A Sulta's Ransom

by White, Loreth Anne

  “That is a threat.”

  “No, that, Dr. Sterling, really is the truth.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “You done eating now?”

  Her eyes flickered nervously. “Yes.”

  “Cover yourself, then, and let’s go.”

  “I…I need to use the bathroom first.”

  He stepped back, jerked his head in the direction of the hallway. “Back through there and to your left.” There was no way she could escape. He had the key to the main door. And they were three stories up.

  She got to her feet stiffly, favoring one leg. Guilt twisted in him again. That was also his fault. He’d been pretty rough on her, and she was not a complainer. If she was hurting, she was hiding it from him. He should ask if she was okay.

  But he couldn’t bring himself to.

  He watched her disappear behind the trellis as she went into the covered section of the apartment, and he made a mental note to bring it up later. Not because he cared, he told himself, but because an injury would hold them up when they made their run for the Saudi border. They’d have to head over a stretch of arid desert plain, and then up into the rough mountainous terrain of the Asir range. And they’d have to move fast, preferably at night. It wasn’t going to be a trip for the faint of heart.

  Rafiq checked that his firearm was securely hidden under his tunic, then he thrust the jambiya into the front of his belt. He reached for his scimitar as she reappeared in the archway. He looked up.

  Her freshly-scrubbed skin was pink and her hair was tied back. It made her look young, more than a little vulnerable. Something spasmed through his heart. He tightened his jaw, roughly sheathed his scimitar.

  He didn’t have time for compassion, for feelings of tenderness. He’d managed to avoid feeling those things for all the women he dated and slept with over the past fifteen years. So why now? Why her?

  He couldn’t keep his physical attraction for her separate from emotion. This woman had a way of forcing the two to twist inextricably into one complex and threatening sensation. Rafiq had an uneasy—and fleeting—notion that he just might have met his match in Dr. Paige Sterling. And he’d probably do best if he put a cap on his lust.

  Maybe he could avoid the emotion and guilt that way. He cleared his throat.

  “You ready?”

  She hesitated. Was that a flicker of fear in her eyes? He paid closer attention. “What is it, Paige?”

  She bit her lip, the action strangely endearing. “It’s nothing. It’s okay. Let’s go.”

  He grasped her arm, drew her slowly closer to him. “Paige, you need to talk to me.”

  She inhaled deeply, her eyes nervous. “I don’t understand how this Cabal plans on taking over the government. And what if the president does step down in eleven days, just to buy time? We won’t need the antidote then…will we?”

  He frowned. “Paige,” he said, his voice low, his hand still on her arm. “We need that antidote. No matter what.”

  Emotion glimmered in her eyes.

  “Look, the president is not going to step down. He can’t. He’s dying, Paige. He has to hold on just long enough to win the election next month and stop Forbes from taking over. And we—”

  “He’s dying?”

  “Yes. He’s being slowly assassinated by a variation of one of the prion pathogens from your lab, Dr. Sterling.” He watched her face carefully.

  Her eyes widened, her mouth opened in shock. She shook her head. “I…I don’t…what are his symptoms?”

  “It looks like a rapid Alzheimer’s, or dementia, according to his personal physician. But he’s managed to hide it so far. He won’t be able to do it for much longer, though. He’s supposed to be dead already. Forbes was supposed to have taken over under the 25th Amendment long before this election. But the disease is obviously not working as fast as the Cabal had anticipated, and this is why they’ve issued the ultimatum for him to step down before he wins that election and secures a new term without Forbes as his veep.”

  Her face went sheet-pale. “Because if Elliot wins, which no one doubts he will, his running mate, Michael Taylor, will assume the presidency, not Forbes? Because Forbes was excluded from the Elliot ticket.”

  He nodded, his eyes intently watching hers.

  She rubbed her hands over her face. “Forbes wasn’t elected in the first place,” she said, more to herself than him. “He was appointed veep after Charles Landon died.” Her eyes shot to his. “Why did Elliot appoint Forbes, then, if he was with the Cabal?”

  “Landon didn’t die a natural death, either, Paige. He was assassinated with a biological weapon. It was made to look natural. And Elliot had been told that he, too, had been infected with a biological bullet, only his death would be slower, giving him time to name Forbes as his second-in-command. He was told a plague would be unleashed on his people if he didn’t. So he did. He named Forbes, but only to buy time to come up with a plan.”

  “And you are that plan.”

  “His last resort. And this ultimatum for him to stand down is now the Cabal’s last resort. The Cabal has been positioning Forbes for years. They cannot afford to lose this small window of opportunity now.”

  “But why go to these lengths? Why don’t they just kill Elliot quickly, shoot him or something, before the election?”

  He angled his head. “You’re a hard woman, Doctor.”

  Her eyes flashed wildly. “I’m trained to ask the hard questions, Rafiq.”

