The arc flared and the steel flowed from my makeshift welding rod to the tie rod, joining the two pieces together.
I heard a vehicle stop, and the sound of Manny speaking to someone in Arabic came and went. I was too busy welding to worry about anything else. For just a second, I wondered if a woman working on a car in the middle of the night would cause problems. Then I dismissed the thought. All that showed from the road were my legs from the knees down, clad in camouflage pants and work boots.
The vehicle drove away.
I finished and admired my work. The weld was smooth—almost too smooth—and mated the two pieces of tie rod in an unbreakable union. Much better than any weld Dmitri ever produced. Of course, my packmate Dmitri hadn’t had magic to help.
I listened for another vehicle, but nothing was coming. I scooted out from under the SUV and stood. A rain of dust and dirt dropped from my frame. Sweat made my T-shirt cling to my body.
Manny gaped for a second, then turned away. He was learning not to stare at the alpha.
Mike smiled as I handed him back his sunglasses. “We’ll change the tire. You rest for a minute and clean up.”
“Clean up? With what?” asked Manny. “She needs a long soak in degreaser.”
I pulled my magic cleaning cloth from my purse. “I have some wet wipes here.”
I wiped off my hands and arms, the cloth eating up every bit of dirt, grease, and grime. A swish through my hair dislodged most of the sand, grit, and sweat.
For Manny’s sake, I turned away as I lifted the T-shirt up to wipe down my torso.
In seconds, except for the T-shirt and pants, I was clean. Manny gaped in disbelief.
By the time I was done, Mike had changed the tire and lowered the SUV. He made quick work of putting the ruined tire and the tools away.
Mike held out his hand. “Can I use that cloth?”
“Sure. But be careful, it’s tough on clothes.”
Mike nodded and used the cloth to clean his hands and arms. When he finished, he snapped it open as if shaking out dirt. The pristine white cloth gleamed.
“That’s not possible,” said Manny. His voice was pitched higher and he spoke too quickly. Seeing too many unbelievable things at once tended to panic humans.
“Sure it is, Manny,” said Mike. “It’s magi—”
11
“It’s called Magic Cloth,” I interrupted. Forcing Manny to confront magic might send him screaming into the desert. “It’s brand new in the US. Impregnated with some kind of super-soap.”
“Magic Cloth,” said Mike. “Yes, that’s what it’s called. Very handy.”
Mike finished his wipe-down and started to hand the cloth back.
“Hey, you missed a spot,” he said, then raised the cloth to wipe my face. He froze at my glare.
I tamped down the anger at being treated like a child. He was just trying to help. “I’ve got it, thanks,” I said as I grabbed the cloth.
While I wiped my face again, Manny and Mike began to argue quietly about who would drive. It was obvious Manny was having difficulty seeing at night.
“No problem,” I said. “I’ll drive.”
Both Mike and Manny shook their heads violently. “No way,” said Manny.
“Why not? I’m a good driver, I have excellent night vision, and I’m not tired.”
“It’s not that, Luna,” said Manny. “Women can’t drive in this country. Putting you in the driver’s seat will ensure we get pulled over. It’s either me or Mike.”
“This mission is getting harder and harder to handle,” I said. “Okay, Mike. You’re the driver.”
“You’re the boss,” said Mike.
“Boss?” echoed Manny. At my glare, he shut up and climbed into the passenger side of the Suburban.
Finally, we were on the road again. Manny pulled down the visor on the passenger side, revealing a built-in mirror. He stared at my reversed image.
“You need to get dressed, boss,” he said sarcastically. “There’ll be a lot more traffic once we get close to Riyadh.”
I gave him a nasty look, but he was right. I pulled the abaya over my head and squirmed around until it covered my body.
“Put the headpiece on too. Make sure none of your hair is visible.”
A few more minutes of fumbling with the strange garments and I had the head-cover on. I pulled the attached veil up and started to tuck it in.
Manny said, “No, leave your face uncovered. Western women aren’t supposed to cover their faces here.”
