Desert Justice

by Valerie Parv

  Rakha swabbed the sheikh’s upper arm. “A man can’t always run his life for the good of his country.”

  “Even if it’s his duty?”

  “We’re still talking theoretically?” When Markaz nodded, Rakha went on, “Not all women are like Natalie. A few come to love Nazaar as much as those of us who were born here. Like your mother, for instance.”

  They’d moved from theoretical to personal, Markaz noticed. The doctor was a smooth operator. “My mother is an unusual woman.”

  “So is Simone. Although I suspect I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.”

  After their afternoon in the secret chamber, Markaz couldn’t argue. But mind-shattering as their joining had been, she was special in other ways, too. His mother had told him how interested she’d been in the Nazaari crafts she was shown. And she’d taken Amal’s advice, striving to fit in with local custom. Her concern for young, love-struck Bibi was also admirable.

  Simone’s keen mind and interest in everything around her were key to her nature. She wanted to learn, to experience, to grow. All qualities he admired as much as her unselfconscious beauty and passion. Like him, she also worked hard and was a capable administrator. He’d visited her Web site and seen for himself the attention to detail she applied to her business affairs. She hadn’t let that slip despite being in danger since coming to his country.

  She had courage, too, demonstrated when she put her life at risk to get Natalie’s message to Markaz.

  Markaz felt his heart grow heavy. He knew Simone was attracted to him. In his arms, she’d exploded like a firecracker. But she wasn’t willing to subject herself to any man’s rule. And until he could bring in the rest of his reforms, she would have little choice. Nazaari law placed women in the subordinate role they’d occupied for thousands of years. Even Markaz couldn’t change that overnight.

  Dr. Rakha held up the syringe and tapped it to exclude air bubbles. “What potion are you preparing now?” Markaz asked.

  “Tetanus booster shot. Wouldn’t want you coming down with something from contact with that knife.”

  Markaz looked away as Rakha gave him the shot, then rubbed the spot. “Can I get back to running the country now?”

  “You need to rest. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  “I’ve been resting while you practiced your folk medicine on me.”

  “Well, rest some more. Doctor’s orders. Those horse tails take time to work.”

  Markaz shrugged his shirt back on, aware of his arm throbbing in spite of Rakha’s painkillers. Before he could lever himself off the table, Hamal came in. The security chief nodded to the doctor, then came to attention in front of Markaz.

  “Did you locate the intruder?”

  “No, Your Highness. We searched every inch of the lodge and grounds and set up a ring of roadblocks, but he got clean away.” The security man hesitated, as if unsure how to go on.

  Markaz forgot about his arm. “Is there something else?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. After you were attacked, Amal collapsed in shock and was taken to the hospital by ambulance. Or so we thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “According to the men at the western roadblock, two of our own guards were driving the ambulance.”

  Dr. Rakha stopped putting away his instruments and tilted his head. “Isn’t that unusual?”

  Hamal nodded. “The ambulance should have been driven by medics from the hospital. But because they were our own men, they were allowed through the roadblock unchallenged. The sentries checked the back of the ambulance, but didn’t disturb the female patient.”

  Markaz’s fingers stilled on the fastenings of his shirt. “Are you saying they abducted Amal?”

  Hamal looked as if he would like to be anywhere else. “No, Your Highness. It turns out that she was reading in her room at the time of the incident.”

  A chill swept through Markaz. “Then who was the woman in the ambulance?”

  “Amal fears it was Sima al Hasa. She hasn’t been seen since the attack on you.”

  When he’d left her in the secret chamber, Markaz thought. Pain throbbed through his arm like a second heartbeat, but he ignored it, berating himself for leaving her alone. He’d been sure she was safe, guarded by his own men. “Didn’t you escort her back to her room as I ordered?” he asked Hamal.

  The security chief glanced down. “No, sir. When you were injured, I couldn’t leave you to take care of the princess.”

  Markaz couldn’t keep the chill out of his tone. “Who did you delegate as her escort?”

