Читать книгу Undercover Sheik - Dana Marton - Страница 8

Dr. Sadie Kauffman had been always skeptical of people who, as their death sentence neared, claimed to have changed and reformed. Now she believed it. Time made all the difference, being locked up with nothing to do but think. She’d had forty long days and nights to mull over what her life had been so far—a mad race for things that in hindsight didn’t matter. She would live differently. She rubbed her fingertips together. They tingled from nerves. Today was the day of her execution.

She watched one of the bandits as he plodded toward her makeshift prison, his rifle slung across his shoulder, his face wrapped in the trailing end of his headdress to protect him from the blowing sand. He opened the low door that had been nailed together from pieces of scrap wood, and swore at her as she stumbled out awkwardly, her legs numb from her cramped quarters.

“Move it,” the man said, and although she was limping forward as fast as she could, it wasn’t quick enough for him. He shoved his rifle barrel between her ribs to make her go faster.

She blinked toward the desert horizon. The sun had barely breached it. Her last sunrise. No, she wouldn’t think like that. She had to have hope. If the desert bandits killed her, what would they gain? They had to keep her alive to collect the ransom. She’d spent the night working out different ways to convince Umman, the camp’s leader, to extend the deadline.

It’ll work. They need the money.

She ran her fingers over her black headscarf and attached veil to make sure they exposed nothing but her eyes. The man kept shoving her at every few steps, toward the tents instead of the cooking fires as he would have on any other day.

“It’s as fast as I can go,” she snapped without heat. Did he even understand her? Other than Umman, the rest spoke no more English than the few words they used to order her around.

Her sandals sunk into the hot sand with each step. She still hadn’t learned to balance her weight just right, angle her feet so she could walk the terrain with ease like the men whose tents sprawled like giant, unworldly beasts on the sand ahead. Most had their flaps open—giant, yawning mouths getting ready to swallow their prey whole. She shivered despite the heat that had to be nearing a hundred degrees already.

She halted at the entrance of the largest tent, looked inside with quick, darting glances and kept her head down to make sure her gaze wouldn’t directly meet anyone else’s. Most of the bandits were in there, lounging on worn carpets and sipping spiced coffee.

“So your country cares not if you live or die.” The contemptuous voice was Umman’s.

As far as desert bandits went, they looked the part—Ali Baba and all that—missing teeth, savage faces, murderous weapons. They smelled the part, too.

“The money is coming,” she said with false confidence, knowing the U.S. never paid ransoms. She’d always thought that a reasonable policy—until now. “Today. It’s a lot of money.” Five million dollars.

The men didn’t appear to be impressed with her promise, nor did any of them look like they might be sympathetic to her cause. She was nothing to them, less than nothing—an annoyance, a reminder of a business plan that didn’t work out.

“You think me a fool.” The leader’s voice was low, yet it seemed to thunder across the tent. He was the oldest of the men, his face crackled with scars, his scraggly beard blending into gray as it fell to his worn brown robe.

She had no doubt he would cut her throat without thought, as he would cut a goat. As he had cut one of his own men not two weeks before for some minor insubordination.

“Your people show me great disrespect,” he said.

Her carefully crafted speech had sounded reasonable and convincing in her head in the quiet of the night, but now, faced with a tentful of bandits, the arguments she had prepared suddenly seemed laughably feeble.

“I’m a doctor. You might need me. A few more days—”

“Do not bargain with me.” Umman’s voice rose, thick with anger. “We do not need your kind of medicine. You think I would trust you?”

Apparently not. At first, when she had been kidnapped from the hospital, she’d been convinced they’d taken her to heal some bandit chief and would let her go once she was done. It had taken her days to realize the true severity of her situation.

There had to be words she could say to convince him to do just that. Think. Think!

Something shifted in the darkest corner—a man she hadn’t noticed, sitting away from the rest. She swallowed as she recognized the man she feared the most. Nasir. The sight of him scattered her few gathering thoughts.

Something in the man—an indefinable hardness, a dark purpose to his heart and murder in his eyes—made her get out of his way every time she’d found his gaze on her.

