Touch the Horizon

by Iris Johansen

  “Yusef,” Billie identified him gloomily. “Oh, Lord, I might have known he’d follow me.”

  “Yes, that is his name. Yusef Ibraheim,” Yasmin said. “He appeared at the Casbah this evening and demanded to see you. The guard said he was most belligerent.”

  “He would be.” Billie sighed. “He seems to think I can’t function without him to take care of me.” She stiffened as Yasmin’s other statement sank in. “They’re holding him prisoner?”

  Yasmin nodded unhappily. “He was in the library a long time with Sheikh Karim and Mr. Donahue, and then the guards were given orders to take him to the Silver Crescent and keep him prisoner until Sheikh Karim gives the word that he be released.”

  “Silver Crescent? What is that?”

  “It’s a place for evening entertainment, a café. You would call it a nightclub. It’s about five minutes journey from here. Sheikh Karim owns it, as he does most of Zalandan. He uses the back rooms for meetings and other activities when he requires more secrecy than the Casbah affords.”

  “Or when he decides to imprison an innocent man on a whim,” Billie added grimly. “I can’t believe it. Who does he think he is?”

  “I’m sure the sheikh had good reason for doing what he did,” Yasmin said cautiously. “Your friend will come to no harm if he’s free from guilt.”

  “And who’s to decide that?” Billie asked caustically. “Karim is evidently judge, jury, and executioner in Zalandan.” She shivered suddenly. They wouldn’t really hurt Yusef, would they? But Karim was something of a barbarian, and he was an absolute fanatic about David’s safety. Yusef’s employment in that bordello was a possible link with Ladram that might incriminate him in Karim’s eyes. “I’ve got to get him out of there.”

  “No!” Yasmin shook her head adamantly. “That would be very dangerous. Perhaps if you went to the sheikh and pleaded for—”

  “Pleaded,” Billie echoed indignantly. “The man’s a dictator. Do you think I’m going begging on my knees for him to release a man who shouldn’t have been imprisoned in the first place? No, I’ll get him out on my own.”

  “Then go to Lisan. He will use his influence with the sheikh.”

  “I’m not involving David,” Billie said, jumping to her feet. “Yusef is my responsibility, and I’ll take care of this myself. Tonight.”

  “Why not wait until tomorrow?” Yasmin said coaxingly. “One night can’t hurt, and you may change your mind and decide to go to the sheikh after all.”

  “Tonight,” Billie was at the bureau drawers, rummaging rapidly through them. “Yusef won’t sit tamely by to be held prisoner, and he’s so ferocious-looking, his guards are bound to be afraid of him. Fear breeds violence. I have to get him out tonight.” She glanced up. “Where’s the jellaba I was wearing earlier? It has a hood that may shadow my face.” She pulled out a pair of khaki slacks. “These will probably do if that café is dim enough. It will be better if I can pass as a man. From what I’ve seen in the streets in the last few days, a woman alone would be too suspicious.”

  “The jellaba is in the dressing room,” Yasmin answered absently. “You’re going to free your friend by force?”

  “If I don’t find any other way. I’ll play it by ear once I’ve reached the Silver Crescent.”

  Yasmin shook her head incredulously. “I would never have told you if I’d known you would do something so foolish. I thought you would go directly to Lisan and let him solve your problem.”

  “I solve my own problems,” Billie said briskly. The black tunic shirt was large enough to disguise her small breasts, she decided, and her short suede boots would be masculine enough. “We do things differently where I come from.” Suddenly she turned, and her eyes narrowed with curiosity. “Why did you run the risk of telling me about Yusef, Yasmin? You know the sheikh will be furious if he finds out you’ve warned me. I know how much your position in this household means to you.”

  “It is my life.” Yasmin’s gaze was steady. “Being in charge of the sheikh’s residences is considered a great honor in Sedikhan. I’ve worked to reach that goal ever since I was a child.”

  “Then why?”

  “Lisan,” Yasmin said simply. “You have value in his eyes, and it would make him unhappy to see you sad or worried.”

  “And that means more to you than your position or your loyalty to Sheikh Karim?”

