Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Noah stopped the motorcar, cursing at the fuel gauge. They’d have to walk. After coasting on fumes for two miles, the engine had sputtered its way into silence.
Stephen leaned forward from the back seat. “Your escape plan seems to be riddled with problems, Benson. Or had you planned a suicide mission?”
Jack sighed impatiently and exchanged a look with Noah. His meaning was clear enough. Despite Noah’s complete loathing of Fisher, something more existed in Jack’s dislike of him: an intolerance of his arrogance. Jack had once described Fisher as “the most punch-able man I’ve ever met.”
Noah placed his hands on the steering wheel.
The plan. The plan had never included stumbling across Stephen in Jerusalem.
And ever since he had, Stephen’s presence had complicated everything.
He wouldn’t dare take Stephen to Fahad and Nasira’s home.
And finding his way to Baghdad to speak to Gertrude Bell with Stephen in tow was also an impossibility.
He had to go to Cairo. But first he’d need to wire Lord Helton—or, better yet, make a telephone call—and ask him what the hell Helton wanted him to do with Stephen.
If Stephen hadn’t been a target of such importance, Noah wouldn’t have thought twice about simply shooting him and leaving the burden of transporting him behind. But Stephen had valuable intelligence to offer—more so now that he’d spent the last five months working with the Germans and the Turks.
Noah couldn’t let his feelings for Ginger, or his own personal hatred toward Fisher, impede what was best for the British. And yet, each time he had to choose the good of others, it became more difficult.
Their best bet to avoid the Turks was by boat to a larger naval vessel and then to Port Said or Alexandria.
But who knew when and where they’d find a ship?
Naval support had been ordered near Jaffa, just south of Jerusalem, to aid with the battle up the coast. But he couldn’t very well row that way and simply hope for the best.
And they’d left most of their weapons and supplies in Jerusalem.
The sunrise bloomed, the red streaks across the sky like fingers of an angered sun that was displeased at being woken. A trek through the Judean desert had not been in any plan.
“We’ll have to walk. Get camels in the next village.” Noah’s tone was curt as he shed the wig and dropped it onto the front seat. He wouldn’t allow Stephen to bait him. The provocative gleam in Stephen’s eyes showed he intended to be like a burr in his boots.
Jack had disposed of the burqa and fashioned a headdress for himself out of a handkerchief. “To Beersheba?”
“That seems the best option.” Noah opened the car door and stepped onto the rough desert ground.
The wheels had bumped and jostled as they’d gone off the road held by the Turks, which had slowed their journey.
He set his hands on the top of the car and looked back.
They’d passed Bethlehem a short time ago.
Even from here, he could see the signs of a village in the distance.
Stephen climbed out behind him. “Seems ironic.” His light-blond hair had grown white in the summer sun. “The last time I saw you was very near Beersheba.” He gave Noah a piercing look. “Just how is Ginny?”
Noah’s fingers curled into fists. It would take a miracle to prevent him from striking Stephen at some point in this journey. Then again, you never promised to deliver him unharmed.
Jack climbed out and removed a bag from the back seat. The only drinking water they had was in it. He still said nothing, uncharacteristically. No doubt Jack was waiting until they could speak without Stephen listening.
Noah turned toward Stephen, stared him down. “What’s your plan, Fisher? Why return to Cairo now? You’re likely to be executed for treason.”
“Perhaps.” In his German uniform, Stephen looked thinner than Noah remembered, his face gaunt.
Could it be possible that he’d grown tired of being on the run?
The thought left Noah as quickly as it’d come. Stephen would never simply give up. He did nothing without an ulterior motive.
The sharp sting of an insect bite distracted him and he jerked his arm up, knocking away a fly drawn by the scent of blood on his arms. When he’d been in the desert in early September, several of his travel companions had contracted sandfly fever. He didn’t want to replicate their experience.
“Hand me a canteen.” Noah went around to the other side and held out his hand to Jack, who obliged.
He poured some into his cupped hand, then rinsed the dried blood from his arms as best he could. After capping the canteen, he handed it to Jack. Jack looked at Stephen, who watched them from the car, then dragged Noah in the opposite direction.
When they’d moved several paces away, Jack said, “Are we really taking Fisher back with us?”
“I don’t see what choice we have.” Noah leveled his gaze at Stephen and then glanced back at Jack’s skeptical expression. “He’s kept his word thus far. I can’t see why he’d help us leave Jerusalem and then not allow us to get back to Cairo.”