“They want to see my face, but not my hair or body?”
“That’s right.”
Manny rummaged in the center console and pulled out some documents. “When Mike messaged me, I got these made up for you.”
He handed back a small passport-sized booklet with a maroon cover. “That’s your Iqama. You have to have it with you at all times.”
I opened the booklet and found a photo of me, wearing a head-covering. All the writing was in Arabic. At my puzzled expression, Manny clarified, “Every foreigner in the country has to have one of these. They’re like internal passports.”
“Where did you get my photo?”
“Mike sent it and my guy photoshopped it onto the document,” he replied.
He handed another Iqama of the same color to Mike, and I slid mine into my invisible purse for safekeeping.
Manny pulled out a larger document and showed it to Mike.
“What’s that?” Mike asked.
Manny took it back and unfurled the paper. It was covered in Arabic writing with a lot of colorful embellishments.
“Mike, Luna, I now pronounce you man and wife,” Manny said with a laugh. “Welcome to a life of servitude.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I asked. “Mike and I aren’t married.”
“Maybe not, but women aren’t allowed to travel alone in Saudi Arabia,” said Manny. “A woman must always have a man from her family with her. So we get these certificates made. We call them ‘desert marriages.’”
Mike had caught my tone. “It’s all fake,” he said, “but they’re real enough to avoid trouble. Try to think of these documents as part of our cover story.”
“Okay, it’s an act. Just remember, I’m definitely not a method actor.”
Manny looked at Mike, who gave him a head shake to indicate this was a sore point with me. Manny shrugged and turned his attention to the dark desert.
I fastened my seatbelt and tried to rest. It was hard to calm my racing thoughts in this new place. Every new scent drew my attention, every new sound jerked me awake, and the difference in the magical flows here was disconcerting. Still, I managed to doze sitting up.
“Luna,” said Manny, “there’s a checkpoint coming up. Get your documents ready.” He hesitated for a second. “Don’t talk unless you’re asked a question.”
We slowed to a coast, then stopped at a police barricade. A policeman in a khaki uniform and a black beret stepped up to the driver’s window.
I tensed up, but all the policeman did was glance at our documents, say, “As-salamu alaykum,” and wave us onward.
“That wasn’t bad,” I said. “We didn’t even have to show the marriage certificate.”
“The regular cops are okay,” said Manny. “And this is a company truck. We travel all over the country for work. It’s the religious police who check marriage certificates.”
“They have police to enforce religion?”
“They call it enforcing morals,” said Manny. He looked at me in the visor mirror. “You know, arresting free-range women, whipping mouthy women, enforcing separation of unmarried couples.”
“Are you waiting for me to complain, Manny?” I said. “Say something about social justice and freedom? It’s their country, they can run it as they see fit.”
Manny gave me a cynical look, so I elaborated. “I’ve been places where the women are in charge, places where we’re more or less equal, and now here. No matter where I’ve been, people are pe
ople. There’s good and bad people everywhere.”
“Luna’s a solid operative,” added Mike. “She doesn’t take crap, but she’s not going to risk the mission by acting out of place.”
It was quiet for a time, so I went back to dozing.
When I blinked awake, we were near the city and dawn was approaching. Finally the roadway sported some streetlights, making driving easier.
We left the highway and drove through the city streets. Not much traffic in the pre-dawn darkness. Cars here drove on the right-hand side of the road, like in the US, but instead of intersections with lights to control traffic, Saudi planners had used roundabouts.
At the first hint of dawn in the sky, loudspeakers started going off all over the city. I couldn’t understand the Arabic, but they all said the same thing.
“That’s the first call to prayer,” said Manny. “Get used to it; you’ll hear it several times a day.”
We arrived at a walled compound. There were concrete barriers on the road that forced Mike to zigzag to reach the gate.
Manny took our documents and entered the guard shack to check us in. His limp was worse, and it took him more than a minute to cross the short distance.
