Donna Young – Captive of the Desert King (страница 9)
“Not really,” Rashid said, his voice rough with fatigue. He rubbed his eyes. “I had oat cakes while we rode on Taaj.”
“Want a place to sleep?” She scooted back, until her back bumped the wall, then patted her legs. “I’ve heard my lap is pretty comfortable.”
Jarek watched from a distance as Rashid snuggled against Sarah.
He was almost too big for her slight frame, but she wrapped her arms around him and managed to tuck his head under her chin.
Within moments, Rashid’s body relaxed and his breathing deepened.
“Asleep?” Jarek crouched next to her. His knuckles brushed his son’s cheek. “I want to check the perimeter one more time. When you get tired, I’ll take him from you.”
Surprised at the gentleness in Jarek’s voice, Sarah glanced at him. “You’re not going to order me to put him down right now?”
Jarek nearly smiled at the suspicion in her voice. Sarah Kwong was no pushover.
“No, not right now.”
“What happens next?”
“We wait to see what morning brings.” He sat down next to her, stretched his legs out and leaned back against the wall. His muscles flexed, trying to shed the fatigue and the strain from the constant vigilance that had kept them tight for the last twelve hours. “If we have to, we’ll circle back to the city or head toward my Uncle’s caravan. Either way, I will get us there.”
“Can I ask how? The Sahara is almost as large as the continental United States. We can go days without seeing anyone.”
“You forget, this is my backyard.”
“A backyard that has been infested.”
“That’s a very good analogy,” Jarek replied. “The Al Asheera have scattered, then hide in the sands, like vermin. It makes it difficult to flush them out into the open.”
“Have you ever tried rat poison?”
“No, but I might.”
“Will your cousin look for you?”
“Yes,” Jarek laid his forearm across his eyes. “But still it will take time. Until then we must keep safe.”
For the first time that day, she realized she actually did feel safe.
“Who is Roldo, Your Majesty?”
“I have no idea.” Jarek didn’t open his eyes. “Why?”
“Just before he died, Ramon told me to run from Roldo.” She shifted Rashid just a bit to look at Jarek. “He also said to tell you he was sorry.”
“Did he say why?”
“No. Actually, he didn’t say anything after that. Those were his last words.”
Jarek said nothing for a moment. Only the tightening of his fist indicated he’d heard. “Could Ramon have been delirious when he spoke the name?”
“He was aware enough to hand me his gun for protection.” Her eyes lingered over his profile while his eyes remained closed. The green hue of light didn’t detract from the carved features, but somehow it softened the line of his mouth, the line of his jaw. Just enough to give her a glimpse of where Rashid’s boyish features came from.
“Did the Al Asheera think you were on the plane?”
“It’s highly likely,” Jarek answered. “But even if they didn’t. The death or torture of an American reporter would not go well with Jon Mercer’s and my diplomatic efforts. The fact that you are his daughter’s friend only adds to the prize.”
“I didn’t get this job because I was Lara’s friend,” she pointed out.
“If I thought you had, you wouldn’t be here,” Jarek retorted. This time his mouth twitched with amusement over her quick defense. She was a woman with pride, and maybe a little vanity.
Both were fine if well deserved. And from what he’d seen of Sarah Kwong’s files, both were deserved.
“The president holds a tremendous amount of respect for you.”
The primness in the tone, made Jarek open his eyes.
“But you don’t.” Jarek turned his head until he faced her. Without thinking, she rubbed her cheek against Rashid’s temple. “My opinion isn’t the question here.”
It had been a long time since a woman had held his son. Even Anna didn’t come near as much anymore, Jarek realized. Emotion raced through him.
“No. Just my integrity, it seems,” Jarek responded. “Tell me, is your low opinion simply because I did not meet you in Morocco?”
“No,” she admitted. When her hair fell in a curtain over his son’s shoulder and neck, she automatically brushed it back. “I tend not to trust people who keep secrets. It comes with the job.”
“And you believe I have a secret.”
“No, Your Majesty. I believe you have many secrets.”
“You’re wrong.” Jarek gave into his urge and captured several strands of hair from her shoulder. He rubbed them between his forefinger and thumb, enjoying its cool, silky texture. “You see it’s not what I am hiding. It’s what I am protecting.”
He glanced down at his son. “Although it seems I haven’t done a good job with that, either.”
Roldo Costa sat on the jeep’s hood, anger twisting his insides into a vicious knot. It wasn’t his fault the king and his brat slipped past Oruk’s men. He dug into his pocket for his paper and bag of weed.
Hell, it wasn’t his job to search and destroy.
It was only to destroy, Roldo thought with contempt.
But then, the Al Asheera leader never appreciated the beauty of Roldo’s expertise.
Effortlessly, he rolled the joint and licked the paper closed. The desert chill had settled in, making his mood even fouler. He wanted to be at the city’s brothel, a place called the Cathouse, drinking and whoring.
The women liked him there. They thought he was a big shot because he got them booze from Milan and drugs from a cousin in Columbia.
They thought he was tough, too.
He lit the joint and took a long drag. The smoke was harsh, spurred by the cocaine he’d added to the mix. It bit at the back of his throat, burned its way to his chest.
While he waited to catch his buzz, Roldo pulled his Glock from his shoulder holster, enjoying the weight of it in his hand.
Since the jeep had no roof, he reached over the windshield of the jeep and flipped on the headlights.
A buzzard squawked, its wings flapping against the stark beams. But it didn’t fly away. It wasn’t willing to give up its meal of rotted flesh unless it was absolutely sure there was danger near.
Roldo leveled his pistol at the bird. “Take off, you dumb son of a bitch. Fly while you can.”
The bird stared at him for a moment, then settled back into his meal.
“Stupid bird.” Roldo squeezed the trigger. Laughing at the puff of feathers, he watched the vulture flop dead.
He shoved his gun back into its holster, took another hit off his joint. “Let’s see if the Royals are as stupid as you, bird,” he yelled. He left the joint hanging from the corner of his mouth and walked around to the back of the jeep.
From the boot, he pulled out C-4, a detonator and wire. “This is the difference between smart and stupid, bird,” he muttered.
Like the vultures, Oruk’s men tracked their prey, and then waited for it to drop dead in front of them.
Stupid.
Roldo, on the other hand, set the trap, added the right bait, then let the prey come to him. He flicked the joint nub into the sand and ground it under his heel.
Smart.
Confident, he counted off paces from the jeep to the plane. If he hurried, he’d still have time for a few drinks at the cantina.
Smiling at the thought, he stepped over the bird and got to work.