Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jack
The plane dipped low over the plains as the sun broke free from some clouds across Mesopotamia, a pale gold light beaming down in rays onto the buildings.
Jack pressed his palm to the cold frame of the biplane, the roar of the engine and strong rush of the wind still overtaking most of his senses, and watched the city take shape below.
Baghdad didn’t announce itself like Cairo or Rome or London.
It revealed itself in whispers—mudbrick and palm, smoke and shadow.
From above, it looked ancient and incomplete, as if time itself had abandoned the job halfway through.
Here, where so many believed humanity had dawned and civilization had taken shape, he could see what had spawned the idea of curses from a wrathful God.
The Tigris shimmered beneath them, sluggish and brown, cutting the city in two like a scar.
On either side of it sprawled clusters of flat-roofed houses and winding streets stitched together by centuries of conquest, collapse, and rebirth.
He could just make out the domes of mosques, the squat Ottoman-era barracks, and, somewhere beyond that, he imagined the bones of Babylon still sleeping beneath the earth.
The engine whined as they drew closer to the earth.
Ruby, seated beside him, had gone still and quiet.
Her eyes were closed, but she didn’t look afraid.
Just peaceful. As though she was enjoying the wind and sun on her face, despite the tight squeeze of the cockpit, which forced her body to press against his. Not that he minded the contact.
She hadn’t said much since they’d left Azraq. They hadn’t had much time there anyway. The RAF pilot they’d found there hadn’t seemed to care too much for explanations or the reason they needed to fly to Rutbah and find Sgt. Maj. Ned Harris—that Jack knew him appeared to be enough of an explanation.
And once they’d gotten to Rutbah, their path to Baghdad had been even easier. Ned agreed to take them without hesitation. They’d left within the hour of arriving at Rutbah, which meant it was late afternoon now, though Jack had lost his sense of time.
For once, luck seemed on their side.
But he still had to face Baghdad itself, an enormous city that was rife with tension and where he had little idea of where to start looking for Kit.
The last time he’d set foot in Baghdad, the war had only just ended.
Ottoman boots still echoed in alleyways, and the British flag flew without apology.
Now it was March 1934, and the kingdom of Iraq was trying to stand on its own feet.
But the lines of the mandate still ran deep.
Jack could feel them—under the sand and the skin of the city.
The death of King Faisal had been a blow to the alliance with the British Empire here.
Faisal had been a steady hand, if not always a clean one.
He’d kept the tribes in line, soothed British egos, and promised just enough reform to keep the revolutionaries at bay.
Now, with his son Ghazi on the throne—barely a man and already in the pockets of Arab nationalists—Baghdad felt like a powder keg with the fuse lit.
The British embassy might still swagger through their corridors and bark orders at ministers, but Jack knew better.
The city was restless. Watching. Waiting.
The tires hit dirt, and the jolt rippled through his spine. The aircraft lurched forward with a screech and rattle, kicking up a storm of dust that blurred the horizon.
Jack exhaled, slow and tight.
They taxied to a halt near a makeshift hangar—corrugated metal, half-sagged canvas roofs, and sandbags piled like afterthoughts.
A line of date palms leaned wearily along the edge of the field.
An RAF officer stood waiting under the shade, uniform starched and eyes hidden behind mirrored spectacles.
Best to stay away from him, if possible.
Jack had his forged paperwork, but he didn’t want to test it after the incident with Theo at Lydda.
Heat rose from the runway as Ned brought the biplane to a stop. Jack snuck a glance at Ruby, who’d donned an aviator cap before leaving Rutbah. She looked adorable, frankly—not that he’d tell her that.
As Ned killed the engine, she lifted the goggles from her eyes and grinned. “That was incredible,” she said, leaning toward Ned. She squeezed his shoulder. “I’m jealous that you get to do this every day.”
Her smile was genuine, her exhilaration palpable. For the first time since he’d met her, Jack had a feeling he’d finally gotten a glimpse of the real Ruby. Maybe the one that had existed before she’d been ejected from Germany and become a criminal … the side she now kept tightly under lock and key.
What had she been like before this? Before fear and desperation had robbed her of everything? Innocence was the furthest thing Jack would associate now with a woman like Ruby, but he could almost picture her on a stage, a picture of grace and beauty, a woman that men would daydream over.