  “It means everything.” Yasmin’s eyes were oddly bright. “Whatever happens, Lisan must not be made sad. I cared too much for my position once before and almost lost my Zilah. Lisan saved her. I will not hold it so dear again.”

  “Zilah?” Billie asked gently.

  Yasmin’s serene features were suddenly strained and white with pain, her lips tight to control their trembling. “My daughter, Zilah,” she said. “Lisan did not tell you of Zilah?”

  Billie shook her head. “I didn’t know you had any children.”

  “There is only Zilah.” Yasmin drew a shaky breath. “I’m not married, you see. Zilah is illegitimate. I understand that this is not such a shameful thing in your country now, but in Sedikhan it’s a very serious transgression. She was born when I was thirty and had given up hope of finding love.” She smiled sadly. “I found it, but the man was a foreigner, and married as well. I had to find a way of both supporting my Zilah and keeping my position with the sheikh.”

  “Wouldn’t the sheikh have helped you?” Billie asked.

  “I couldn’t risk it. My shame was great in the eyes of my people. I kept Zilah’s birth a secret and sent her to my mother in Marasef to be raised. I visited her whenever possible and sent her as much money as I could, to make sure that Zilah had a happy life.” She shook her head. “I should have been there to protect her. I should have kept her with me.”

  “You did what you could,” Billie said, her eyes warm with sympathy. “That’s all any of us can do, Yasmin.”

  “It was not enough. My mother was old and did not keep close enough guard on her. Marasef can be a very wicked city for those who aren’t protected.” Yasmin closed her eyes, and her voice was a broken murmur. “Zilah disappeared one day. She was such a pretty little girl, so bright and shining. We knew what had happened to her.” Yasmin’s lids flicked open, and her eyes were dark with agony. “I was frantic. I did everything I could think of. The police. Searching the streets myself. Everything. Six months had passed and there was no sign of her. And then I told Lisan.” She smiled sadly. “I did not mean to, but he could see I was worried, and it all came tumbling out. Thank Allah I told Lisan.”

  “What did he do?” Billie asked, almost unbearably moved by the pain on Yasmin’s face.

  “He found her and brought her to me,” she said simply. “He went to Marasef and searched until he found her. She was in a house of shame, as we had thought. They had drugged her with heroin and kept her addicted so that she would be docile and comply with the way they were using her.” Her voice was vibrant with agony. “My Zilah was only thirteen years old!”

  “Oh, my God.” Billie could feel her own throat tighten with tears. “My God.”

  “Have you ever seen anyone suffer from heroin addiction? It is a terrible thing. Not only for the addict, but for the people who are trying to help. I wasn’t strong enough to help her, but Lisan was. Lisan stayed with her while she suffered withdrawal symptoms that tore her apart. We gave her methadone, but the suffering was still a horror to watch.” Her face was a frozen mask of pain. “And when she was better, it was even worse, because she began to remember what had happened in that house. She felt ugly and used, and the nightmares were terrible. Lisan stayed with her then too. He filled her room with plants and flowers; he brought her huge bouquets of balloons. He surrounded her with color and caring and he held her hand and listened.” The tears were running down her cheeks in a slow trickle. “I could not listen. I tried, but I couldn’t do it. But Lisan listened, and gradually the pain poured into him and the ugliness vanished as if it had never been. Because in Lisan’s eyes she coul
d see that she was still the beautiful child she had always been.” There was a moment of silence in the room more poignant than the words that had gone before. Then Yasmin shook her head as if to clear it of the painful memories and tried to smile. “Yes, Lisan’s happiness means much to me. There is very little I wouldn’t do to ensure it.”

  “I can see that,” Billie said huskily, blinking rapidly to keep back the tears. “Where is Zilah now?”

  “The doctor said it would be better to send Zilah far away from the site of her memories. Lisan sent her to America to people who will love and care for her.” She smiled sadly. “I miss her very much but it is best. She writes me, and her letters are content—and even happy sometimes.”

  “I’m glad,” Billie said softly. “I’m so glad, Yasmin.”

