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  “Yes, sir.” Sami almost squeaked out those words. He scooted around him and fled.

  Ziad slid behind the wheel of his Land Rover. An hour’s ride up. Half an hour talking with the prince. An hour’s ride back. He’d be home in time for sunset prayers.

  Easily.

  Sami could report to him via phone. In the meantime, he relished the opportunity to have a little chat with the prince.

  4

  Ziad shut the door to his Land Rover and stuffed his beret on his head. Even with wraparound sunglasses, the sunlight radiating off the desert floor of al-Sharana nearly blinded him. Sweat beaded on his scalp. What a horrible place.

  Nearly a kilometer away, Prince Yasin’s palace loomed. From there to where he stood, cars lined the edge of the road. Sleek, shiny Mercedes sedans all the way to battered pickup trucks with peeling paint. All had gathered for the prince’s monthly majlis. Here, all men were equal, from the richest banker to the lowliest laborer.

  That included SANG colonels.

  By the time Ziad reached the towering portico, sweat poured down his back. Hot wind had blown dust into his face. What he’d do for a cool shower right then! He barely nodded at the two local policemen who stood guard at the entrance.

  Once inside a vestibule with mahogany inner doors soaring toward several-meter-high ceilings, he paused. Two more policemen stood next to the inner doors with rifles slung over their shoulders. More window dressing than anything else.

  A Yemeni man in an ill-fitting suit rose from behind a Louis XIV desk. His smile revealed two large front teeth with a gap. With beady eyes he noted the crown and two stars on Ziad’s collar. “Colonel, may I help you?”

  Ziad removed his beret. “I must visit with Prince Yasin.”

  “If you would put your name on this list, he will see you.” The secretary held out an acrylic clipboard with a fresh list on it.

  Ziad headed toward the doors.

  The two guards blocked his path.

  The secretary cleared his throat and offered the clipboard again. “Colonel, I ask that you put your name on the list.”

  Ziad snatched it from him and scribbled his name before shoving it back. The outer doors opened. A couple of old Bedouins hobbled up to the secretary’s desk. Then the biggest banker in al-Sharana and a couple of young, poor fathers with their small sons in tow. All of them added their names to the list below his.

  Ziad paced the elegant marble floor. The sooner he got inside, the sooner he could be on his way home. He checked his watch. 4:30. He’d broken his promise to Sabirah. He dug out his cell phone. “Sabirah.”

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “Al-Sharana.” He glanced at the secretary, who conferred with an aide. “I won’t be home by afternoon prayers but should be there by sunset prayers.”

  She sighed, and he envisioned her thoughts. Thanks to work, he’d reneged again—a constant source of friction in their marriage. “I suppose I’ll see you then.”

  Don’t snap back. He hung up and dialed Ben. “My friend, how are you?”

  Ben chuckled. “Very good. I am headed to see Emma. She called in sick today.”

  “You’ll have a better time than I.” Ziad filled him in on the day’s events.

  “Be careful. The prince can be like a lion. Nice until you get between him and his food.”

  Ziad shrugged. He could handle him.

  “Let me know what happens.”

  “I’ll call you later.” With that, he shoved his phone into an outer pocket of his pants. The doors opened, and he spun around.

  The secretary called names. Ziad started when the banker stepped through the doorway.

  “What is this?” He gestured to the doors. “He arrived after I did. Why does he get to go before me?”

  No apologies. No nothing except for a small bow from the secretary. “I’m sorry, but the prince asked you to wait.”

  Heat began building in Ziad’s neck. His hands tightened into fists. “I must see him. Now.”

  “It was his request, sir. I’m sorry.”

  Ziad muttered and resumed pacing. The sun set. His stomach rumbled, and hunger made him ornery.

  “Sir.”

  He glanced up.

  “Prince Yasin will see you now.”

  The guards opened the doors, and he strode into a huge hall twice as big as the footprint of his villa. All around him, those who had already visited with the prince sat with various aides. Several began leaving.

  And Prince Yasin?

