“I meant in the spring. My wedding’s next week.” With a slam, Muhammad shut the door. Thunk. A key turned in the latch. Surely he hadn’t locked her in.
She raised her voice in a shriek. “Uncle, I need water, first aid!”
His heavy footsteps pounded away.
Throwing herself off the bed, she ran toward the door. She yanked at the cold metal handle. It held fast.
Her knees buckled beneath her. She slumped onto the tile. Thirst consumed her as yet more blood dribbled around her, staining the shadowy tile an even darker color. Her tears fell around her.
No shame, Muhammad had just beaten a defenseless woman, someone he considered his niece, no less. She only had one uncle and she hadn’t seen him much beyond Thanksgiving and Christmas, but he always gave her a card with a twenty-dollar bill and offered her spearmint gum.
Her body shook. How long did this domestic violence perpetrator mean to imprison her? She just wanted to go home.
The bed skirt blew up in the wind, revealing the rubber edge of Mariam’s phone.
She scooted closer. The broken glass scraped against her stomach as her tank top rode up, but she felt far too unsteady to stand. Mucus ran across her trembling lip. Sliding the phone to unlock, she tapped on the screen.
Thirst ate at her. Another shard of glass embedded itself in her hand. Her head throbbed, her left eye pulsing as it swelled.
Fingers trembling, she dialed the one Saudi Arabian number she knew.
Ring.
Her tears fell on the glass shards.
Ring.
Would he even answer her?
Ring.
“Hello,” a male voice said.
Gaze on the broken glass that glittered against the thick carpet by moonlight, she could even hear the sheepishness in her voice. “Hey, Joe.”
“Kay? What are you doing in Saudi Arabia? Where’s Mariam? Do you even realize what—” Joe exploded into a thousand words of condemnation.
“It’s a long story.” Kay bit her lip, the warmth of blood streaking down her arm too now. “Any chance you’d want to come over and hear it? I could really use a drink right now.” Preferably gin, but she’d settle for Gatorade.
“I can’t come see you. You’re in the women’s quarters as a Saudi woman!” Joe’s voice hit the same number of decibels as a foghorn.
“Just come to my window. Third one on the right. Though there is a privacy fence.” Shoving herself to her knees, she peered out the open window. The house rose two stories high. A fifteen-foot stone wall stood outside her window. When she’d driven in last night, Muhammad had punched in the key code to some kind of security system and barbed wire topped the stone fence. What was she asking Joe to do?
“We’ll both get sent to jail for any attempt at communication. Not to mention I could lose my job over this.” Joe brought his voice down to the no-muffler racecar range.
Despair fell over her. “I understand.”
She pressed the hang-up button. This wasn’t Joe’s problem. She slumped against the scratchy carpet. Her head struck the corner of the dresser. A halo of dizziness overwhelmed her along with a parching thirst as she began the long wait for morning.
Would Muhammad even let her out at morning’s dawn?
Twenty Minutes Later
Migraine pains shot through Kay as her eyes burned. Water. She touched her hand to her parched lips. More blood. At least it looked like blood by moonlight. The darkness came in at her as the pain pulsed down her neck.
Something clacked against the window. Kay froze.
The blinds trembled. She didn’t believe in the jinn the Koran told of. Then again, lying on a carpet stained with one’s own blood as the cold desert breeze whipped through a room lit only by shadows made one reconsider things.
With an oomph, a silhouette appeared in the window.
She screamed.
“Shh, Kay, it’s me.” A click sounded. The blaze of a high-powered flashlight illuminated the right half of the room. Joe gripped the window ledge.
“You came!” She pushed herself to her knees. Broken glass dug into her shins. A groan passed through her bloody lips.
He swung his leg over the window frame. His shoulders filled the window as he shimmied under the window sash.
Scooting to a sitting position, she pulled the abaya up over the blood.
“First time I’ve broken into a Saudi woman’s room. I hope you’ll plead my cause if I get sentenced to a beheading.” He smiled as he held out a restaurant-style lidded cup with a straw that he’d somehow managed to get over a fifteen-foot wall, through a security system, and up two stories. “A mango-lassi.”