  “So am I,” Yasmin said simply, her dark eyes serene now. “And if helping you will make Lisan happy, then I must do it. It is because of my Zilah that he is in danger now. When Zilah left for America, he went back to Marasef. I had never seen Lisan angry before, but he was angry then.” She shivered. “It was a terrible, burning anger. He went to Alex Ben Raschid and together they destroyed the network that had preyed upon children like my Zilah.”

  “No,” Billie said decidedly. “I can’t let you involve yourself more than you have already. You can help me dress and take me to this Silver Crescent if you like, but after that I’m on my own. You come directly back to the Casbah and wait until I get back.”

  “But I wish—”

  “No,” Billie repeated gently but firmly as she carried her armload of clothes toward the dressing room. “Yusef is my responsibility, and I’ll take care of this on my own.”

  “The guard says they will probably keep your friend in the office in the back,” Yasmin said as she drew deeper into the shadowy doorway of the tiny shop across the street from the Silver Crescent. “The second green door.”

  “Right.” Billie checked the pins in her hair to be sure they were secure and drew the hood over her head so that it shadowed her face. “I’ll be fine now. You go on back to the Casbah.”

  “I don’t know,” Yasmin said hesitantly. “Perhaps…”

  “Go,” Billie said firmly. She bent forward to brush the other woman’s cheek in an affectionate kiss. “Thank you.” Then she was striding across the cobbled street with what she hoped was a mannish gait and opening the door of the café.

  She was immediately met with a blast of smoke and the music of zilaks and cymbals in a throbbing Eastern, rhythm. It was so dark she could barely make out the outline of the tables and the shapes of the robed figures that were seated at them. The only light was focused on the voluptuous figure of the belly dancer gyrating in the center of the dance floor, and the attention of everyone in the room appeared to be riveted on her shaking hips. It was no wonder, Billie thought wryly. How on earth did she keep that little bit of material from vibrating off? It had to be glued on. Well, the darkness and the floor show were definitely to her advantage, and she’d better use that distraction to get to the back office. Now, where the devil was it?

  Ah, an arched doorway with its curtain of beads was barely visible a short distance from the dance floor. She made her way carefully among the close-packed tables. As she passed a vacant one she absently spotted an empty tray and a large white towel carelessly left by one of the waiters? What what could be more natural in a café than a waiter? And what could be more inviting to two guards than a bottle of wine? She snatched up the tray and draped the white towel over her left arm. That made a nice, authentic touch. Now for the wine.

  She stopped at a table occupied by two bearded men who seemed particularly entranced by the belly dancer’s navel and matter-of-factly picked up their half-empty glasses and put them on the tray. Then she reached for the bottle of wine in the center of the table.

  Her hand was immediately gripped protestingly. Evidently the threat of the absence of liquid beverage was more important than the belly dancer’s charms. Her hand tightened on the neck of the bottle.

  “Bad,” she croaked hoarsely in Arabic. She grabbed her throat and stuck her tongue out like someone in the last extremities of poisoning. “Botulism.” Was that the same medical word in Sedikhan? Evidently it was, because the man snatched his hand away from the bottle as if he’d been burned and clutched fearfully at his own throat. She set the bottle on the tray. Poor man. As she picked up the tray and turned toward the beaded curtain, she added tersely in Arabic, “Maybe.” At least he had hope now.

  The second green door. She paused before it and drew a deep, steadying breath. She adjusted the hood again and licked her lips nervously. It was dim here in the hall, but there was a light beneath the door that indicated she would have no such luck once she was in the room. She’d just have to keep her head down and pretend to be a very servile waiter. She balanced the tray on her hip as she spilled the remaining wine in the glasses on the floor and wiped them with her towel. Draping the towel back over her arm and not letting herself think, she knocked peremptorily on the door.

  There was a murmur of voices, followed by the sound of chairs being pushed back. Then the door was flung open and she was facing a young soldier in the now-familiar olive-green uniform. No guns, she noticed with relief.

  “Wine,” she croaked in Arabic. “From Sheikh Karim Ben Raschid.”