  “Omar Zirhan, Your Highness.”

  “Even though you know he isn’t completely trustworthy?”

  “He was the only available man. The rest of your personal guards were searching for the intruder.”

  Markaz couldn’t fault the man for doing his duty, but he wished fervently that Hamal had been more conscientious. “Where is Omar now?”

  “According to the men guarding the roadblock, Omar was one of the two men driving the ambulance.”

  This time Markaz swore crudely and with feeling. “I might as well have handed her over to the rebels personally.”

  Dr. Rakha came and placed a hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t your doing. You mustn’t blame yourself.”

  “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me,” Hamal said. “I failed in my duty.”

  The sheikh shook his head. “Nobody failed. The rebels are smarter than we expected, and it seems they have more than one person working inside my household.”

  “I will not rest until these traitors are rooted out,” Hamal vowed.

  “I agree, but they aren’t our main concern right now. We need to find out where the rebels have taken Simone—Sima—and get to her before she comes to harm.” He didn’t add that he feared they may already be too late.

  Chapter 14

  When she awoke, the first thing Simone noticed was the silence. A sea of dunes and a light wind whipping up the sand swallowed the sound of the motor. Swallowed everything. Her head ached appallingly, and her vision took its time clearing. But at least the blindfold had been removed and she could try to see where she was.

  She was in a Jeep being driven by Omar. Another man in a guard’s uniform shared the backseat with her, a rifle held across his lap in silent warning. She couldn’t see the necessity. Where could she run to out here?

  They hadn’t taken the road to Karama, she realized. While she’d been unconscious, her abductors must have switched the ambulance for the Jeep and headed away from the city, into the desert.

  As her vision improved, all she could see was bleached white sand. There were no buildings and no discernible road, only the faint tracks left by some other vehicle, perhaps days before.

  Occasionally they passed one of the unnamed sandstone bridges that attracted tourists to the area. Today under a full blue sky and baking heat, there were no tourists and no sense of the journey nearing an end. How long had they been traveling? Her watch had been damaged at some point, so she had no way to tell.

  She licked her dry lips. Her veil was in place but no longer being used as a gag. And her hands were now tied in front of her, hidden by her robe, perhaps to make her status as a prisoner less apparent to casual observers. “Can I have some water?” she asked the man with the rifle.

  Omar looked over his shoulder. “Noor doesn’t like speaking English.”

  She repeated her request in Arabic, startling the guard. Grudgingly he uncapped a flask and handed it to her. She raised her veil enough to gulp the tepid fluid. At least they weren’t going to kill her right away, or they wouldn’t waste precious water on her. Now there was a cheering thought.

  The journey dragged on. Her spirits rose briefly at the sight of a desert community living in homes dug out of a sandstone hillside. The inhabitants looked curiously at the Jeep, but kept on about their affairs.

  She debated calling out to them for help, but the rifle stopped her. If Omar and his friend would con
done an attack on the sheikh, they wouldn’t balk at shooting innocent bystanders. She’d have to get out of this on her own.

  Did Markaz know she’d been abducted? Were his men out looking for her by now? Or was he more badly injured than she’d been told? She had to survive so she could assure herself that Markaz was all right. They had no future together, but she needed to know he was well.

  She didn’t regret letting him make love to her, especially now. If she was to die soon, she had soared with him to heights of passion few people experienced. The imprint of his mouth felt vivid on hers still, and closing her eyes brought back the sensation of his hard body aligned with hers. The hunger to feel his arms around her was almost palpable.

  Opening her eyes, she blinked furiously. Wasting moisture on tears was pointless. She had chosen not to subjugate herself to Markaz’s rule, as she would have to do to live in his world. Passion wasn’t enough. They needed more in common for a relationship to work.

  Who was she kidding? They had a great deal in common. Not only in bed, but beyond it. She shared his interest in the world around him, as well as a passion for Nazaari culture. She hadn’t been raised here but the longer she stayed, the more she felt the pull of her ancestry. Marrying and having a family here seemed all too possible.

