A Sulta's Ransom Page 2

  Her attacker yanked her backward, hard up against his body, and he pressed the cold blade of a knife under her chin.

  For a terrifying moment Paige couldn’t breathe. Then her brain kicked back into gear. She concentrated on inhaling through her nose, willing herself to stay calm, to take in detail. He was big. Incredibly strong. Hard athletic body. There was a hint of clove and bergamot in the rough fabric of his clothes. She could also detect the scent of camels and saddle polish on his gloves. Her panic doubled.

  How had he gotten past security?

  He spun her round sharply, and Paige used the moment to lurch away from him, her movement so wild it sent her flying to the floor. She scrambled to her feet, slipping on the polished surface, tripping over her long skirt as she tried to get away.

  He grabbed the back of her hijab in an effort to stop her, but she jerked against the resistance. The scarf pulled free from her neck and hair, and Paige began to race for the exit, holding the hem of her skirt high, praying the guards would see her on the surveillance system. If she could just get to the door, she could punch the alarm…

  But he was on her, had her by the hair and the waist. Flight was no longer an option. She had to fight. She whirled round, tore at his turban, trying to expose his face to the cameras.

  The black cloth came away from his face in her fist, and Paige gasped.

  Her second of hesitation cost her, and he had his dagger back up against her throat and her arm wrenched so hard behind her back that tears leaked from her eyes.

  She froze, not daring to move against the blade, her heart thudding hard.

  His oil-black eyes pierced hers and they glittered with anger. He was breathing heavily.

  Paige tried to swallow.

  The man was fiercely beautiful, with dark olive skin, shoulder-length black hair, and a tattoo on his angular cheekbone. It was the tattoo that had made her gasp.

  She stared at it now—the unmistakable Arabic lettering that symbolized the Silent Revolution, the underground movement that lay in wait, ready to overthrow the sultan of Hamn when the sign came.

  The display of that symbol was punishable by instant death in this country. Sultan Sadiq bin Zafir bin Omar al-Qaadr had personally decreed that every citizen in the land had the right to mete out that death penalty in any way he chose if he so much as even glimpsed the symbol.

  Her attacker was a walking affront to the ruler of Hamn.

  But why was he here? What could a revolutionary possibly want with her?

  Cautiously, Paige allowed her eyes to take in the rest of his powerful frame.

  He was dressed completely in black. A burlap tunic covered loose cotton pants that were bound at his ankles with thongs. He had another knife strapped to his ankle. A band of old black leather crossed diagonally over his chest and a scimitar was sheathed at his waist. A coil of rope hung from his belt, as did a leather pouch.

  A lump of fear and awe ballooned painfully in her throat. “What…what do you want with me?” she whispered hoarsely in Arabic.

  Rafiq cursed bitterly as he realized who he held at knifepoint. Dr. Paige Sterling. And even more beautiful in the flesh. This was the last bloody thing he needed. His mission was clear—break into the lab, install the wireless transmitting device, set up a receiving station within radius of the device, uplink to satellite for remote access to the Nexus mainframe, and then get the hell out of Hamn the minute the download was complete.

  Dr. Sterling was not part of the deal. She was off limits.

  What the hell would he do now?

  He couldn’t just leave her. Nor could he kill her. She was key to all this, and her dead body would most certainly alert the Cabal, the group of power-hungry men masterminding the threat against the U.S. So would kidnapping her. If Dr. Sterling—creator of their lethal bioweapon—suddenly went missing, millions in Chicago, Los Angeles and New York could be dead before the week was out.

  He swore again. The clock was ticking. He had to move fast. He leaned close to the beautifully elegant face with perfect skin and cool pewter eyes—the face of evil genius he’d first glimpsed on the LCD screen back in the Force du Sable situation room on São Diogo Island. But somehow, in person, Paige Sterling didn’t look so capable of pure evil. And right now, in his hands, she felt more than a little vulnerable.

