She looked very young and very afraid.

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirteen with the next monsoon.”

  Nicaula took in her appearance—scrawny arms and face, dark hair neatly plaited, thin, pointed chin, belly overextended. She looked at Batal. “Leave us.”

  He held her gaze for a moment, his eyes darker than his black cloak. Then he bowed and turned on his heel, leaving the two women alone.

  Three days later, the girl gave birth to a daughter. The queen named her Marib. The queen refused visitors or gifts. Batal was the only one allowed to deliver food outside of her door. He told the people that the queen rested peacefully with her midwife, who cared for both the queen and the new child.

  The girl never wept, never complained, but the night Batal came to take her away, the queen embraced her. “You will have a nice home in Saba in exchange for your sacrifice. You will claim to be the widow of a wealthy merchant.”

  The girl’s lower lip trembled as she nodded.

  “You will yet have many children, and you may take comfort that your first child will be brought up as a princess.”

  The days passed slowly as Nicaula waited for Batal’s return and report. Even when he was away, she thought of him.

  Her nightmares of betrayal were replaced with dreams dominated by the commander. In each person she spoke to, she saw Batal’s eyes, his hair, or his broad shoulders. He knew she could not marry, or her deceit would be made obvious. Still, she knew he watched her, and she watched him.

  The obsession had never died.

  And his absence had made it even worse.

  As she prepared for the day, she tried to ignore the fire of longing in her chest. If she stopped seeing the commander everywhere she turned, he’d eventually leave her dreams and someday become a distant memory.

  As soon as Batal delivered his report, she’d send him back to Saba to train the military there. The queen dressed quickly, drawing courage from the resolve she’d made.

  A sharp knock sounded at the door.

  “State your name.”

  “Batal.”

  The queen composed herself by taking a deep breath and offering a quick prayer to her new god, Yahweh.

  She opened the door. Batal towered against the door frame, his eyes extraordinarily dark in contrast to his light brown robe.

  Nicaula touched her throat, suddenly unsure of her grand plan. How could she bear not seeing this man every day? She blinked rapidly against a hint of tears. She stepped aside and motioned for Batal to enter her chambers. He stepped inside and bowed.

  “Is she settled?”

  “Yes.”

  The queen motioned for him to sit on a cushion. He did not move but gazed into her eyes.

  “Batal . . .”

  “I have news. The Bedouin boy, David, lost his mother. I brought him to Ubar.”

  “Very good. He will live with me here.” She looked away. “Perhaps I can make some retribution by raising a son of Solomon’s.”

  “Nicaula . . .”

  She held her breath—he had used her name again. She should reprimand him, but when she met his eyes, it was the last thing she desired.

  Slowly he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Why didn’t you marry him?”

  She knew he meant Solomon. She gazed into Batal’s eyes and saw the raw hope there.

  “Can I change your mind about marriage?” he asked.

  “No.” Her throat constricted, and she pulled her hand from him. “I cannot. I have imparted vast lies, but I did so to stay true to myself and my kingdom. I did not want my kingdom to go to someone not of our people or for wars to start over our land. The lies will always be a part of me, and if I marry, they will expand and affect whom I marry. I must spend my days alone to pay for those lies.”

  “Remember what King Solomon taught about Yahweh?”

  “I remember every word, but I have betrayed Solomon and his god.”

  “The God of Israel does not expect us to suffer our entire lives for one wrong deed. A sin sacrifice can be made, and the sin that grieves you will transfer to the sacrificial animal.” He paused, waiting for her to meet his eyes again. “How can you forget the image you saw when you touched the tree?”

  She blinked back her tears.

  “One day in the future, the son of Yahweh will come and be the ultimate sacrifice.” He moved closer—too close. “But you can be happy now. You can have marriage and love too. A queen should have more love than any other. She should not be forsaken.”

  “You expect me to find pleasure in life after I betrayed Solomon and persuaded Azhara to take my place? Now she raises her child alone in a strange land.”

  Batal touched her cheek, tracing his fingers along her jaw, stopping at her neck.

  Heat from his touch spread through her, and she knew she should pull away, but she didn’t.

  “Azhara made sacrifices, yes. But yours are far greater. At least Azhara has known love and will be a mother with a son to carry on her name.”

  A tear splashed against Nicaula’s cheek. “Azhara will be a good queen—”

  “And she will be very happy in Abyssinia .
. . with wealth, power, and a healthy son,” Batal finished.

  She looked away from his gaze. “I want you to take the post of chief military commander in Saba. In time you will forget me.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, but she was afraid to look at him. “Do not let happiness escape you,” he whispered. Batal dropped his hand, but they were still close enough to touch.

  Nicaula closed her eyes. “I can be happy without marriage, without a child of my own. You’ll see.”

  “I am not happy.” His voice was quiet. “But if you say you can be happy without me, I will accept the post in Saba.”

  Opening her eyes, Nicaula stared at her twisting hands. “I do not care about my happiness. But I care about yours, and that is why I must ask one more thing of you.”

  “What?”

  “Find a good woman in Saba, and marry her.”

  He pulled her hands into his. “Do not command this of me, Nicaula,” he said. “I cannot do this, not even for my queen. I have loved only one woman in my life, and if I cannot have her, I will have no one at all.”

  Tears burned her eyes, looking at their intertwined hands. “You must find a wife,” she said, but her voice trembled with doubt.

  “Please.” Batal leaned his head close to hers so that his breath touched her ear and neck. “O Nicaula,” he whispered. “You are not listening to your heart. Marry me in secret. You will be married to Solomon by day in the eyes of the people, and by night, you will be mine. We will be joined in heart and body as true husband and wife.”

  The queen closed her eyes and allowed herself to breathe him in, if even for a moment. Then she pulled away from his intoxicating touch, shaking her head.

  But he would not release her hands. “Tonight . . . meet me at your father’s tomb. We will marry beneath the stars with Yahweh and your father’s spirit as our witness.”

  Her heart pounded as she thought about marriage to Batal. Would it work? In Yahweh’s view, she was not truly married. She lifted her gaze to meet Batal’s. His eyes danced with hope, excitement . . . love.

  She saw the different colors in his eyes—deep brown with streaks of fine gold. She knew that if she were blind, she would still feel his presence each time he entered the room. Suddenly, her legs felt strange, as if they would no longer support her.