  He held court on a gold chair atop a marble dais. An aide sat at a small table beside him and took notes on a laptop as one of the young fathers made his case with passionate pleas. Prince Yasin murmured something. He rose and held out his hand. The man grabbed it and feverishly kissed it, all the while jabbering his thanks. With an aide, he headed toward an empty desk.

  Ziad marched toward the dais.

  Another aide scooted in front of him. “Sir, you are not next. I’m sorry, but—”

  “Let him approach.” Prince Yasin straightened. “Colonel al-Kazim, it is good to see you.”

  Time to work the plan he’d formulated on the ride up. Cut to the chase first. Ziad folded his arms across his chest and raised his chin. “Where are my suspects?”

  “What?”

  “Where are my suspects?”

  The prince cocked his head. “What are you talking about?”

  Voices faded to silence as more aides approached.

  Ziad continued, “They were released without my authorization.”

  The prince started chuckling. He shook his head.

  The aides on the dais nervously joined him.

  He stopped and glared at Ziad. “Colonel, you seem to have picked up some very nasty habits from your pushy American FBI friend. What was his name?” He gazed at the ceiling and tapped his chin. “Ah, yes. Special Agent Evans. Perhaps you’ve forgotten your manners. And to whom you speak.”

  “I’ve forgotten neither, your Highness.” Ziad kept his gaze on the prince. “Nor have I forgotten what we found in your warehouse a few nights ago.” He mimicked the prince’s chin tap. “Of course. Rugs containing a special derivative of heroin called Zap.”

  Startled murmurs rippled through those closest to the dais.

  A smirk curled Ziad’s lips. Score. The first part of his plan had succeeded. Apply discomfort by stating his case in front of witnesses.

  Prince Yasin raised his voice. “Have you found that crate on your forms, Colonel?”

  “We will.”

  “I told you. You’re wasting your time. And now, you’re wasting mine.” Prince Yasin resumed his seat and gestured for his aide with the clipboard to step closer. “Who is next?”

  The man glanced at his sheet. “I think—”

  “I’m not finished, your Highness.” Ziad stepped onto the dais and pushed the aide aside. He’d expected this deflection.

  “I have nothing more to add. Your suspects.” The prince shook his head. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Pity your men are so incompetent.” He shrugged. “Your problem, not mine.”

  The nerve of him! Ziad clenched his jaw. “No, it’s yours!”

  The aide put his hand on his shoulder. “Sir.”

  “Take your hand off me!” Ziad shoved it away and turned back to the prince. “I’ll ask one more time.” He spoke slowly as if to ram home his point. “Where are those suspects?” He leaned forward until their faces were centimeters apart, a move that had always worked during interrogations. “I know you sent an imposter to pose as the general.”

  Prince Yasin’s dark eyes narrowed. They blinked slowly like those of a lizard. He stroked his bearded chin, then chuckled. “Yes, Colonel, I would say you have a lot of gall to come here and accuse me in front of my subjects. But you have to remember one thing.” He rose and forced him back a couple of steps as he picked up a sheet of paper. “I can tear your career apart like this, do you understand?” He ripped it up and let the pieces flutter to the floor. “I warned y
ou to back off, did I not? Repeatedly. Yet you’ve refused!” He paused. A sneer curled his lips. “I told you before. You can’t win. Not then. Not now.” He wagged his head. “Poor Ziad. The house of al-Kazim. What do the Americans say? So yesterday’s news. So twentieth century.”

  Red crept into Ziad’s vision. He grabbed at the prince and came up with a handful of thobe. They grappled. The prince’s robe fell to the floor.

  Prince Yasin struggled against him. “Let me go, you fool!”

  Someone yanked Ziad off the dais.

  Chest heaving, he glared at the prince. Blood pounded in his ears.

  An aide offered Prince Yasin the gold-trimmed black robe. He stalked toward Ziad as he drew it over his thobe. “I’ve had it with you, Colonel al-Kazim.”

  Ziad tried to break free of the guards. He spat a curse in the prince’s direction.

  The guards tightened their grip.

  Pained burned across his arms where they held him.