Bless that man. Grabbing the dresser, she pulled herself up and walked into the light of his flashlight. “I can’t thank you enough, Joe.” Her bare foot hit a piece of shattered glass. With a cry, she stumbled.
“Kay.” Joe leaped forward and grabbed her arm. His hands were strong, like Muhammad’s. “What happened to you?” He stared at her swelling left eye.
She couldn’t meet his gaze.
Hand on her shoulder, he angled the light of his flashlight to her face.
She threw her arms around his neck. Her heart pounded as she clung to him. He felt like a piece of American soil transplanted to Saudi, the light of his one bulb flashlight driving away the fear that clenched her heart. “I need to go to the hospital. I think he broke my tooth. Joe, how could he do this?”
“Because he’s a,” Joe swore, and not a church-going swear word either. He held her tight against him as she pressed her cheek against his T-shirt. Running her one hand down his arm, she found his hand. She wove her fingers around his. His calluses pressed into her palm. The man had risked his job to come for her. She took back every negative thing she’d thought about him.
One hand still on her, he stepped back and rummaged in his camelback. “Sit.”
She sank on the bed, her fingers still clenched around his. Her knees felt weak, her lip wet from tears. “I didn’t burn a Koran. I didn’t strut around in a bikini. I did everything right.” Her voice filled with tears. She gazed at the lightbulb shards, bloodied from her face. The terror of death had shaken through her and she could do nothing to stop Muhammad.
Muhammad was so strong.
The smell of peroxide rose. She turned.
“We’ve got to get these glass shards out.” One hand on her shoulder, Joe touched moistened gauze to her cheek.
The fumes mixed with the smell of her own blood as the peroxide burned her cheek. She dug her fingers into Joe’s knee. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
“Shh.” He touched her arm. “I’ll get you to a hospital. There’s one the embassy uses.”
“Thank you so much.” She forced herself to release his hand and breathe. “The door’s locked.”
“I’ll help you climb out the window.” Reaching to his belt, he flipped open a knife. She clenched her hand around his as he brought it to her cheek.
With the precision of a surgeon, he flicked the thin metal blade and bloody glass shards dropped from her cheek. His flashlight made strange shadows against the bed. “That’s the best I can do here.” He stood.
The sound of footsteps sounded.
Kay froze. Joe snapped the flashlight off.
The footsteps stopped at the door.
Kay looked wildly around the dark room. Not enough room beneath the bed to hide under it. The closet had shelves. Joe tugged out a gun and aimed it at the door.
The footsteps passed on.
A sigh slid from Joe’s lungs. “I have a car in the alley. I’ll take you to the embassy. You can stay there until we work out the exit visa stuff and get you home.”
“You mean leave Saudi Arabia?” She fumbled for the dissertation paper crumpled in her pocket. A glass shard fell from the smudged page.
“Yeah.” Joe glared at the door.
She clenched the notebook paper. “I have a dissertation to write.” A hot feeling swept over her. She
felt lightheaded. If she went back now, Dr. Benson would fail her. Rather than attend that presidential debate with her parents, she’d have to tell them she’d gotten rejected from Harvard. If she stayed, in the morning she’d have to face a domestic violence perp.
“You just got beaten.” Joe pointed at her cheek. “Into a bloody pulp.”
The migraine pounded in her ears. “One out of four women in America will experience domestic violence at some point in her life. If they can survive it, so can I.” Her voice sounded weak. She pressed her hand against her stomach. Could she truly force herself to stay?
“Kay, you can’t be serious.” Joe touched her arm. Just now she’d have chosen him above kings and prime ministers, but she’d lose four years of grad work if she left now.
She brushed glass off her jeans. Blood smeared from her hand onto the fabric. “If a beating is the only thing standing between me and a doctoral seal, I’ll take the beating.” American suffragettes had endured beatings on the November 15th, 1917, “night of terror.” To finish her doctorate and bring attention to the plight of Muslim immigrants, she too could withstand physical suffering. New courage rose through her.
