Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jack
The sheikh clearly didn’t trust Noah and Fahad—that much was clear.
The last one hundred yards of road to his home was lined with men faithful to him, all holding rifles.
They must have assembled the moment they’d realized Noah was on his way.
A tethered goat bleated from the shade of a low mud wall, the rope tugging taut as if it too wanted distance from the line of rifles, unwilling to be caught between the sheikh’s men and their targets.
Still, Noah and Jack walked with heads held high, side by side, this time in their Western clothes. Noah had insisted Fahad stay home, for his own safety. He’d already risked enough.
The air shimmered in the sunset, and a thin haze of dust kicked up with each of their steps. Eerie silence echoed beyond the mud-brick walls, as if the nearby village held its breath, watching their approach.
One of the sheikh’s men stepped forward as the dusty road opened toward the diwan, shifting the weight of his rifle so the barrel angled not quite at them but close enough for Jack to notice how easily a twitch could change that.
The man stopped them, palm out, his gaze unfriendly. “Your names?” he snapped in Arabic.
“Noah Benson and Jack Darby,” Noah replied, his eyes fixed on the barrel of a rifle of the sheikh’s man nearest to them. He hadn’t aimed it—yet. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t.
“Sheikh Omar says you are not welcome here,” the man responded in a gruff voice.
“Ask him to reconsider. Tell him I’m the brother of one of the American women he hid here a few months ago,” Jack said in a low voice. Noah had told him about the help the sheikh had given to Alice and Kit. Maybe that would be a start.
The man nodded, then left, striding across the dusty courtyard toward the diwan. A chicken clucked and scampered out of his way as he walked. Then two of the other men stepped in front of him and Noah, blocking their view of the diwan and the sheikh watching from the shadows.
“Just what the hell did you do to make him hate you so much?” Jack muttered to Noah.
Noah grimaced. “In addition to lying to him, I also killed Clive Hower and another Blackwell operative when they caught me questioning the sheikh’s servant boy. I left the bodies for the villagers to deal with, and I think somehow they didn’t appreciate that.”
“Were they British?”
Noah nodded.
Ooof. No, the sheikh wouldn’t have liked that at all. It made the villagers complicit in hiding the murder of two British citizens. Who knew what the consequences of that could be if the British authorities found out.
“You could have mentioned that sooner, you know.”
“I had to deal with the damned car. Bodies are much easier to burn by comparison.”
“You’re a real hero.” Jack sighed. “Whatever happened to letting our enemies live another day? Being the better person?”
“I did. We both did. And we only lived to regret it. Those days are over. Someone threatens my family now and they won’t be long for this earth.”
The fading light of the day gave an ominous timbre to Noah’s words. But Jack couldn’t say he blamed Noah either. How many times while dealing with Stephen Fisher had they told each other that they wished they’d killed him when they had the chance?
For that matter, how many times had Jack wished he’d done the same with Prescott Federline?
Maybe it was how society defined them as good men—not striking preemptively—but knowing what he knew now, knowing how many lives Prescott had damaged, including Jack’s own life …
was it really wrong to wish he’d been wise enough to eliminate the threat before it realized?
Jack didn’t have an answer for that. But he didn’t judge Noah for killing Hower, either.
The crunch of footsteps alerted him to the approach of the sheikh’s man.
Jack looked up as the men blocking his view stepped to the side, revealing not the man but the sheikh himself.
He scrutinized Noah, not bothering to glance at Jack.
“Noah Benson,” he said, continuing in Arabic, “not Yusef Karim? Or a British officer?”
Noah shook his head. “I’m not here on behalf of the British,” he said, bowing his head. “And I’ve given my apology. But you should not hold Fahad to blame for my actions. He and his family are innocent.”
“We shall see. I do not easily forgive those who come to drink my coffee and accept my hospitality, all while lying to my face.” Sheikh Omar’s eyes flicked to Jack. “And you? You are this man’s friend?”
“Yes. And the brother of one of the American women you helped.”
“If you are this man’s friend, you are no friend of mine,” the sheikh said flatly, his gaze hard.
“I am this man’s friend,” Jack replied in Arabic. “He is my brother. But he is also a brother and friend to your people. He fought alongside them during the war, helping Faisal Hussein and aligning himself with the cause of a free land for all Arabs.”
The sheikh spat on the ground in front of Jack’s feet.
“He is British!” His eyes narrowed, and he peered closer at Jack.