  Prince Yasin stopped mere centimeters away. His eyes almost glowed with rage. “You forget one thing. You can’t touch me. Just as dusk cannot touch dawn, you cannot touch me!”

  He jabbed his finger into Ziad’s chest.

  More pain blossomed.

  “If you think you can, I will tear you apart so badly the only thing you’ll be able to do is sweep floors for the rest of your life. Just like your grandfather! Adel, get me General al-Talil on the phone.” Prince Yasin turned away and settled on his chair. “Guards! Remove him.”

  The local policemen maintained their grip on Ziad as they almost dragged him to the massive doors, through the lobby, and to the portico. They thrust him onto the marble, where he nearly fell down the steps.

  Ziad caught a column and regained his balance. Behind him, the doors thumped closed, and the two policemen stepped in front of them.

  On the long walk to his Land Rover, his adrenaline drained away. He began trembling.

  Bad. Bad. Bad. He’d erred. Seriously so. To the point where he’d probably face discipline. He recalled Ben’s warning. What had he done?

  Somehow, he made it to his SUV and turned onto the highway. The shakes worsened, and he pulled off to the side of the road. Maybe hearing Sabirah’s voice would calm him. When she answered, he sagged against the leather seat. “I’m so glad you answered.”

  “What’s going on?” Worry laced her words.

  “I erred badly.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as a headache kicked up behind his eyes. His stomach rumbled as a reminder of the supper he’d missed. In the barest of words, he relayed what had happened.

  “Oh, Ziad.”

  He grabbed onto her soft voice like a lifeline. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “It is. Totally.”

  “We’ll be fine. We have each other, right?”

  His smile trembled a little. “I love you.”

  “Come home. Tell Sami where you’ll be in case the general calls. I promise tomorrow will be better. If anything, I’ll talk to my cousin. He’s a reasonable man, after all.”

  “Oh, I’ll be getting a call, for sure.”

  Suddenly, he knew home was where he wanted to be. His eyes shot to the gas tank needle. Almost empty. “I need to get petrol. Then I’ll be on my way. I’ll be there by 8:15.”

  She hesitated.

  “Sabirah?”

  “I thought I heard something downstairs. I’ll see you soon.”

  “I love you, habibti.”

  “I love you too.” The smile in her voice sent waves of relief through him.

  Ziad sat there for a moment longer. A truck blew by and shook the Land Rover. Dust from the highway muted its headlights. He put the SUV into gear. Then he pulled onto the road and headed toward home and Sabirah’s arms.

  5

  Weariness. To Ziad, it didn’t feel like 8:15 when he pulled onto his street. More like midnight. The auto gate slowly opened to reveal darkness. Strange. Sabirah always turned on the outside lights at dusk.

  Ziad remained in the Land Rover and collected his thoughts. Consequences from his actions awaited him. Papa would be embarrassed, Mama worried. Regardless, he’d report only the truth to the general.

  With a deep sigh, he pushed open the door and approached the front steps. His keys slipped from his fingers and clinked on the concrete porch. Grumbling, he picked them up. The bolt slid back, and the door opened on soundless hinges.

  “Sabirah?”

  Nothing. That same darkness clung to the interior. Had everyone decided to go to bed early? No. His wife would have left a lamp on for him.

  “Muhammed Amir?” he called.

  No answer from his oldest.

  A shiver worked its way up his spine. Stepping into the great room, he turned on a lamp next to the couch and faced the kitchen. After approaching the pass-through window and the archway leading into the room, he flipped on the overhead light.

  His eyes widened.

  Rani lay on her back, gunshot wounds in her chest and stomach. Dark red blood pooled on the tile beneath her.

  “No!”

  Rationality fled as panic set in. He dashed up the stairs to the residential wing. “Sabirah! Muhammed Amir! Tariq!”

  Each child’s name flew from his lips as he rushed upward.

  He tripped on the top step.

  Ziad tumbled to his knees, then staggered upright.

  He caught the door frame leading to Khalid’s room and slapped the light switch.

  Khalid lay in the middle of the area rug, his thobe red going to rust with blood from multiple gunshot wounds.