  At the thought of having Markaz’s children, she placed her bound hands over her stomach in instinctive self-protection, surprised to feel so regretful that nothing could come of their lovemaking. She’d joked to Drew that the spring on her biological clock must be broken. To find it ticking so loudly now was unexpected.

  She not only wanted Markaz, she wanted his baby. In her book, you only had a child with a man you loved. Yet she couldn’t love Markaz. In terms of suitable men, he wasn’t even on her radar. But she couldn’t deny how she felt.

  Since she wasn’t going to solve the dilemma now, she turned her attention to the landscape. Among the white dunes, rust-colored hills capped with smooth, pale sandstone began to arise. They increased in height until they formed a canyon enclosing a hidden valley a couple of miles wide. Too tense to enjoy the beauty of the scenery, she wondered how anyone would ever find her here.

  They approached the far end of the canyon and Simone spotted some black marks on the horizon. As they got closer, she saw a palm-studded spring surrounded by large tents made out of goat-hair fabric, branches and rope, the only signs of civilization for miles around.

  In a series of roped-off corrals, men were working out under the relentless sun. They were a fearsome sight in khaki robes, with bandoliers of ammunition, daggers at their waists, some with rifles slung over their shoulders.

  One group was on horseback, shooting at targets at full gallop, the shots echoing off the cliff walls. Others, shirtless and bronzed, were engaged in hand-to-hand combat while leaders shouted orders and comments.

  This had to be the rebels’ training camp.

  Omar steered the Jeep toward a line of stationary vehicles streaked with desert sand. Under a camouflage roof made of netting, she saw larger armored vehicles, one carrying what looked like a missile launcher. Her heart lurched. These men were preparing for war. With Markaz and his government?

  Not that she would get the chance to warn him. The rebels wouldn’t risk bringing her to their secret stronghold if they intended to let her leave.

  Before they’d rolled to a complete stop, Noor jumped out, rifle held ready. Omar came around to her side of the Jeep. “Out,” he ordered.

  She met his gaze unflinchingly. “You know these people intend to kill me?”

  He lowered his eyes. “All war has casualties.”

  “If this is war, and that’s moot, I’m not part of it,” she argued. “But I am your own flesh and blood, your half brother’s child. How can you condone what you know is going to happen?”

  “I didn’t say I condone it. Like all soldiers, I do my duty.”

  “What’s the holdup?” the other man demanded.

  Omar gestured with his thumb. “Get out. No more talk.”

  On jellylike legs, she climbed out. For a moment, Omar had sounded almost regretful at what he was doing to her. Wishful thinking, she decided. Noor prodded her with the barrel. “Move it. Sozar is waiting.”

  Omar pushed the rifle aside. “That isn’t necessary. She isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Except to your bunk,” jeered the other man. “You’d better get in line. Women are in short supply in this camp,” he added for Simone’s benefit.

  She refused to give in to fear. Once she did, all hope was lost. She would get out of this, although the men pausing in their training to whistle and call out lewd comments eroded her assurance.

  A legacy of her martial arts training was the instinct to absorb as much detail of her surroundings as she could. The place wasn’t as big as she’d first thought. Maybe a dozen men were in training, others cleaning weapons. Several excitable Arab mares milled in a corral nearby. One man who leered at her as she passed was feeding wires into traditional Nazaari pottery flagons, the kind used to hold olive oil. He was making bombs that wouldn’t be recognized as such until they exploded, she thought, her blood chilling.

  By the time she was ordered to wait outside one of the tents, she could feel herself trembling. Locking her knees, she stared straight ahead. Whoever waited for her inside wasn’t going to see her quaking.

  She wasn’t surprised to find Business Suit seated on the far side of a trestle table, conferring with an aide. This time he wore a sheikh’s robes and a black mishlah and headdress. In the robes he looked even more formidable than he had in Western dress. Looking closer, she saw he had bruises on his face and his forearm was bandaged as if he’d been in a recent fight. Her spirits lifted a little. If this man was the intruder, Markaz had made sure he didn’t escape unscathed.

