The Sheik Retold(73)

"My abductor?" I said. "He was a vile brute named Sheik Ibraheim Omair."

"Omair, you say?" His gaze suddenly narrowed on me with a disconcerting intensity. "By all reports, he is dead these three weeks or more."

"Yes. He is," I agreed. "There was a raid by a rival tribe. It is how I managed to secure my release." I shuddered in genuine remembrance of the night, but the tale that followed was as much fabricated as it was expurgated. "It was a nightmare, Monsieur le Generale. I am only glad it is over."

"How fortunate for you was the presence of this French nobleman in the raiding sheik's camp."

"Yes. It was a stroke of luck, monsieur. He is a man of considerable influence who secured my release and then escorted me safely to one of my countrymen in—"

"He must be commended, this gentleman. Who was it, mademoiselle?"

I knew the closer I stayed to the truth, the stronger my story would be. "It was the Vicomte Saint Hubert. Perhaps you have heard of him?"

His bushy brows mashed together. "Indeed I have. He is a known sympathizer of a dangerous man named Ben Hassan, a most destabilizing force in these parts."

Damn! I had said too much! But how could I have known? Sensing danger for my sheik, I once more held to half-truths. "Then you should be pleased to know that Ben Hassan also perished in the raid, felled by a knife to the back."

"And his followers?"

I gave a careless shrug. "Undoubtedly dispersed in the desert. What do I care, monsieur? I only desire to leave it all behind me."

"You say the Vicomte Saint Hubert rescued you during the raid? Where did he take you, mademoiselle? Where was this camp of his?"

I was treading on perilous ground.

"I could not say, monsieur. The Sahara is such a vast wasteland."

"Yet we must conduct inquiries," he persisted. "Surely given your two months in the desert, you must recall something of your surroundings. But then again, you have been through a great shock that has no doubt distressed your mind. Perhaps given sufficient time…you will remember more details."

"What do you mean? You intend to hold me?" I cried out in disbelief.

"You are no prisoner, but I must insist that you prolong your stay until we have conducted a proper search for this radical. You will be my most-honored guest until an expedition can be organized. "

"But Ben Hassan is dead!" I insisted.

"Sadly, your word is insufficient proof, mademoiselle. The leader of the insurgents must be located and put down. The security of this country depends upon it. I have my orders to find Ben Hassan, dead or alive. You have seen him, ergo, you can identify him. I will leave no stone unturned until I have located either the man…or his corpse…preferably the latter."

"Don't you understand? I have only just escaped captivity! I refuse to be your prisoner!"

He did not believe me. Somehow I must alleviate his mistrust. I had to convince him of my cooperation. I scrambled for anything that might cast off his growing suspicions. I thought of the desolate place where Gaston and I had been attacked.

"There was a small oasis near to the camp," I said, "a place with three broken palms that the Arabs believe is cursed. As you know, they are a ludicrously superstitious race."

He sneered his agreement. "They have the simple minds of infants, these people. Would you recognize this place?"

"Assuredly, monsieur." It was close enough to Omair's former camp to be believable but still far enough from Ahmed that his sentries would be able to give advance warning of any French attack.

"Bon." He smiled. "Then you will accompany the troops back to this place."

Moments later, I left the governor-general's office under armed guard and a haze of disbelief. For the second time, I had leaped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

***

"I cannot believe this! It's-it's simply untenable," I retorted.

Jim shook his head in mild chastisement. "If you had only let me handle this, you might have been on your way to Paris by now."

I paced the Persian carpet that adorned my luxurious prison. It was on the third story of the governor's mansion, accessible only by a single staircase where armed guards kept constant vigil. The furnishings were opulent, the walls were covered with colorful patches of mosaic delft from Italy and Tunisia, and the stone floors were Italianate in origin. I presumed my chambers were part of the former seraglio that housed the wives and concubines of the Bey of Algiers.

"You were right. I should have let you handle it, but sometimes my stubborn pride gets the best of me."

I heaved a great sigh and looked out over the exotic landscaped terrace, but the perfume of desert blooms was anything but soothing to my senses. From my lofty vantage point, I could see the open desert in the far horizon. I wondered where Ahmed was. I wondered if he thought of me at all or if he had dismissed me from his mind forever. "What do you think they will do?" I asked.

"From a military standpoint? There is no question. The governor will seek out and summarily execute the chief architect of insurrection before he has a full-blown revolution on his hands. The natives' unrest has been brewing for years here and only had need of a strong leader. It appears they now have one."

Ahmed. A freedom fighter?