by Holly Rayner
She finished her pastry, licked the butter from her fingers, and headed to the security line. Ellie liked to travel light, so she had no bag to check. She grabbed a bin for her shoes and laptop…
…and felt a hand on her arm.
She looked up. A huge man in a uniform and sunglasses had a tight grip on her, and as she stared, he pulled her out of the line.
Chapter 6
Ellie
Ellie didn’t like to think of herself as a woman who depended on the support of a man, and she certainly would have hated to admit to wanting her feckless coworkers by her side, but right now she would have given anything to see a familiar face. Even if it did belong to Mark.
The man who had pulled her from the security line was clearly security. Airport personnel, she thought. TSA, or whatever the Al Fahadi equivalent was.
She racked her brains. Had she accidentally put a full bottle of shampoo in her luggage? Was she wearing metal? She didn’t think so. Ellie was a careful flyer, overly neurotic about following the airline regulations because she dreaded encountering scenarios exactly like this.
Where were they taking her?
She had visions of a tiny, windowless room, concrete walls, and a man yelling at her in a heavy accent while she struggled to understand what she’d done wrong. She imagined Mark and Vince, waiting at the gate. Would they have the sense to investigate what had happened to her, or would they just assume she’d gotten tangled up somewhere and would catch a later flight? Would they go home without her, leaving her alone in a foreign country to deal with this mess? They probably would, she thought dispiritedly.
The security man was joined by another. The next thing Ellie knew, they were marching her out the doors of the airport and into the scorching desert sun. She didn’t know what to make of it.
“Excuse me. Sir? May I ask what the problem is? I have a plane to catch.” She gripped the handle of her bag tighter, glad it hadn’t slipped from her grasp when she’d been pulled from the line. The guards showed no sign of allowing her back into the airport.
Unfortunately, they also showed no sign of answering her question.
Maybe they don’t speak English, she thought uneasily. I really should have brushed up on some Arabic before this trip. Of course, if she had done that, she would have learned how to order food at a restaurant, find a bathroom, and explain the NorMo app to potential investors. She wouldn’t have dreamed of memorizing the translation of “Why are you detaining me?”
Things like this didn’t happen to people like Ellie.
Except that, clearly, they did.
She breathed deeply, slowly, trying to keep herself calm. It was going to be fine. This was a very public place, in the middle of a civilized country, and yes, it was scary because these two men were armed and she couldn’t communicate with them, but there had to be a logical explanation behind all this. Logic would prevail.
A limousine pulled up.
What?
Before Ellie had time to think or to protest, one of the guards had the door open and a hand on her head. He pushed her, gently but firmly, into the backseat of the car. The other guard had gone around and was climbing in the opposite door, so she found herself sandwiched between them.
The fear she had so far managed to contain now unleashed itself and froze her blood. “Where are you taking me?”
No answer.
“Am I under arrest? I have rights,” she said. “I’m an American. You have to take me to my embassy.” She wasn’t sure that was correct, but she spoke authoritatively anyway. Years in the boardroom had taught her that she could get a long way by sounding like she knew what she was talking about.
Here, though, it did her no good. The security guards continued to ignore her.
Ellie leaned forward and rapped on the partition dividing the cab of the limousine from the back. Maybe the driver spoke English.
The guard beside her reached forward, grabbed her, and pulled her roughly back into her seat. It was the first time either of them had used such force with her, and she suddenly realized how much they had been holding back. How much they could hurt her if she provoked them.
At that thought, she quieted.
Chapter 7
Mahmoud
The palace was, he knew, the grandest building in all of Al Fahad. Mahmoud’s nation—micronation, his father would remind him sternly—was a wealthy one. The people who lived here were prosperous. Many homes were stately, and the offices in the city center were marvels of modern architecture. But the palace put them all to shame.
Most days, though, Mahmoud confined himself to his own wing. Now that he was Sheikh, of course, the governing offices of the building were at his disposal as well, and he did take meetings there with fellow heads of state and Al Fahadi legislators. But in his own time, he was content to keep to the same rooms that had been his since childhood, back when his father was Sheikh and he’d spent his days basking in the pool, watching sports on television, or playing games on his computer. He still played some of those games, but more and more, he preferred to tinker with the mobile games on his tablet. That way, he could lie by the pool.
The NorMo game did not appeal to Mahmoud on a personal level. As Sheikh, he had no bills to pay. He had people to handle that for him. But Saad had pointed him in the direction of another game by the same developer, called DinoBuilder.
Mahmoud dangled his feet in the water as the app downloaded then tapped it open. A small Tyrannosaurus Rex appeared on the screen and did its best approximation of a roar. Cute, Mahmoud thought. He began building a pen for the dinosaur, splashing the water of the pool with his feet.
The tablet vibrated an alert. Mahmoud tapped out of DinoBuilder and into the video chat app. The face of his driver appeared onscreen. “I’m five minutes away, Your Highness.”
“Right,” said Mahmoud. “Thanks.”