  When the man looked up, his obsidian eyes bored into her as if she were a specimen being prepared to go under a microscope.

  Ripping away her veil, she marched to the table. “I assume you’re Sozar?” That was the name Noor had mentioned.

  Her audacity left the aide looking horrified. “This is His Royal Highness Sozar bin Kemal al Frayan, rightful ruler of Nazaar,” he said, sounding aggrieved.

  Sozar made a gesture of dismissal. “Thank you, Salman. I’m afraid our guest isn’t as impressed as you are. Please leave us alone.”

  As the aide gathered up his papers and left, her mind raced. Bin Kemal meant son of Kemal. Surely not the Kemal who was also Markaz’s father? Sozar looked to be several years older than Markaz. Could he possibly be an illegitimate son? If so, what was his claim to the throne?

  “Sit,” Sozar ordered. When she complied, Sozar smiled without warmth. “I see you are working things out. Yes, Kemal bin Aziz al Nazaari was also my father.”

  “But his eldest son died.”

  “His eldest known son. I was born of a youthful indiscretion, and never acknowledged. Now my time has come.”

  “Did the old sheikh know you existed?”

  She’d hit a nerve, she saw when his expression darkened. “My mother decided not to tell him. She left me to be taken in by strangers.”

  “Then surely your mother is to blame for your situation, not Markaz and his family?”

  Sozar’s fist slammed down, making everything on the table dance. “This is not your concern.”

  “By having me abducted, you made it my concern.”

  “You eluded my previous efforts to corner you.”

  Her chin lifted. “You haven’t cornered me now. You may hold me captive, but I won’t help you to bring Markaz down.”

  “Because you are his lover?”

  She didn’t bother denying the truth. “Because he’s right and you’re wrong. The people won’t be dragged back to the Dark Ages. Nazaar must progress.”

  Sozar’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Under his rule, I suppose.”

  “Yes, since your only alternative seems to be armed insurrection.”

  Sozar surged to his feet
. “If you were a man, I’d kill you.”

  “You’ll kill me anyway, so I may as well speak my mind.”

  A look of reluctant admiration crossed his features. “I can see why Markaz finds you alluring, if you’re as fiery in bed as out of it. A question worth exploring later.”

  If he so much as touched her, he was a dead man, she resolved. “You didn’t bring me here for that. What do you really want?”

  “You underestimate your charms, madam. But I do have another reason. I want to know what you did with the ring you were given by the woman you aided at Al-Qasr.”

  “What use is a class ring to you anyway?” she dissembled, hoping to learn more.

  He didn’t disappoint her. “The ring contains the code to operate a new weapon developed between the Americans and a group of Nazaari scientists.”

  Natalie must have been delivering the code to Markaz, Simone reasoned. As she’d suspected, the ring was much more than a means of identification. Were the rebels going to steal the weapon and use the code to activate it? Somehow she had to warn Markaz. “Then it’s as well I lost the ring,” she stated.

  “I am acquainted with an expert in clinical hypnosis who can be here by tomorrow. He’ll get the information from you.”

  She set her jaw. “I won’t cooperate.”

  Sozar’s smile was pure evil. “You won’t have to. This man is a former police detective, disgraced because he used unscrupulous interrogation methods. He will use whatever techniques get results. I should warn you, he enjoys his work.”

  In spite of herself, Simone shuddered. The most recent attack on Markaz must have been an attempt to get to the ring. When that failed, Sozar had snatched her. She had no illusions that she could avoid betraying Markaz under duress. She only hoped he would forgive her if he ever found out.

  Markaz paced and tried to ignore the throbbing in his arm. A citywide search had failed to locate Simone. The ambulance taking her away from the royal lodge had been found abandoned on a route leading out of the city. The only possible conclusion was that she’d been driven into the desert in a different vehicle.