  Oh, Lord, there was a look of surprise on the young soldier’s face. Evidently the sheikh didn’t approve of his men drinking on the job. “One glass,” she growled sternly. The surprise faded and the soldier stepped back, glancing back to call something over his shoulder to his cohort at the table across the room. She gathered it was less than complimentary to the sheikh and a trifle ungrateful.

  She glided forward, her head bent, darting glances around the room from beneath her lashes. Yusef was there, she noted with relief. He was sitting in the executive chair behind the desk, bound efficiently with strong ropes. The two guards had evidently been playing cards at the table across the room, for there was an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts and a pile of chips in the center of the table. The other guard at the table had no handgun either, and her swift gaze spotted two rifles propped against the wall by the desk. Thank heavens luck was on the side of the righteous tonight.

  She heard the door close behind her as she headed briskly for the desk. She put the tray down and fussed with the glasses a moment, peering beneath her lashes at Yusef. He didn’t seem hurt or abused in any way, but as he glared at the men across the room, there was a fierce scowl on his roughhewn face that was so intimidating, she couldn’t really blame the guards for binding those Samson-like shoulders so heavily. Dressed in voluminous dark trousers shoved into suede boots and a white, long-sleeved shirt stretched across the mighty biceps of his chest, he resembled an Arabian Nights genie captured in a sorcerer’s enchanted bonds. The guard who’d opened the door was now dropping back into his chair and picking up his cards. She drew a deep breath and could feel her heart start to pound. It was now or never.

  She whirled and dashed for the rifles against the wall. She’d snatched up one when she heard a shout from the table behind her and the screech of chairs shoved hurriedly back. Then she was turning and pointing the rifle at the guards with what she hoped appeared to be lethal competence. “Stop,” she shouted, her finger on the trigger. “Stay.” Oh, damn, that sounded like a canine command. How could you sound dangerous when you only knew a little Arabic?

  Evidently they were too stunned to take offense at the command and too wary of the barrel of the rifle pointed at them to disobey her. So far, so good. “I’ll have you untied in a minute, Yusef,” she called, shaking her head so the hood fell to her shoulders.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Yusef said sternly. “There is danger. Go away and I will crush these vermin on my own.”

  “That’s very ungrateful, Yusef,” she said indignantly, her eyes glued warily on the two guards. “Would Luke Skywalker say a thing like that if Princess Leia came to his rescue?�
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  “Luke Skywalker?”

  “Never mind.” She sighed. “I guess the Star Wars saga hasn’t reached Sedikhan yet.”

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” Yusef growled. “Go away before you are hurt.”

  “Oh, be quiet, Yusef,” she said with exasperation. “Don’t I have enough to worry about without your nagging me? Can’t you be rescued with good grace, for heaven’s sake?” The boyish-faced guard took a sudden step forward, and she hurriedly lifted the drooping rifle. “Stay!”

  He stayed. Maybe she was more dangerous-looking than she thought. Now to get those ropes off Yusef. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a knife? She searched for something to use as a substitute and noticed the wine bottle. Jagged glass.

  She grabbed the neck of the bottle and, keeping an eagle eye on the two guards, backed around the desk until she was standing beside Yusef’s chair. Cradling the rifle in her arm she brought the bottle down on the edge of the desk with a crash. It didn’t break.

  “They always break,” she muttered incredulously. “I’ve never seen a movie where the bottle didn’t break.” She crashed the bottle down again. A long crack appeared, but it still didn’t shatter. “What the hell is it made of?”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to try to find a letter-opener in the desk?” David asked from the doorway. “I’m sure it would be much less messy, windflower.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, startled. Then she answered her own question. “Yasmin.”

  He nodded as he strolled into the room. “She couldn’t take the chance you might be hurt, so she came running to me for help.” He grinned as he took in the slight figure with the rifle cradled in her arm. “I don’t think she would be quite so concerned if she could see you now.”

  “I don’t need any help.” She was opening the desk drawers frantically and finally found the letter-opener. It appeared to have a fairly sharp blade, she noticed with satisfaction, and proceeded to saw through the thick rope.