He got up from his pool chair and went back to his sleeping quarters. He wanted to dress carefully today. Mahmoud believed in the importance of the right outfit for every occasion, and today’s occasion, he thought, required something non-traditional.
He still had all his American clothes in the back of his closet, though he hadn’t worn them since becoming Sheikh. Casual wouldn’t do, though.
He selected a pair of pants, a button-down shirt, and a jacket. He completed the outfit with a ghutra. The headdress did take away from the American style he was going for, but Mahmoud thought he looked good nonetheless.
He rang the bell to call for assistance. A moment later, a maid called Keziah entered and stood quietly in the doorway.
“Tea,” he said to her. “For two, please. And I’d like to take it in the Lemon Tree Room.”
Keziah bowed and left as quietly as she’d come.
The Sheikh made a mental note to talk to her sometime about her unnecessary obsequiousness. Every time he saw her, he felt bad that he hadn’t done more yet to put her at her ease since she’d been in his employ. He preferred his servants to be comfortable working for him, to know that they were part of the family as long as they were in his home. His father had been the same way. But Keziah was new, and whether through experience or hearsay, she’d picked up a much more nefarious idea of what this experience would be like. I need to make her more of a priority, he thought guiltily. And I will, just as soon as today’s business is over.
He checked his appearance in the mirror once more. Satisfied, he made his way to the front steps to await his driver.
Chapter 8
Ellie
The limousine pulled to a stop, but the tinted windows revealed nothing of where they were. One of the guards said something in what she guessed was Arabic, but she couldn’t be sure.
Ellie shivered. The horror of not knowing what was going on had become almost unbearable, and she felt the urge to scream. She took deep breaths instead, trying to control her rising terror.
What if they open the door and it’s nothing but desert for miles? Ellie knew that Al Fahad’s c
apital was surrounded by desert on all sides. It would take hours to reach the next city by car; it would probably be impossible on foot. What if they pushed her out of the car and left her in the middle of nowhere?
Why would they do that? But then, why would they do any of this? None of what was happening made any sense, and she hadn’t been able to come up with any rational explanation. If she was under arrest, surely she’d be in handcuffs right now? And Al Fahad wasn’t a dictatorship. People had rights here. If Ellie was accused of a crime, they would have told her what it was, wouldn’t they?
Or was that not how it worked? It wasn’t like she’d ever been arrested at home. Maybe they explained things later.
So as the doors opened, Ellie braced herself for the worst—an empty desert, a police station. She was so steeled for these possibilities that it took her several seconds to process what she was actually seeing.
It was a palace.
And it was gorgeous. Beautiful, brightly colored domes topped tall slender turrets. The doorway was a massive arch through which she could make out shiny floor tiles.
Ellie turned around and saw that leading up to the palace was a long, narrow rectangle of an artificial pond, with fountains placed every few yards. As she watched, each fountain spat water up in quick succession.
She was utterly baffled.
“Is… Is this the embassy?”
The guards, true to form, said nothing.
But now the driver’s door opened, and a young man got out. He was more slightly built than the guards, and he didn’t appear to be armed. Ellie was immediately more at ease, even before he smiled at her and said, “Welcome to the palace, Ms. Mills.”
“You speak English!” she cried.
“But of course.”
“Why didn’t you tell me where we were going? Why didn’t you talk to me?”
“I was instructed not to,” he said.
Ellie was furious now. Her terror of the past half hour had built up so forcefully that it had to be vented, and she could feel it transitioning to rage. “Instructed by whom?!”
“Will you come with me, please?” The driver didn’t appear shaken by her outburst. He placed a hand on her back as if to guide her.
Ellie shook him off. But then, because in fact she had nowhere else to go, she followed him toward the steps of the palace. The truth was, she was curious about this place. They were outside the city now, she saw from looking around, and the palace was largely surrounded by desert. This location made it seem even more beautiful somehow, as though it had been placed here by a divine hand. Surely this would make up for all the restaurants and art museums she’d missed on her trip. She couldn’t imagine this was a place many Americans ever got to see.
The limousine driver led her up the steps. Just as they reached the top, a man stepped out from behind a pillar. He was about Ellie’s age, bearded, dressed in a suit and the traditional headwear of Al Fahadi men. His eyes were kind, watching her.
“Ellie Mills,” the driver said, “I present Sheikh Mahmoud Al-Kartar, ruler of Al Fahad.”
Ellie stared at him.
The driver nudged her, muttering an instruction. “Bow.”
Ellie bowed, feeling strange.
“You don’t have to do that,” the Sheikh said. He turned to the driver. “She doesn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Dismissed, Fariq.”
The limousine driver—Fariq—executed a neat bow and retreated toward his car, leaving Ellie alone with the man he’d introduced as “the ruler of Al Fahad.”
Did she believe it?
Could this be about Mark’s exploits yesterday? She’d known that poor woman had been upset by his behavior, of course, but was it possible things had escalated this far? Sheikh, that was like a king, wasn’t it?