  Looks were deceiving, Rafiq told himself. And none more so than those of a highly intelligent, cunning and attractive woman. “How did you get to the lab tonight, Dr. Sterling?” he asked in English, his voice low.

  Her eyes flared in surprise at the use of her name, and at his command of English. Then they narrowed, her lips flattening into a tight line. She glared at him, said nothing.

  She was tough.

  He tightened his grip on her arm, angled the hooked point of his jambiya blade up into her neck, just short of piercing her skin. “You will answer my questions, Doctor. Do you understand this?”

  She nodded, ever so slightly, careful not to break her own skin against his dagger. Even so, the small movement forced the razor-sharp tip of his blade into her neck. She sucked in her breath sharply and her eyes widened in fear.

  A small drop of dark-red blood began to bead through broken skin at the point of his knife. Rafiq watched it trickle down the pale column of her neck, a feeling of unease tightening through him. “Tell me how you got from the compound residence to the lab tonight.” He released the pressure of the blade so that she could talk.

  “Company SUV,” her whisper was hoarse. “It’s…brown…parked in the lot outside. I…I came back for the keys.”

  Rafiq’s eyes flashed back to the open drawer in her office. He edged her back down the corridor, toward the desk. “Take them. We’ll use your ID to get out.”

  She reached for the drawer and removed the key chain. Rafiq noted her hand was steady in spite of the fear in her eyes. It shouldn’t surprise him. She’d have to be mentally tough to work the way she did in max containment. She might be all pale light and elegant angles on the outside, but she had to have a heart of ice to do the kind of black biology they suspected her of. This woman killed innocent people.

  Rafiq steeled his jaw, dug his fingers deeper into her arm just above the elbow, and steered her sharply down the corridor, using his remote to click in false video feeds as they passed under the cameras.

  They exited through a side entrance on the ground floor, the dry desert air hitting them like a wall.

  Her vehicle was the only one in the lot. It was parked at the far corner, up against the building. He led her along the wall, staying in the shadows. He opened the driver’s side door. “Get in,” he whispered.

  She didn’t move. Her eyes held his, defiant. With a jolt of irritation, he placed his hand on her head, forced her down into the driver’s seat, and closed the door. He scanned the lot quickly. There was still no one in sight.

  He crouched down, rolled under the SUV, and he used his jambiya to sabotage the brake line and hose. He waited until enough of the slippery fluid had dripped down on to the paving to insure the puddle would be noticeable.

  He rolled out from under the vehicle, opened the passenger side door, slid into the seat. He handed her the keys as he pressed his dagger against her lower ribs. “Now drive. Nice and normal.”

  She glared at him.

  “Do it.”

  Paige started the engine, perspiration beading over her lip, her heart racing. He maneuvered the bulk of his frame down below the dash and lowered his head to the seat, but he kept the point of his dagger pressed into her clothing. She could feel the tip of the blade poking through the fabric, and she could feel the dampness of blood under her collar—a reminder of just how sharp that dagger was.

  She swallowed, engaged the gears and drove slowly, wheels crunching over sand that had blown across the paved lot during the day. Her mind scrambled wildly for a plan of escape.

  She had to do something. If she went any farther with her assailant, she’d wind up dead. She was certain of it.
She neared the guard hut, depressed the brakes. They felt soft. Her mouth went bone-dry. So that’s what he’d been doing under the car. She wound down her window slowly as she approached the sentry hut.

  Mahmoud Hassim was on duty tonight. He looked up from his book, smiled, his teeth white in the neon light of his cubicle. “Good evening, Dr. Sterling.” He set his book down, reached out of his window for her pass.

  She hesitated.

  The dagger blade pressed harder into her ribs. One upward thrust would pierce her liver. Even if she gave Mahmoud a sign, even if he did manage to sound the alarm, she’d bleed to death before they could get her into the main hospital, miles away from the compound. Perspiration prickled her brow and slicked down between her breasts. She reached for her pass, handed it to Mahmoud.

  His smiled faded slightly. “Are you okay, Doctor?”

  She pressed her lips together, nodded.