“I thought you said Manny was ‘cheerful and happy-go-lucky,’” I said. “He’s a sour old man. Did we catch him on a bad day?”
“I’ve never seen him so negative. I think his arm and leg are acting up.”
“Was he injured in the military?”
“He’s beat up, but not any worse than the rest of us,” said Mike. “But he has had a lot of problems since getting out.”
There was a long pause, then Mike said, “Is there any way you or your dad can help him?”
“I don’t know, Mike. Rescuing the hostages is my first priority. Logan’s in a lot worse shape than Manny.” Logan’s agony throbbed in my mind like a sore tooth, impossible to ignore.
“I was hoping Manny could come on the mission with us—with our backup team dead, we’re going to need help. But with the condition he’s in, there’s not much he can do for us.” Mike shook his head regretfully. “Just driving out to pick us up nearly wiped him out.”
“I’ll take a look,” I said. Mike looked hopeful, so I had to add a qualifier. “It depends on what’s wrong with him. There’s a lot of things we can’t heal.”
“No chance of an upgrade?”
I shook my head. “No way. Your upgrade almost killed you, and it wiped out both me and Mason. I can’t afford the energy or time to give him an upgrade. I can probably ease the pain a bit.”
“Thanks, Luna.”
“But he has to ask for my help.”
“What do you mean? What if he’s too proud to ask?”
“Then I can’t help him. It’s one our rules. We don’t use magic on humans unless they ask.”
“See, the thing is, I was thinking if you could heal Manny, we could get him to—”
The discussion stopped as Manny returned to the car. He pulled himself in clumsily, then handed us visitor badges.
“There’s more security here than at Nellis Air Force Base,” I said as I examined mine.
“And this is a civilian compound,” said Mike. “The US Embassy compound is even stricter.”
“You’ve been to Nellis?” asked Manny.
“We both live in Las Vegas. Mike and I dropped into Nellis once to check on a fender-bender,” I said.
Mike choked, then his face smoothed. Telling Manny the truth would convince him either that we were both insane, or that we were terrorists.
Following Manny’s directions, Mike made his way through the huge compound, driving down wide streets flanked by large two-story houses. It was still early, but we saw a couple of joggers getting in their run before the daytime heat became oppressive. It looked a lot like one of our compounds in Las Vegas.
“Hey,” I said, “that woman’s jogging without an abaya.”
“Here inside the compound,” said Manny, “we don’t allow religious police. You could walk around in civilian clothes.”
Mike pulled the Suburban into a large driveway, easing under a carport roof that would shade the vehicle from the harsh sun. We piled out, grabbed our packs, and walked up to the entrance.
When we stepped into the entrance of Manny’s house, I paused and took a deep sniff, cataloging recent visitors. On the right was a dining room with a sliding glass door that opened on a tiny garden. Stairs in front of us led up to the second floor. On the left was a living room filled with Ethan Ames furniture.
It looked like a model home, barely lived in. The only out-of-place piece was a well-used recliner awkwardly placed in front of the couch. A coffee table had been shoved aside to make room for it. There was a patina of dust over much of the furniture.
The only touch of personality was a Buddha statue on a wall-mounted shelf.
Okay: No danger present, an escape path plotted out, and residents noted. “Where’s your wife, Manny?”
“My wife? I don’t have a wife.”
“Girlfriend? Desert-marriage companion? Whatever you want to call it. A woman lives here with you.” The thought of an innocent civilian getting wrapped up in our mission sent a shiver of fear down my spine.
Manny’s face tightened. “How could you possibly know that?”
Because I can smell her? I thought, then went with, “Female intuition, Manny. This place has a woman’s touch.”
“Well, she lived here. She’s gone now.” Manny packed a lot of bitterness into two short sentences.
Yeah, why would anyone want to leave this bundle of laughs? I mentally rolled my eyes. Not your business, Luna; not your problem.
“Sorry, Manny,” said Mike. “We’re just worried about getting civilians involved. You sure she’s not coming back?”
“Positive.”