“Many men make promises. Lie to us. The mayor of Jerusalem, Musa Kazim, lies dying in a bed, beaten by the clubs of British officers for daring to lead our people against the immigrants who would see us driven from our homes. Thirty people died the day Kazim fell. The blood of countless more ran through the streets.”
Jack caught the meaning clearly enough. The British nearly killed our leader for speaking out. You expect me to trust you now?
The sheikh’s words were impassioned, filled with the desperation of a man betrayed.
Jack had never envied the role the British had to play here as the authorities presiding over the Palestinian mandate, but he had to believe peace was possible.
That a solution might exist for all these warring factions to coexist. A people who lost hope for peace lost their humanity.
This man didn’t appear to be one without hope—not yet.
Jack had to use that to his advantage.
“I can’t pretend to understand what your people have been through, Sheikh, but I know you are not an extremist. If you were, you would not have hidden my sister. You would have allowed Sharif al-Rashid to find her.”
The sheikh flinched, his mouth opening and closing. His eyes narrowed, from Jack to Noah, then he gave a gruff nod to his men, gesturing for them to follow him to the diwan.
Noah exchanged a look with Jack. The guns hadn’t lowered yet, and they weren’t nearly out of danger or any closer to getting to Alice and Kit, but being invited to the threshold was an enormous step.
Once inside the diwan, the sheikh took his seat while Noah and Jack settled on pillows across from him. Only two of his men remained in the diwan with him—arms still at the ready—but the rest stayed outside.
“Tell me what you know of al-Rashid,” the sheikh demanded from Jack and Noah. No politeness here. No ceremonial coffee or greetings. All of that had been dispensed with.
Noah cleared his throat. “I believe al-Rashid may have made arrangements to see King Faisal meet his end, sooner than expected.”
The sheikh’s lips pursed. A few long, heavy moments passed, the air growing heavier with every heartbeat.
Then the sheikh said, “Al-Rashid came to me, over a year ago. He wanted my support. The Germans had promised him arms—arms we desperately need to defend ourselves.” He leaned toward Noah.
“Tell me, Yusef. Why should we not accept the arms of the men who promise to help us fight against the Zionists?”
Noah held his gaze, unblinking. “Because they hate you just as much as they hate the Zionists. They would see you kill each other and rid themselves of the trouble of having to do so.”
Jack couldn’t help himself. “And while you’re busy fighting, they’ll make their way into Iraq and steal Arab oil—which they need.”
The sheikh leaned back, looking from one man to the other.
Then he smiled. “Perhaps you are not so stupid as I believe.” He nodded.
“It was for this reason I rejected al-Rashid’s proposal.
For this reason that I helped your sister,” he said to Jack.
“But not because I believe in the promises of Western men.”
“You have every reason to distrust us, Sheikh. We wouldn’t trust you either, if we were in your position.
” Jack gave him a pleading look, watching the shadows deepen on the sheikh’s face as the sun dipped beyond the horizon.
“But all I want is to get my sister and the woman I love back and keep them safe. All I need is for you to tell the sisters at Talitha Komi to entrust them to me.”
The heavy sound of the sheikh’s breathing filled the space. He rubbed his hands together, skin meeting skin in a soft, rhythmic pattern. In the distance, an owl hooted, a reminder of wilderness amid civilization. “Call Salim,” the sheikh said to the man on his right.
The man left the diwan, his rifle creaking against his side as he walked. A few moments later, the man returned, a young boy trailing behind him.
“Salim, come here,” the sheikh said to the boy.
The boy hurried over, his bare feet whispering against the rug. He was small, with dust caked on his knees and a half-healed scrape along his cheek. His gaze stayed pinned to the floor, but Jack caught the flicker upward toward Noah, one filled with equal parts hope and fear.
Slowly, the sheikh stood, then set his hands on the boy’s shoulders. He looked straight at Noah. “You saved his life. By more than one witness’s account. For that reason, I will spare you and Fahad. But you will owe me a debt, Yusef.”
Relief flooded Jack, but he kept still, not daring to show it.
“So be it,” Noah said, offering the sheikh his hand.
The sheikh grasped him by the forearm and nodded. Then he flicked a gaze at Jack. “Meet us at the Talitha Komi orphanage, two hours past midnight. I will help you, Jack Darby.”
The sheikh’s men escorted them out, as quickly as they’d come.
The words should have felt like a victory, but as they stepped back into the cooling night, Jack couldn’t shake the feeling that “help” from the sheikh might cost more than he could pay. Rifles still tracked their movements until the gate shut behind them.