  Mahmoud studied her for a second too long.

  “I…I’m fine. Mahmoud, thank you.” She forced a smile. “I’m just tired.”

  He scanned her pass. “Much too late to be working, even for you, Dr. Sterling.” He handed it back to her as the boom lifted. She drove slowly through.

  Her assailant sat up in the passenger seat as soon as they disappeared from the sentry’s sight.

  “Go the coast road,” he commanded.

  Blood drained from her head. The coast road was a series of chilling hairpin bends along precipitous sandstone cliffs that plunged sheer into the depths of the Red Sea.

  And he’d damaged her brakes.

  If her car went over… “What…what do you want with me?”

  “Just drive.”

  Paige clutched the wheel, her palms damp. She was as good as dead.

  Chapter 2

  02:37 Charlie, Nexus Compound, Thursday, October 2

  The headlights of her SUV panned round, throwing a row of date palms into stark relief. Paige stiffened—after that row of trees came the first killer bend.

  “Bring the vehicle to a stop,” he said suddenly. “Don’t use the brakes. Gear down. And stay on the road.”

  Her mind raced. What was he going to do? Get out and force her to drive over the cliff? How? Why? If he was a member of the underground, what could he possibly want with her? She ground the vehicle to a stop against the gears and engaged the hand brake. She tested the brake pedal. It flopped flat to the floor. Dread pooled in her stomach.

  He threw open the passenger door, got out, marched round to the driver’s side, yanked her door open. “Out.”

  Relief punched through her. He wasn’t going to send her over with the car. She lifted her skirt and climbed down onto the road, desperate for another vehicle to come by, knowing it was close to an impossibility at this hour. If any of her colleagues were even awake, they’d be at the clubhouse, shooting pool, drinking smuggled liquor and chewing mildly narcotic qat—hardly in any shape to rescue her. She spent so little time with them anyway, they probably wouldn’t even notice her missing for days.

  “Turn around.”

  She obeyed. He wrenched her wrists sharply behind her back, bound them with rope. Then he crouched down and lifted her skirt. Panic wedged into her chest. For the first time, she felt conscious of her femininity, and vulnerable because of it. She was utterly defenseless against this powerful male.

  It took a second before she realized what he was doing. He was tying the one end of the rope he’d bound around her wrists to her ankle, effectively hobbling her like a camel.

  Damn the bastard.

  If he was trying to subjugate her mentally as well as physically, he’d just succeeded. And if she tried to run now, she’d be flat on her face in the sand in a heartbeat. Sand. She could leave footprints in the sand!

  Paige began to edge off the asphalt. But he saw what she was doing instantly. He grabbed her, jerked her sharply back onto the road, and brought his mouth so close to hers she could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips.

  “Do not make this any more difficult on yourself, Dr. Sterling.” His r’s growled low in his throat sending a hot-cold shiver down her spine. “Stay on the pavement. Do only what I say, when I say it, understand?” His obsidian eyes bored into hers, catching the gleam of the headlights. “Do not underestimate me, Doctor. Because once your vehicle goes over that cliff—” he pointed to the black void over the Red Sea “—no one is going to come looking for you. And I mean no one. Do you understand what that means?”

  Oh, God, she understood all right. If everyone thought she was dead, she may as well be.

  “Now wait here.”

  He climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine, put the car into gear.

  Paige instantly shuffled backward onto the sand again, quickly making as many telltale scuff marks as she could. But she stilled as she saw her car heading straight for the cliff, the driver’s side door hanging open.

  The SUV gathered speed, hit the first S in the bend, bounced from tar onto sand, and careened toward the cliff.

  Her breath lodged in her throat.

  But just before her car smashed into the small white marker rocks along the cliff edge, he dived from the door and rolled clear of the vehicle.

  Paige watched in numb horror as the SUV lurched sideways, teetered on the rocks for a nanosecond, then plunged headfirst into the black void.