After an awkward pause, Manny said, “You two can use the master bedroom upstairs. It’s nice. It’s got a huge bathroom.”
At my look, he amended himself to, “Or you can split up and use the master and one of the other bedrooms.”
“We don’t want to kick you out of your bedroom,” said Mike. “We can take the spare rooms.”
Manny gestured at the stairs. “I have a lot of trouble with the stairs when my gout acts up. I haven’t been up there in weeks.”
Gout. So that’s what’s torturing him. I started thinking about spells to handle gout.
Manny shuffled over to the recliner and eased himself down. He pulled the lever to lift his legs up and leaned back with a sigh.
“I’ll just rest for a minute and… then I’ll make us some coff…” His eyes closed, and he dropped off to sleep.
I grabbed my pack and headed up the stairs, followed by Mike. We treaded lightly to avoid waking Manny.
Mike pointed to the master bedroom, then carried his pack to the smaller bedroom across the hallway. He set it down inside and returned to stand in the doorway of the master bedroom. His eyes drooped and he yawned widely.
“Orders, boss?”
“I think we need rest before anything else. I’m sorry, Mike—I got to doze in the car, but how long has it been since you slept?”
“We were up at zero-dark-thirty for the flight, followed by jumping out of an exploding plane,” he said with a calculating look. “That was the day before yesterday. So about thirty-six hours?”
“You need to rest.”
“Wait, no, I had that nap in the Garden of Eden. I can still go for—”
“Garden of Eden?” I interrupted. “What are you talking about?”
“That place you made in the desert. An oasis surrounded by desolation. Hell, you even planted an apple tree. Best rest I’ve had in years.”
He held his serious look for about ten seconds, then laughed so loud I had to shush him to avoid waking Manny downstairs.
“It wasn’t the Garden of Eden,” I said. “It was a short nap. And if you think I’m going to walk around in a fig leaf you’re got another think coming.”
I gave him my ‘fun’s over’ look and said, “I’m going to shower and rest. Wake you up at noon?”
“Okay, boss.” He turned and went back to the spare bedroom.
The shower was great. I finally got to scrub off all the dust and dirt that my magic cleaning cloth had missed.
After drying off, I dug through my pack. I hadn’t packed PJs or nightgowns. This trip had started as a combat and rescue mission, and I hadn’t packed for this eventuality. Finally, I just pulled on a pair of panties.
I sniffed the bed. The sheets had recently been changed. Manny was right: the scent of his unnamed wife’s perfume was faint, and his own scent was fainter, indicating that neither of them had been here for weeks.
I really should meditate. But the cool sheets were too inviting. I set my wolf half to guard with a reminder to rouse us at eleven thirty, and slid into bed.
I dreamed of fig leaves. Dammit, Mike.
12
I woke at eleven thirty, used the bathroom, then looked over my sartorial choices once more. Not much to choose from. Khaki T-shirts, desert camouflage pants, and brown combat boots.
I pulled on my camo clothing, wishing I had something else to wear. But this was supposed to have been a drop in, fight, and fly out mission.
The dirty clothes were bundled up, ready to be either washed or thrown away.
I took a moment to shift the color of my finger- and toenails to match the khakis. Then I brushed my hair out until it was glossy and smooth. Even if I couldn’t dress up, I could still primp a bit.
I tapped on Mike’s door. The sound of him jumping from the bed was instantaneous. “Mike, it’s time to get moving.”
“Okay, I’ll be right down.”
Manny was still dozing in the recliner, curled into what should have been an uncomfortable position. I eased over on silent feet and stood behind him.
With one hand touching lightly each temple, I probed him with magic. So that’s what gout feels like. Manny had it bad. Tiny crystals of uric acid had precipitated in the synovial fluid of his joints, mostly his left big toe, ankle, and wrist. The irritation from the crystals was causing inflammation and pain.
Lycan Legacy - 4 - 5 - 6: Princess - Progeny - Paladin: Book 4 - 5 - 6 in the Lycan Legacy Series Page 62