He was new to camp, had prodded in on his small camel two days after she’d been kidnapped from the field hospital. He had quickly gained the respect of the other men. There had been a fight or two at the beginning, testing the newcomer. Since then, most knew enough to steer clear of him.

His full attention was on her now, his dark gaze burning her.

Umman set down his cup and spoke in Arabic to the guard who’d brought her in while he dug through a wooden crate and tossed the man a new-looking digital camera.

He wanted her execution documented—probably so the next time they asked for ransom, everyone would know they were serious.

Her heart beat against her chest so hard it hurt. This can’t be happening. It isn’t real.

Things like this happened to other people, strangers on the evening news. Her hands trembled at the thought of her lifeless body on some Web site.

Run! her brain said, but before she could react, she was grabbed, rough fingers digging into her arm.

“Another day. The money will be here,” she begged, her lungs drowning in panic that seemed to swallow her whole.

“Out.”

The guard obeyed, pulling her from the tent into the merciless light, into the killing heat. He dragged her behind the tents, up the first dune, barely slowing as she struggled against him.

How much did she have left? Ten minutes? Five?

He held her tight, his gun aimed at her as he yanked her along. If she could pull away, how long would it be before a bullet slammed into her back? Even running couldn’t save her now. Nothing could. Her body went slack with resignation.

She’d chosen the wrong course of action, staying in her prison in hope of a rescue instead of trying to run away in the night. The realization made her light-headed, dizzy. She’d thought the ransom would come, that the bandits wouldn’t be so eager to discard their ticket to the money. She had no supplies. She’d been afraid the desert would kill her if she ran, but now even that seemed a preferable choice—death on her own terms.

“Let me go. Please.” Her voice was high-pitched, weak. She hated it. Now that she realized there was no way out, she wanted to at least die with dignity.

If he understood her, he showed now sign of it.

She glanced at his gun. He’d use that. It would be quick; she wouldn’t feel a thing. Almost over now. She didn’t think they would go far. Umman just hadn’t wanted the inconvenience of her blood on his carpets.

NASIR UNCLENCHED HIS FIST. In another five minutes the woman would be dead. Anything he could do to save her would jeopardize his hard-won cover, might make the other men realize that he was less than the ruthless killer he had purported himself to be.

And yet, he couldn’t sit still and allow her to be gunned down in cold blood.

“I take her.” He kept his voice hard, setting his face into an expression that bore no challenge.

A moment of silence passed, confusion underlining it. Most of the men were looking at him puzzled; Ahmed, the youngest, with burning hatred.

“I said she would die,” Umman said, reacting just as Nasir had expected. The leader could not allow his authority to be overruled, especially not in front of his men.

No time to wait for a better opportunity, though, or to try to manipulate the situation.

“She’ll be dead to her people. She’ll be mine.” Nasir stood, but inclined his head toward the man to make sure the action wasn’t interpreted as a challenge.

Umman looked at him with blossoming anger and suspicion. He had every right. Nasir had been the one who had argued against allowing the men to rape her, and now here he was, claiming her as his own.

“She has no place here, no usefulness. If you changed your mind and want to use her before she dies do so.” The camp leader glanced around, indicating that went for everyone.

“I claim her for my own. She’ll be taken by no other,” he said fiercely, then added on a more subdued voice the first good excuse he could come up with, “She might carry my child.”

A low murmur rose from among the men, some of amusement, some of outrage.

“She came to me.” Nasir went on with the lie, unperturbed. If words could save her, he was willing to make up a tale. He did not want to start a fight, not yet. “Maybe she thought it would gain her favor. It does not. But I would have her birth the child. After my son is weaned, you may do with her as you please.” He shrugged. “Once she’s no longer useful, I’ll kill her myself if you want.”

Thick silence hung in the tent as one second passed, then another.

“Are you certain?” Umman asked, his face dark.

Nasir nodded.

Even among bandits, children were taken seriously. Most of the men had families in one of the many villages at the edge of the desert.

“If the child lives, if it’s a boy, he would be my first son,” Nasir added for emphasis.

Everybody understood the importance of that.

Tension thickened the air in the tent.

He listened for any sound from outside, willing the silence of the desert to remain unbroken, aware of every second that passed as he waited.