A hot flush went through him, burning like acid up his throat. He smiled, then stood and offered her a hand. “Shall we?”
Ned helped them both down from the plane, and as Jack set foot on the dusty runway, he frowned at the proximity of the nearby hangars.
Ned had brought them to the airfield where the RAF was stationed, of course, and even though he’d logged them under aliases when leaving Rutbah, Jack couldn’t help but worry that someone here might recognize him.
He took his bags from the cargo hatch, then held a hand out to Ned to shake it. “I think I’ll leave you here. Only want to get so close to the others here.”
“Understandably.” Ned shook his hand. “Listen, I’ll be here in Baghdad until about noon tomorrow—if you need to catch me for a flight back. If you’re not here, I’ll assume you don’t need me and just leave without you.”
Jack nodded. “I don’t know how long this will take. I doubt it’ll only be a twenty-four-hour trip, but you never know. Thanks for everything.”
Before Ned could respond, Ruby looped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Glad to have met you, Sarge.”
Ned’s gaze warmed, and he flicked a glance at Jack.
Jack hadn’t explained who Ruby was, and Ned hadn’t asked. But Ned smiled. “Sounds like a keeper,” he said with a crooked smile to Jack, then gave a mock-salute. “Do try to not get shot. Especially if you’re flying back with me. Nothing more difficult to get out of the leather than a bloodstain.”
“I’ll do what I can.” With a smirk, Jack waved and headed away from Ned, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
Ruby was steps behind him. “I didn’t know getting shot in Baghdad was a possibility,” she said, her voice wary.
He gave her a smile over his shoulder. “It’s always a possibility, sweetheart. Haven’t you learned that by now?”
She rolled her eyes. “You know, I think you failed to fully inform me what I was taking on when I signed up to help you.” She frowned, scanning the airfield. “Where are we heading now?”
“Not really sure.” Jack’s grip tightened on the strap of his bag.
This was the part of this journey he’d been dreading—which seemed ironic now, given what they’d had to go through to get here.
They were in need of a bath, a bed, a decent meal, and a good night’s rest, and all of that seemed more appealing right now than attempting to comb through the city with only a name to go on.
But it wasn’t just any name. It was the name Kit had said she’d use someday.
I have to keep going.
“There’s a journalist who was with my sister,” he managed in a strained voice, “named Gretchen Herbert. I’m hoping if I find her, I’ll be able to find Alice. So I’m thinking we start with the local telegraph office. She would have needed to send cables through there, I’m sure.”
Ruby raised a brow. “A female correspondent? Sounds like my type of girl. So is she here in Baghdad?”
“I think so. From the articles I found, she was a freelancer.” Jack unbuckled his satchel and dug in his bag for the notebook in which he’d pasted Gretchen’s articles. He fumbled around for it, then paused, his brows furrowing.
Where is it?
He’d put it back in his satchel—hadn’t he?
Ruby stopped walking, watching him intently. “What is it?”
“A notebook. I’m sure I put it in here.” He knelt, setting his bag on the ground. A more thorough search turned up nothing.
What the hell?
He pulled his other bag around his torso—the one he’d used for clothes and survival supplies. As he sorted through it, Ruby bent beside him. “When did you last see it?”
“I don’t know …” He set a rolled pair of pants on top of a folded shirt. “I had it on the train from Cairo, for sure. I’ve had my satchel on me or in my sight the whole time.”
That had been the last time he remembered holding the notebook. He’d intended to try to take it out, read through the articles again, but after Lydda station …
Jack gave Ruby a sharp look, his jaw clenching.
Goddamn Theo.
“You know the only time anyone else touched my satchel? Theo. At Lydda station.”
A divot formed between Ruby’s eyebrows, and she paled. “You don’t think Theo—”
“I absolutely think Theo.” He shoved his belongings back into the bag and stood. He didn’t wait for her, stalking away. He shouldn’t be angry with her, after all. She couldn’t control what her brother did any more than he could control what Alice did.
“Why would he take it? What motive could he possibly have had?”
“He’s a thief, isn’t he? Thieves like to steal things without any regard or remorse for what they might be taking.
” His tone was more cutting than he wanted it to be, but maybe it was better that he get this out in the open.
He had allowed the last couple of days to lull him into a sense of confidence with Ruby that he really shouldn’t have.