Again, she cursed herself for not learning more about this place before coming here. It had been so irresponsible of her. She should know the political makeup of the micronation she was visiting on business. Not knowing these things was so…so Mark-like of her.
She was about to raise the issue with the man before her, to apologize yet again for the behavior of her colleague, when she noticed the way he was watching her.
He wasn’t angry. His eyes—such expressive eyes!—were laughing. Was he laughing at her?
“This isn’t funny, you know,” she told him, surprised at her own audacity. But it wasn’t funny. Why shouldn’t she stand up for herself?
“I beg your pardon?” the man said.
“Abducting me at the airport like that. That’s what it is when you take someone against their will, you know, even if you are a Sheikh. Do you have any idea how terrified I was, being driven around in that car, with no idea where I was going, and those armed guards twice my size who didn’t speak my language? You get that this isn’t my home country, right? I know my colleague is an insensitive jerk, but I do not deserve that kind of treatment. And now you just stand there laughing at me—”
The Sheikh placed a hand over his heart. “Ellie. I apologize. Please. I’m not laughing at you. I would never laugh at you. I am simply laughing near you.”
Ellie hesitated. Why does that sound familiar?
And suddenly, with a wave of recognition, she knew. “Oh my God. You’re Bahir!”
The Sheikh said nothing.
“I met you at the Stanford graduation party. You remember? For the tech students? We’d both been ditched by our friends, so we hung out, and then…” she frowned, remembering. “And then you ditched me.”
“I apologize,” he said.
Sure, five years later. Whatever.
“I don’t understand. Sheikh is like king, right? Were you a prince then? What were you doing at a college in California?”
“Ellie, I promise I will explain,” the Sheikh said. “I saw you on television this morning. I recognized you immediately. I never forgot the night we spent together either.” His voice was wistful.
Ellie hardened. “We didn’t spend it together. You ditched me, remember?”
“I wanted the opportunity to say hello to you again, to reconnect after all these years,” the Sheikh said, ignoring her hostile tone. “When I saw your news segment this morning, I knew I had to act fast. Your colleague mentioned that you were all flying back to America this afternoon.”
“And I’d still like to make that flight,” Ellie snapped. “Okay, we’ve reconnected, hi and it was nice to see you and all that. Can you please call your scary henchmen to take me back to the airport? If I leave now, I can be there on time.”
“I’m sorry,” the Sheikh said. He did sound sorry. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“What do you mean? Am I under arrest?”
“No, no.”
“Then I’m free to go?”
“You’re free to go, but I don’t have any available drivers at present. It would take an hour to send for somebody.”
“What about the guy who just left?”
“Off on an errand of state, I’m afraid.”
“So I’m stuck here. I’m going to miss my flight.”
“We’ll arrange a new flight for you, of course,” the Sheikh said easily, with the air of someone who has never questioned whether he’s going to get what he wants. “In the meantime, why not come inside for some tea? You don’t really want to stand out here in the desert heat all day. Your neck is uncovered.”
Her hand went to her neck. It did feel warm. Was she burning?
He smiled, and suddenly her mind jumped back to that last night at Stanford with “Bahir.” Had that been a fake name? Or had his name changed when he assumed the throne? This was the same guy, wasn’t it?
Whatever his name was, they had danced all night, when she’d felt clever and funny each time she spoke, lighting him up with her thoughts. If he hadn’t ditched her, she realized, that would have been one of the most magical nights of her life. What if the whole night had been like that, ripe with that perfect chemist
ry and those magical moments—two people who seemed to speak a language that no one around them has ever heard? What if her last night at school had been that, instead of watching a romantic comedy over ice cream and wondering why she was such a fool?
And why had Bahir left her, anyway? Her inner gossip was dying to know, she had to admit. It was one of the great unsolved mysteries of her life. Now, as if by magic, here he was again. Here was a chance to get the answer.
And the fact of the matter was she had nowhere else to go. Her plane was as good as gone. Until he decided to put her on another one, she was at his mercy.
She reached out and took his extended hand. “All right,” she said. “Tea.”
Chapter 9
Mahmoud
The Lemon Tree Room was located just off the entrance hall. Mahmoud was glad; Ellie was looking around as if in shock, and he didn’t want her to get distracted by the trappings of the palace. Not yet. This was supposed to be their chance to talk, to get to know each other as they hadn’t all those years ago.
He could sense her relaxing a little as they stepped into the Lemon Tree Room. He understood why. This had been one of his favorite rooms since childhood. With its open ceiling and dirt floor, it barely qualified as a room at all. He’d developed a taste for lemons at a young age and had plucked them from the trees, running off to peel and eat them at his leisure while frustrated gardeners yelled at him.
Nobody yelled at Mahmoud now.
He reached up and palmed a ripe lemon, but didn’t pull it from the tree. If he did, he knew, the gardeners would not object. He could chop down these lemon trees if it suited him and nobody would stop him.
That was not an altogether pleasant feeling.