“She is your trouble.” Umman gave his verdict after a few moments, visibly displeased.

Ahmed hissed. “She’ll run away if he sets her up in a village. She knows where we are. Who we are.”

The leader shot him a glance that shut him up and had him looking away, but did not berate the young man for his hotheaded outburst. He seemed to share Ahmed’s concern.

“She stays with us,” he said. “There’s fire in that one that’s not broken yet.”

One of the men made a suggestion as to how Nasir could manage that, and others laughed, the tension suddenly broken.

“Shukran.” Thank you. Nasir nodded to the leader and gave proper respect, then hurried out of the tent to save the American doctor’s life.

ANGER WAS SLOWLY replacing her fear.

Sadie tore her arm from the man’s grasp, nearly toppling to the sand before she caught her balance and swirled back, hoping to catch him by surprise and ram him hard enough to make him drop the rifle. Screw dignity.

She was too freaked to pull it off anyhow, to stand there in the middle of the desert looking all noble and unperturbed, to think of some profound parting words her executioner wouldn’t understand in any case. Following orders and being suitably submissive not to rouse anyone’s anger hadn’t gained her freedom. It was time she started to fight.

She wasn’t doing well at it, she thought as the guard knocked her to the ground.

Keep coming up.

That was the key. She struggled to her feet and charged at him again.

He wasn’t taking her too seriously, hadn’t even bothered to call out to the others. He seemed undecided on whether to be annoyed or amused. She rammed her head into his stomach, hard enough so he staggered back.

Then his rifle barrel was pressed to her temple as he shouted at her in Arabic. Game over. Looked like he’d had enough entertainment.

Another shout came from behind her, then was repeated in English. “Stop.”

She swallowed at the sight of Nasir striding over the sand, his long black robe billowing ominously behind him like a giant hawk descending on its prey. Fearsome. His face was unscarred, his nose straight, unbroken, unlike most of the rest of the men’s. He was the tallest and toughest bandit in camp, but that wasn’t what made him seem the most dangerous. He had something cold and hard within that showed in the set of his strong jaw, in his intense sable eyes. She found the overall effect chilling.

He yelled again, and she realized with surprise that he was yelling at the guard and not at her. Had the camp leader changed his mind? Hope rushed to her head.

Then Nasir reached her, and his long fingers closed around her arm. Without another word to the guard, he dragged her off—not back to the main tent, nor to her makeshift shelter-slash-prison… She slowed and dug her heels into the sand when she realized their destination was his black tent.

“No,” she said like she meant it, as if her knees weren’t trembling under the worn abayah they made her wear. “No, please.” She feared Nasir more than she feared execution. At least a shot in the head would have been quick.

Some of the men leaving Umman’s tent stopped to watch as Nasir dragged her on effortlessly, paying no attention to her struggles. One shouted something in Arabic. Nasir didn’t respond.

Then they were inside the tent he alone occupied—he did not share like the others—and he let her go so suddenly that she sprawled onto the carpets.

He stepped toward her, but she scrambled away, looking frantically for a weapon. She dashed for the rifle that hung from the tent pole.

He got there first.

Her breath lodged in her throat. Fear raked its sharp talons down her skin.

“Take it easy,” he said in near perfect English. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her body went still as she stared. Other than a few grunted words, he’d never spoken her language before. A few seconds passed before she gathered enough courage to address him, moving slowly as far from him as the tent allowed.

“You’ll wait for the money? How many days?” Even if all they gave her was a single extra day, she’d have tonight to escape.

“I wouldn’t recommend running away,” he said as if reading her thoughts, and sat to block the tent’s opening, his rifle laid across his knees. “It’s safer here. Nobody will hurt you now.”

What part of her hostage-waiting-for-execution position did he consider safe? Surprised, she looked into his face, then quickly away when she realized her mistake. She’d been beaten by one of the other men for that in the beginning. She was to speak when spoken to and keep her eyes on her feet when not on her work.

But Nasir didn’t become outraged. After a moment, she glanced back, hoping to read his true intentions in his expression.

“Why?” she asked cautiously.