  He nodded slowly. “The Cabal needs his death to look like a natural illness. An overt assassination will raise too many questions, and it will undermine Forbes’ hold on power, and it will jeopardize the Cabal’s plans for the future. You see, Paige, once the Cabal has control of the White House, they will still release their bioweapons, only in smaller, more contained doses. There will still be civilian casualties. Forbes will allege that the nation is under attack by ‘terrorists.’ They will instill fear, cancel elections for the foreseeable future, and a terrified nation will rally behind their new man. They will grant their ‘wartime’ president sweeping powers that will obliterate civil liberties, and enable military ‘retaliation’ against the so-called rogue nations that harbor the alleged terrorists. Forbes in turn will begin the slow process of appointing Cabal members to key positions of power…you getting the picture yet?”

  She couldn’t speak. Her eyes were wide, glistening. “And…Landon’s death…was it…”

  “A prion illness? Yes, it was.”

  She tried to swallow.

  His grip tightened on her arm. “That is why we need the antidote, Paige. That is why we must stop this Cabal before October 13. If we get the antidote in time, we might even just be able to save the president, along with his nation.”

  Paige sighed. “There is no antidote, Rafiq.”

  He clenched his jaw. He’d suspected she was going to say this. “There has to be,” he said quietly.

  “There isn’t. At least, I haven’t created anything that has been tested on humans. In primates, yes, but—”

  “The Cabal would never risk this without being able to control it.”

  Tears filled her eyes. She was ghostly white now, and trembling slightly under his fingers. She shook her head, and the tears spilled down her cheeks. Rafiq’s heart twisted sharply.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered. “I…I never meant to create anything…like this. I…”

  He couldn’t help it. He moved instinctively from combat to comfort mode, gathering her into his arms and holding her against his chest, stroking her hair as her tears dampened his shoulder. Her hair was like liquid silk under his fingers, and her skin was soft. Her scent filled his lungs, and Rafiq knew he was done for.

  Whether he believed her or not.

  14:00 Charlie, Venturion Tower, Manhattan, Thursday, October 2

  “It was an unfortunate accident. Her brakes failed and she went over the cliffs at around 2 a.m. Hamnian time.” He rolled his silver pen tightly between his fingers as he scrutinized t
he faces of the men seated around the table. He’d called his board together to brief them on the “incident” that had occurred at their Nexus compound just twelve hours ago.

  “Have they found her body yet?” The question came from the youngest member of the group, a sharp and cynical man who’d been brought into the inner sanctum only recently.

  “No. Looking for a body would involve bringing in a team of U.S. divers. I don’t believe that would be the best use of our resources at the moment, and we certainly can do without attracting any media or government attention at this critical juncture.”

  “Her family will expect us to at least attempt retrieval. Their protests alone could draw attention.”

  He considered the man, then turned to look at the other board members. Face by face he studied them, tomorrow’s leaders. He’d known nearly every one of them for the last forty years, since their university days. They’d grown together, and their collective dream had taken shape over the decades. These men were his empire, and when they were gathered together like this, he could literally taste the power they wielded.

  “She has no kin,” he said, carefully skirting the issue of her parents’ murder. “Our surveillance has shown that she has no intimate friendships, either. She’s a true loner. This is, of course, what made her so incredibly suitable for our purposes.”

  He laid his pen down and steepled his fingers. “Thankfully, her job is basically complete. We have no further need of her.”

  “I don’t like it.” This came from the youngest of the group again. “What if she escaped? Maybe she got wind of what was going on, got scared, took off.”

  “And where would she go? The borders in Hamn are closed. Women can’t travel alone. Journalists are banned. Foreigners are not welcome. Anyone out of place is viewed with extreme suspicion, arrested and investigated by the Land Command—all reasons we stationed the Nexus complex there in the first place.”

  “What if she was taken?”

  “Taken?”

  “Kidnapped, abducted. I mean, we had this thing go wrong in the Congo, that nurse escaping with the pathogen. If Dr. Sterling was abducted—”

  “There’s no evidence of that.” He got to his feet, asserting his authority.

  He didn’t like anything about this situation, either, but he was not going to waver in front of the board. Not now. Not with the deadline only eleven days away. He could not afford any fissures in the group’s absolute confidence that their plan would succeed. Fear bred fear. Thoughts of failure led to failure. He placed both hands firmly on the table and leaned on them. “If we learn anything to the contrary, we will release the pathogen instantly.” He forced a smile. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

  He pushed open the boardroom door, effectively calling the meeting to a close, and he made straight for his private office.

  He opened his drawer, removed a secure cell phone, the one he used only to contact his cleanup man. He pressed the speed dial.

  “Yes?”

  “I need a job done. Where are you?”

  Silence.

  He shifted in his seat. His hit man was one of the few people in this world who could make him nervous. The guy was a psychopath, but a damn useful one. “I’m only asking because I need you somewhere fast.”

  “I’m in the Sudan.”

  Relief surged through him. His man was still in Africa. With the right papers and transport, he could be in place within hours. “I have something else for you—in Hamn.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “There’s been an accidental death—an employee at the Nexus compound in Hamn. It’s one of our outfits. I need you to make sure there actually is a body, and I want to know more about how she died. Tell no one why you’re there. I’ll secure entry permits with the sultan himself. To the locals, you’re a bureaucrat looking for expansion opportunities on behalf of the Nexus Research and Development Corporation. To Nexus staff, you’re an insurance investigator. I’ll make sure you have full cooperation and full security clearance.”