  There was a moment of deathly silence…then metal hit rock with a stomach-churning crunch. Then another, and another, as her car bounced and bashed and splintered its way down to the Red Sea.

  He turned and raced back toward her.

  There was one more metallic crunch followed by an explosive boom that rocked the ground under her feet. A ball of fire whooshed into the moonless sky turning him into a black silhouette as he sprinted toward her. Behind him more fireballs burst and crackled into the night.

  Paige couldn’t move.

  All she could do was stare and recall that she’d just had the gas tank filled, along with the two spare cans in the back.

  He grabbed her arm, spun her round, crouched down and slashed the rope that bound her ankles and wrists. Then he saw the scuff marks in the sand. He cursed, brushed them over with quick flicks of his hand, holding her wrist in viselike grip with the other. She winced at the pressure. She’d angered him, pushed him too far. Talons of fear raked at her heart. What was he going to do with her now?

  She glanced wildly around. There was nothing for miles but black desert and moonless sky.

  He jerked her toward him. “Now, run, Doctor, like your life depends on it,” he growled. “Because it does.”

  He turned and yanked her after him. Paige lurched forward, tripping over the hem of her skirt. She managed to right herself, grasp the fabric of her skirt in her free hand and hoist it up above her knees as she flailed wildly in his wake.

  She could barely keep up. He was sprinting, sticking to the hard surface of the road where they would leave no prints. It took every ounce of her concentration to just stay upright. She began to pant. Hot dry air rasped against her throat, stung her chest. She couldn’t go on much longer.

  She could hear the wail of sirens now, rising in the distance, the sounds closing in on them from two opposite directions—the residential complex to the south, and the lab buildings to the north. There was always a Nexus emergency crew on standby at the lab in the event of a chemical fire. They must have heard the explosion, seen the ball of orange in the sky. The whine of an ambulance joined the sound of fire engines as emergency personnel raced to the scene of the fireball…and she raced away from it.

  Panic clutched her heart.

  Each step was taking her farther from rescue. The emergency crews would reach the scene, see her vehicle tracks and immediately assume she’d gone over the cliff. They’d write her off as dead. She could almost see them, dark silhouettes huddled together, looking over the edge, talking in low voices. They’d retrace her steps. Mahmoud would tell them she’d been working late, that she’d looked t
ired, unwell. They’d find a puddle of brake fluid in the parking lot, assume her brakes had failed along that first hairpin bend. And even if they sent divers to look for her body and came up empty-handed, they’d assume the notorious hammerhead sharks and currents had taken what was left of her.

  Paige felt sick at the thought.

  The sirens grew louder, filling the desert night. They’d be coming along this stretch of road any minute. Perhaps they’d see her. For a moment, hope flared.

  But her kidnapper killed it. He yanked her off the road and onto hard, rocky ground that seemed to suck up what little starlight they had used to find their way. Mica glinted evilly in the sharp edges of flint, and Paige had to redouble her efforts to remain upright on the uneven terrain. This man knew what he was doing. They’d leave no obvious tracks on this rocky expanse. And no one would even think to come looking with dogs because she was supposed to be dead.

  The implications suddenly hit her full force.

  She could not let this man take her from the U.S. compound into one of the oldest countries in Arabia—a mysterious land completely cut off from the West where no travelers or journalists were ever permitted to set foot. A land ruled by a despotic sultan who’d declared it law that a woman travel only in the company of a male with authorized travel papers, and that she be fully covered by the traditional black chador.

  She had to try to escape, stay on familiar ground. This was her last and only chance, because once he took her into that desert, she’d be at his mercy, and at the mercy of the sultan’s notorious Land Command, should they find her.

  The sand underfoot grew thick and soft as they neared the perimeter fence. Paige stumbled, fell, her knee slamming into the razor-sharp edge of a flint rock. She gasped and doubled over as pain sparked through her kneecap.

  He jerked to a stop, wordlessly scooped her to her feet and slid his arm firmly around her waist. “Keep going,” he said as he moved forward, lifting her so that she could keep weight off her injured knee.