He held her gaze for a while, his sable eyes burning into hers, his features hard with a large dose of displeasure. “Because you’re mine.” The words fell from his lips slowly, distinctly.

“Ah… What?”

“I claimed you in front of the others.”

Mother of God, help me now. She could only imagine what he’d claimed her for.

“No.” She squared on him, prepared to fight. If she could disable him, maybe she could stay hidden in his tent until nightfall then take off—provided that he didn’t have any visitors in the meanwhile.

“It’ll buy you time,” he said mildly.

“For what?” Was he playing with her? Was it some sick game he wanted before he pounced?

“To find a safe way out. I’m here for some information. As soon as I have it, I’ll take you to the nearest village.”

Was he lying so later he could catch her off guard? She watched him cautiously and weighed his words. He hadn’t hurt her, not once. Her fear of him stemmed from watching him with the other men. Emotions ran high in camp, and the bandits were often at each others’ throats. Nasir hadn’t started any fights, but he finished many.

“Are you—” She sat back down, trying to put the pieces together. “Are you an undercover policeman or something?”

“Hardly.” He gave a rueful grin that softened his face.

She stared, a second or so passing before she said, “But you’re definitely not going to hurt me?” She wanted to make sure that was nailed down.

“You are safe in my tent.”

She would consider believing that if she was still alive and untouched by the end of the day. She eyed the curved dagger tucked into his sash. “So, who are you exactly?”

“Nasir.”

She’d been hoping for something beyond that.

“A spy?” The question slipped out as it occurred to her. He had said he was here to gather some kind of information.

“I’m here on my own business.”

And she would just bet his business wasn’t the good kind. She hadn’t been mistaken when she’d seen murder in his eyes. But as long as it didn’t involve her and he would help her out of here, she was willing to overlook it.

“How long before you leave?”

“As soon as I have the information I came for.” He stood, set down the rifle and pulled up an extra carpet, fastened it to the poles so it neatly divided the tent.

He moved like a warrior, unhurried, efficient. Who was he? Who had he been before joining the desert bandits’ camp?

In some ways, he was very much like the others, just as tough and better in a fight, but a thin veil of civilization clung to him that set him apart, which was especially noticeable now that he let his guard down in front of her.

“Where did you learn English?” she asked.

He worked on fixing the partition without answering. “You may use this side,” he said politely when he was done.

He was confusing the hell out of her. He would allow her out of his sight?

He surprised her further by handing her his dagger. “In case you need to defend yourself. Your continued stay does not make everyone happy.”

She pulled the sharp blade from its sheath with hesitation and stared at it. Why arm her? She could kill him in his sleep.

“You could try,” he said, guessing her thoughts again, and she could swear she saw a hint of a smile hover above his lips. “I wouldn’t recommend it,” he added before turning on his heels and ducking out of the tent.

She spent a couple of seconds staring after him before springing to action, realizing she was wasting a precious opportunity. For the first time in weeks, she was truly alone. Nasir’s tent sheltered her from prying eyes as her prison never had with its wide gaps between the rough boards. She took a quick inventory. Two large water skins hanging from the main tent pole, several bags that looked like they’d been made of carpet remnants and a few bowls that were neatly lined up by the tent wall next to a stack of clothing.

She went to the water first and drank as much as she could without making her pilfering obvious. Then she rummaged through the bags and found food, small canvas sacks that held dried figs and some kind of jerky, probably goat. She hurriedly ate a couple of each as she conducted a thorough search of the tent. She found a cell phone and hope shook her hands as she tried to turn it on, but the battery was dead. It would have been too good to be true.

Still, for the first time since she’d been kidnapped, she had free access to food and water. And she had a weapon. Here, in front of her, was everything she needed to escape.

The more she thought about trusting Nasir’s offer, the worse the idea of waiting for him to get her out of here seemed. She would be a fool to hang around to see if he would keep his word and take her to safety. He could change his mind. Umman could change his mind. Ahmed, who’d been after her from day one, could finally find an opportunity to do her real harm. She would never be safe as long as she was inside this miserable camp.

The only person she could trust was herself. She would save herself. As soon as night fell. Whatever she had to do.