Joe looked at her, the same deep expression in his eyes as when he’d sat in her Cambridge living room not three days ago. She shouldn’t have judged him so harshly then. Bible thumper or no, the guy had manifested resourcefulness, courage, and genuine care tonight.
“Why are you in Saudi? I can’t imagine it’s exactly a safe place for a . . .” She tilted her head. He certainly wasn’t a security guard. Something military? “. . . Marine to be?”
“Marine?” Joe scoffed. “Dumb dudes with big biceps.”
“Well, whatever your job description over here, thank you. I’ll be comfortable until morning now.” She touched his arm and looked up into his eyes. He’d been a hero tonight.
“Until morning?” He jerked back. “I’m not letting you stay another minute with that monster.”
“I’ll be fine.” Dizziness overcame her. She sank onto the bed pillows as a strange humming noise sounded in her ears.
In a blur of pounding headache and points of light, Joe dumped three pills in her hand and set a bottle on the end table. “Ibuprofen.”
Tilting back her head, she swallowed them whole. “Any Islamic hadith recommendations? I have to memorize five before breakfast tomorrow.” She tried to force a smile and calm his worrying.
“Sure, I know some passages from this vile religion.” Joe spat the words out. Flicking out his phone, he rolled down to an app. “How about this one, ‘Men are superior to women on account of the qualities with which God hath gifted the one above the other . . . scourage them . . . verily, God is High, Great!”
Not the most uplifting passage, but one did have to remember to judge people by their time rather than modern standards. Rumi spoke about “purity of heart” being the sign of a true Muslim. That was Islam. She’d not argue with Joe now though, after he’d come to rescue her.
“Oh and here.” Joe scrolled through screens as comfortable as a Baptist in a Bible quiz. “Where Allah commands Job to beat his wife. ‘Take in thine hand a rod, and strike with it, nor break thine oath.’ ”
The Koran was a beautiful book filled with poetry about love and peace. Joe couldn’t change that by cherry-picking. His voice faded in and out as halos blurred her vision.
“Memorize this passage. Mariam’s blackguard of an uncle will like that.” Joe shoved his phone in her face. “Allah commands—”
“You know blackguard is like a Horatio Hornblower word.” Kay reached for the mango-lassi Joe had so kindly brought her. She took a sip of the icy drink. Her vision started to clear.
“This is insanity, Kay. Get on the plane.” He gestured to the window and two-story drop below.
“Joe, you’re sweet, and I’m forever indebted to you for coming, but I’m fine. I’ve gotten worse snowboarding.” The cold mango drink slid down her throat, invigorating her. Standing, she reached for the tissue box. Tearing out a tissue, she dabbed at the droplets of blood. Her knees swayed. She grabbed the footboard of the bed.
“I’ll have you know I do not approve of this.” Joe brought his eyebrows down.
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Former Army, not Navy.” Joe rested one hand on the window frame, his mouth pressed into an unsatisfied line. “Keep your American passport on you at all times. That’s your key out of a sticky situation.”
Dr. Benson had her American passport. Joe would freak if she told him that. She collapsed on the bed.
“You do realize anything Muhammad does to you is perfectly legal here.”
She met Joe’s gaze. The moonlight silhouetted him by the window. A shiver shook through her. That couldn’t be true. Muhammad was evil, but so were many American men. The Saudi government and legal system would uphold her rights, same as America.
“If he beats you again, even if I was in the neighborhood, I wouldn’t be able to stop it. A male relative may kill a woman in his household if she dishonors the family name, and the police likely won’t do anything.” Joe looked like some shadow of the night as he stood there, his body framed in darkness.
Preposterous. Saudi Arabia was a modern country. Still, Kay’s breathing came sharp and hard. In moments, he’d leave her here in this dark prison with a man who hated her.
“You okay with giving him that kind of power over you?”
She saw Muhammad’s hands like they’d looked an hour ago, clenched, fury in his eyes. Of course she wasn’t okay with it. “I’ll be careful.”
“This is insane.” Stepping away from the window, Joe strode up to her. He flipped over his palm. “Hand over your passport. I’ve got some connections and I’m getting you on the next plane U.S. bound.”