“I can think of a bunch of reasons. Starting with the fact that he could lead us into some bigger trap.” Jack yawned.
“It doesn’t help that I’m exhausted and my head is killing me because I haven’t had a decent cup of coffee for over a day.
But I’m serious, Noah. I’m just getting a terrible feeling about this. ”
“So am I.” The morning’s soft bluish light had replaced the bright colors of sunrise. “But I’m also uncertain where my personal feelings about the matter end and the wisest course of action should begin.”
“Spoken like a true Brit.” Jack handled the butt of his pistol that jutted out from the holster at his side. “The Yankee in me wants to smack some sense into you. We can’t trust this guy. We don’t trust him. And it feels like we made a deal with the devil.”
Noah gave him an impatient look, rolling his head, his neck stiff. Jack was simply echoing his own fears, but he didn’t know what other option he had. “What would you do differently?” His voice was more clipped than he intended it to be.
“Other than put a bullet in him and claim it was an accident”—the muscles in Jack’s temples moved as he ground his teeth—“I have no idea.”
“Gentlemen, it occurs to me to offer my services to you once more.” Stephen ambled toward them. “The Turks haven’t yet abandoned their posts, but I believe the British Army isn’t far, correct?”
He was right. A division of soldiers had been ordered to take the road to Jerusalem via Hebron and Bethlehem, but they hadn’t broken through the Turkish line yet.
Not that Stephen knew the details of the British orders.
But, at this point, neither did Noah. While he remained behind the line and cut off from his contacts, Noah’s intelligence was three days old at best.
“And how do you propose to help us?” Noah’s gaze followed a black bird in flight overhead. Despite the sun, the clouds that were gathering in the sky were thick, threatening rain later.
“Instead of you having me tied up, you might take the role of my prisoners. I could get us as far as Hebron and then through the line. No one would have any reason to suspect me. But they will suspect this.” Stephen lifted his hands.
Jack laughed contemptuously. “I’m never letting you tie me up again, Fisher.
” Then he pointed toward the distant village.
“I think we’ll find help in the Ta’amira tribe.
Even camels. No way in hell I’m heading straight from the frying pan to the flames with your hands free to throw logs on the fire. ”
Stephen’s expression was remarkably void of contempt. He turned toward Noah. “And you?”
His implication was Jack and Noah were not of one mind. Stephen knew how to use division to manipulate. Noah tilted his chin, then offered an unflappable answer. “Jack’s more of an expert in the tribes than I am. I trust him implicitly.”
Stephen started toward the village. “My intention is to cooperate. You do as you choose.”
As a Bedouin tribesman helped outfit the camels they’d purchased, Noah searched the surrounding area for Jack.
He’d gone to fill the canteens at the well, toward the center of the hill bearing tented dwellings.
A few scraggly olive trees stood out from the brush.
Camels lazed near a crumbling wall beside Noah.
The tribesman watched Noah with a wary eye, hands resting on his rifle.
Nearby, Stephen sat on the ground, his legs in front of him, his uniform hat now in his bound hands. He thumbed the brim, gripping it.
“Noah—run!” Jack’s shout came from the distance, followed by an unexpected crack of gunfire. Noah whirled around, looking for the source, and the Bedouin man crouched down by the camel nearest to him.
The silence that followed was even more deafening. Noah’s pulse raced, his breath hard against the dust-covered stone. He pressed his forehead down, pulling his gun out. The cool metal rested against his cheek as he lifted it, looking once more over the ridge.
“Jack?” he called out.
A shot cracked right past him, ricocheting off the stone and sending a spray of pebbles and sand on his head and into his eyes. He blinked it out rapidly, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. Jack didn’t answer.
Stephen was gone.
Swearing in a low growl, Noah attempted to move further back against the wall, but the slightest movement prompted another shot in his direction and more dust. His eardrums screamed as though a shrill bell was inside them. The earthy scents of the nearby camels and their dung seemed heightened.
Where the hell was Jack?
The Bedouin man was still hiding behind the camel. “Where did the German go?” Noah asked in Arabic.
The man didn’t respond.
God damn it all. He never should have given Stephen even the slightest sense of his lack of command. Who was helping him?
Noah dropped to his stomach and crawled low to the ground. The earth was rough against his face, and the robe he wore cumbersome.
The soft creak of a leather boot sounded behind him, then a footstep.
Noah stiffened.
An intense ache, quick and blunt, jolted the back of his head. Then blackness enclosed him.