  Silence.

  The man was not a talker. He even refused to give updates. There would be no contact with him after this call until the job was done. Not knowing the status of the job was the price paid for the effectiveness of this man’s services.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll forward specifics via our email drop.”

  “And if there is no body?”

  “You find out why, and who helped her, and then you make sure there is one.” He hung up, sank back into his chair. He didn’t like this at all. Not after the Congo incident.

  He told himself it was fine. He’d taken care of things in the Congo, and he’d take care of this, too. His hit man was uncanny, almost inhuman. He hadn’t let him down yet.

  If Dr. Paige Sterling was still alive, she wasn’t going to stay that way for long.

  Chapter 6

  14:12 Charlie, Na’jif, Thursday, October 2

  Awnings and wooden stands stretched in a brightly colored patchwork as far as Paige could see. All around her people jostled for position at stalls, bargaining fast and furious—the men wearing everything from gold-trimmed robes and bright brocades to rough burlap, women floating like black ghosts among them, leaving only perfumed scent and mystery in their wake.

  Paige pulled her headscarf more firmly over her blond hair, making sure it was pinned securely across her nose and mouth. She was scared, and she was out of her depth—in more ways than one. At least her clothes were black. Maybe no one would notice her in the overwhelming chaos of this place.

  Rafiq took her hand. “Stand around like that and you stick out like a beacon,” he whispered against her ear as he led her right into the bustling commercial heart of Na’jif. “We need to keep moving.”

  She clung firmly to Rafiq. Without him, she was lost. This was not a place for someone who appreciated personal space or the solitude of a Level 4 lab and hazmat suit. But in spite of herself, the excitement of the place began to override her senses, the rich sounds and scents layered in the desert heat sweeping her exhausted mind to a state where she couldn’t even begin to think of her lab, the pathogens, the president of the United States, or the fact that she might be indirectly responsible for trying to assassinate him. Or the fact that she’d broken down in front of her captor, and he’d held her in a way so tender and so sensual that it seemed he actually cared for her.

  No one had held her like that in years. She hadn’t broken down like that in front of anyone, either, not since she was fifteen…since she lost her parents.

  It made Paige realize just how isolated she’d kept herself over the years—how she’d used her lab and her science as barriers. Because she was afraid of being hurt, of being left alone.

  She knew she’d completely shut down emotionally after her experience in the jungle. It was the only way she’d managed to keep going on her own after her parents went missing that terrible night—after all the Congolese porters had fled, save one. That man had managed to get her out of the darkest jungle known to man. It had taken them more than two weeks to find civilization again. When she came out she’d been deathly ill, covered in leeches and forever changed—her heart locked away. It had affected her relationships ever since.

  But this place, this exotic man, the fact that the old Paige Sterling was supposed to be dead to the world—those were all breaking down those psychological barriers, liberating her in a strange—and frightening—way.

  Rafiq drew her deeper and deeper into the rich labyrinth of people and stalls and sounds and scents until Paige felt as if she’d been physically drawn back through the ages.

  She found herself standing in front of a stall with row upon row of mysterious glass vessels stoppered with corks, some of them decorated with pewter or silver.

  The woman behind the stall pulled a cork from the neck of a tall, slender bottle and held it out for Paige. Her dark eyes twinkled through the slit in her veil, inviting her to sample her wares. Paige leaned forward, sniffed. The fragra
nce was heady with notes of frankincense, bergamot and orange oil. She really liked it. She pointed to another bottle, but just as the woman was about to pull out the stopper, Rafiq yanked her back and forced her back into the teeming throng of people.

  “What the—”

  “Keep your head down,” he hissed in Arabic. “Here, put this on, quick.” He held out a large triangle of folded black cloth. Paige had been so strangely lost in the ambience of the ancient market she hadn’t even seen him buying the chador. Her eyes shot to his in surprise. “You want me to put it on here?”

  “Right now. And no English!”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Land Command,” he whispered in Arabic. “Hurry!”

  She looked up, saw a cadre of soldiers on horses entering the northern entrance of the square. Panic gripped her. People were parting around them like waves, a hushed warning rippling through the crowd ahead of them.

  Perspiration prickled her skin. She fumbled with the cloth, dropped it, picked up, yanked it over her head, tried to straighten it out over her clothing.

  The Land Command came closer.

  She frantically fiddled with the garment, trying to adjust the fabric so that she could see out the opening for the eyes. She got it into position and peered through the slit at Rafiq. All she could see of his face was his black eyes. And now that’s all he could see of hers—eyes to eyes. They took on a new level of communication. In his, she could read not fear, not urgency, but a quiet burning rage. It was something she hadn’t noticed before.

  For a nanosecond, that dark and primal expression in his jet-black eyes made her forget her fear, but it kicked back the instant he looked away from her face and down at her hands.

  She glanced down, realized instantly what he was seeing—pale skin, with none of the traditional rings and bracelets the local women wore. She yanked them back under her garment just as a soldier on horseback approached.