I could kill if I had to. The thought came out of nowhere and took her by surprise. Yes, she could kill, although at a price to herself, both as a doctor and a human being. But she could. When backed into a corner, all living things fought for life.

She hadn’t realized that, not until today when she was dragged from Umman’s tent to be executed. Tonight she would do whatever it took to get away, even if it meant taking another life to save her own.

She tucked the dagger into the waistband of the pants she wore under her long robe. For the first time in her life, the presence of a weapon made her feel better. She stepped out of the tent with caution, intending to go no farther than the semisecluded spot behind the area where the dozen or so camels usually lounged, the place she’d been using to relieve herself.

She’d gone only a few yards from Nasir’s tent, dodging the men who were going about their business, when Ahmed spotted her and strode over, his fat mouth set into a thin line of displeasure. He marched his pudgy body through the sand with jerky steps, keeping his small, dark eyes on her, yelling from afar. “Woman! Whore!”

She stopped, hoping he wanted nothing more than to give her some small, humiliating task as usual, like scraping goat dung from his sandals. She would quickly do whatever he required. Tonight she’d be free. She couldn’t allow anything to get to her.

“You feed camels. Water camels,” he said.

Taking care of the animals was his responsibility—every man had his own task to keep the camp running. He was probably angry that Nasir had stopped her execution. He was probably looking to reassert his authority over her, to show her that as long as she was in camp, she would remain their slave.

Sadie nodded, the very picture of obedience, and cast a worried glance toward the camels, making sure she looked fearful, hoping that would be sufficient. Ahmed usually left her alone once he figured he had tortured her enough for one day. If he thought the task left her trembling, he might be satisfied with that and not think up any further ways to distress her.

The animals were twice the size of camels she’d seen in Yemen at the market where the local Doctors Without Borders liaison had taken the group of international physicians she was a part of the day after their arrival at the small field hospital.

The trip to the market had been the first and last that she’d been able to participate in. Three days later, the hospital was raided, the supply room robbed. She had the misfortune of being inside it when the bandits had come.

“Work,” Ahmed shouted at her and shoved her forward.

She moved obediently, semisecure in the knowledge that now that Nasir had claimed her, Ahmed could only demand work from her and nothing more. He had come to her during the night once before, insisting on another kind of service. By putting her body weight against the door of tightly tied branches, she’d been able to keep him out. Her prison, devised to prevent her from escaping during the night, had saved her.

He was yelling at her in Arabic, and she picked up the pace, walking toward the tent Ahmed shared with three others and the large bags of camel feed. She hadn’t seen Nasir’s shorter, leaner camel among the rest of the beasts. He’d probably ridden out of camp.

Her instincts prickled when instead of going off to enjoy having passed on his morning chores, Ahmed seemed intent on following her inside the tent.

“I feed the camels,” she said as she stepped through the flap, keeping her head down in an attempt not to anger any of the other men she’d expected to find inside.

The tent was empty.

She couldn’t step back. Ahmed was right behind her.

Get the work done, get out. Fast.

She went to the sacks, filled the bucket, moving purposefully, ignoring the bad feeling she was getting from the man who watched her.

He made his move as she was about to head back outside, blocking her way, looking at her with so much heat, so much hate.

“I’ll feed the camels,” she said and stepped forward to pass by him.

He wouldn’t have it.

She was close enough now to smell his breath, the sour sweat of his body. Several weeks’ worth of dirt was ground into his patched-up, faded camouflage uniform. She stole a glance at the look of determination in his face.

He was not going to let her go.

The dagger. Since she had the bucket in her right hand, she bent to set it down slowly, as if giving in to his will. But in a sudden move, he knocked the camel feed from her and had both of her hands pinned to her side. She struggled against him. He was strong, stronger than she’d thought.

“Stop.” She fought back with everything she had, kicking, trying to smack her forehead into his face, doing anything and everything to make up for not being able to use her hands. “Let me go!” Desperation gave strength to her voice.

The carpets tangled under their feet, making it harder for her to find her balance. She twisted and kicked backward, got him in the knee by pure chance. His hold loosened at last. Almost clear. Then she tripped on her robe just as he grabbed for her, and they went down together with a solid thud that stole the air from her lungs.