Oh, to throw her arms around his neck, run into his embrace and let him do the rest. Let him drive her to the embassy, fix the passport situation, and save her like some legendary hero of old. Her breath stuck in her throat. Her head pounded. She never went for the damsel in distress tropes, but right now she’d take it.
What about her dissertation? If she left now, she’d spend the next fifty years of her life teaching Arabic 101 at a community college, not improving the lives of Muslim-American women. “Thank you, Joe. I really appreciate you being willing, but no.”
“I can’t be your protector when you choose idiocy.”
“I don’t need a protector.” Her head throbbed, pain shooting through every muscle.
“You’re in Saudi Arabia bloodied up by your pretend relatives. Yes, you do.” Joe looked to the window.
Fear sliced through her. What if Muhammad hit her again? She gripped her phone where she’d typed her first page of dissertation notes. No matter how much Dr. Benson despised her, she wasn’t a quitter. “I understand that you don’t want to be involved after this. Thank you for coming tonight and good luck with whatever your government mission is.”
Joe swiveled his head, moving the muscles in his neck. “Call me.”
“I thought you didn’t want to be involved.” Her breath came hard and fast. He shouldn’t have even come this time if it jeopardized his job, but oh how grateful she was that he had.
“I’m not letting you get killed by your male relative. I’m not a Muslim.” He kicked the wall.
Dropping the tissue, Kay straightened. “That’s hate speech.”
“Your supposed uncle’s the one who bloodied you.” Joe yanked the window pane up. “And I’d drop that feminist lip of yours right now or you’re going to get yourself killed.”
With a swish of drapery, he swung out. The fabric trembled. A clambering sound and the grate of metal and then his feet thudded on the patio below, leaving the room in darkness.
Fear flickered in every shadow. Kay dug her fingers into the Turkish cotton bedspread.
CHAPTER 9
Monday, Oct 3rd, 6:57 am
Joe squeezed the stress ball that Ruby had left on his desk in a stranglehold. The se
am strained. Plastic beads shot through the air.
“Hey, watch it, cowboy.” Ruby raised her tinny voice.
If only that stress ball had been Muhammad Al-Khatani’s neck. Joe glowered at the eight web browsers he had open to some variant of “how to get out of Saudi without an exit visa.” The chrome clock overhead clicked another minute forward.
What could Kay possibly have been thinking? Blood had dripped down her cheek, fear in those dark eyes. If only he had Muhammad alone in a dark alley.
Kay was still in the villain’s house, with no protection from whatever Muhammad might do next. He had to get her out.
Clenching his fist, Joe turned to his co-workers. “I need advice. . .”
He’d only gotten halfway into his story, when Tracy’s screech exploded through the metal paneled cubicles. “You did what last night?”
“Kay texted me to come.” Joe yanked open another embassy webpage. “The point is, do you know how to get her out of country without an exit visa?”
“You’ve got to rein it in, kid. Breaking and entering into Saudi houses? Accosting the ‘niece’ of an intelligence asset?” Tracy shook her head, jiggling the cord on her purple-rimmed glasses. “You’re going to be doing time in Ft. Leavenworth if you don’t end up dead first.”
Ruby shrugged. “You claimed going out with me was a conflict of interest, and now you’re dating a girl pretending to be Saudi whose uncle is selling AQAP info?”
With a shake of his head, Joe pulled up the passport page on immigration. Thank heaven Kay had her American passport, otherwise she’d be stuck in Saudi for good. Even with that passport, no foreigner could leave Saudi Arabia without an exit visa signed by whatever employer allowed the foreigner into the country.
Joe clicked another tab. Did the state department have any kind of emergency exit strategy for American citizens? Horror stories of American women trapped in Saudi for a lifetime popped up on the browser.
“He’s dating who?” Brian Schmidt’s dress shoes clacked against the tile. He stood stiff as the ceiling joists.
“Joe and a Saudi girl, the allure of almond eyes behind the veil.” With a smirk, Ruby dragged her mouse across the keypad.
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