  “No!” Agony colored Ziad’s cry. He fell to his knees beside his youngest. No pulse.

  Jumping to his feet, he stumbled toward Muhammed Amir’s room.

  Light revealed the horror of books spilled across the floor and an overturned desk and chair. His oldest lay crumpled against the wall, bullet holes in his head and chest, blood and gore on the wall behind him. His lifeless eyes stared at his father.

  The same for Basil and Tariq.

  Sabirah. Where was she?

  He burst into the master suite.

  “No! Sabirah, no! Not you! No!”

  She lay crumpled underneath the archway that separated the sitting area from the sleeping area. A knife stuck from her chest.

  Agony seared his soul as he fell to his knees beside her. He gathered her limp form in his arms and rocked back and forth. “Allah! No! Please!”

  The door to the bathroom squeaked.

  Ziad whipped around.

  A man raced toward him.

  Ziad tumbled off balance as he reached for his gun. Stars sparked in his vision when his attacker’s fist slammed into his face.

  Two shots slammed into a wall.

  Ziad rolled to his hands and knees. He thrust out his leg.

  His attacker crashed into the nightstand. The lamp fell onto him.

  Ziad got a knee under him.

  Like a cobra, the man grabbed the lamp. It flashed downward.

  Pain exploded in Ziad’s head.

  He sank into blackness.

  #####

  Oppressive. For Ben Evans, the word perfectly described the darkness enshrouding him and Emma Montgomery as they sat on the front portico of her aunt and uncle’s villa. Temperatures remained in the nineties, and the humidity so characteristic of Jeddah summers had arrived. It made it hard to breathe, almost like he was drowning. Thank goodness for a sea breeze.

  Soft notes emanated from the guitar he plucked. He glanced up when Ziad’s white Land Rover turned through the auto gate across the street.

  “Ben?”

  At Emma’s soft voice, he paused. “What’s up?”

  “Can we talk?”

  Uh, oh. She’d stayed mad when he’d blown her off Wednesday night. He paused. “Yeah?”

  From where she’d lain on the rattan sofa since supper, she pushed herself upright. “I’m worried about Sabirah. You know I went over there Friday night, right?
”

  “Yeah. What happened?”

  It took fits and starts, but gradually, she revealed their conversation. As she finished, his heart simultaneously sang with joy and pounded with worry. “Wow. I… never knew.”

  “I didn’t either.” She sighed and leaned forward as she raked her hands through those light brown curls he loved. “Oh, we’d talked about it here and there, but never in my life…”

  Ben slid over and held her. Her forehead, still warm with that day’s fever, rested against his cheek. Dove soap and shampoo scents tickled his nose. “You know how life-changing that is.” He paused as he struggled for the right words. “She may very well go to her grave with that. If Ziad knew… He’s a proud man, Em.”

  “I know. Ever since he got home earlier this evening, I worried he’d read it on her face.”

  “What?” He pulled back and stared at her. “He just got home a few minutes ago. I saw his SUV.”

  “I saw him arrive when I was talking with you on the phone while you were on your way over here for supper. If he just got home, maybe he ran some errands.”

  “That can’t be.” Coldness washed over him. “I talked to him literally five minutes before I called you. He was up in al-Sharana, which is an hour away from here.”

  “Then who—”

  “I wish I knew.” Ben rose and peered through the ornate latticework covering the portico. Only one streetlight a couple of houses down lit the area. Shadowy forms slipped through the pedestrian gate of the al-Kazim villa and scurried through the darkness.

  In the distance, sirens began wailing

  His hand went for the gun he didn’t have with him. “Something’s not right. Go get your aunt.”

  “What?”

  The sirens drew closer.

  “Get your aunt. Two women equal one witness here. Go!”

  Emma fled inside.

  Ben bolted through the sitting area of Emma’s suite on the second floor. He tore down the front staircase and into the night.

  In front of him, two Land Rovers and a Suburban screeched to a stop with sirens strobing red and blue. Six local policemen poured out. They banged on the pedestrian gate. No one answered, and one of the officers raised a radio to his lips.