Taken by the Sheikh Read Online Free PDF Page A

in the fierce heat. He retrieved the stone from his pocket and ground it against the same tender place until the crust burst apart and it was bloodied again. Then he bent and buried the stone and his clippers deep in the sand. He smoothed the hole over—the wind would finish the concealment in a few minutes.
    With a silent prayer of thanks, he lurched the last dozen paces and staggered into the shade of the bunker. He overturned the wooden chair, dabbled his fingers against his brow, and smeared a patch of blood onto one of the legs.
    Hopefully that will fool them.
    He checked the melted knots in the orange rope and transferred a little blood onto them as well.
    Make it look as though she somehow struggled free.
    He collapsed onto the mattress and waited, desperate to drink, but knowing he must appear dazed and disoriented if his ruse was to be successful. Nazim and Fayez were wily and experienced campaigners; not easy to fool.
    An indeterminate time later he heard the van slide to a halt. He tensed as boots thudded down the steps. He had no idea how bad his head-wound looked; bad enough to be convincing, he hoped.
    Nazim was first to enter.
    “How was the American bitch? Is it worth us taking a turn?” His eyes darted swiftly around the half-dark bunker. “She got free? ”
    “Free but dead,” Rafiq croaked. “She can’t survive out there.”
    “You were too kind with your knots.”
    “I wanted her responsive—able to move for me a little.”
    “But she escaped?”
    “And hit me with that.”
    Fayez righted the chair, noting the dark blood.
    He bent and touched Rafiq’s wound. “Not too deep,” he said with little sympathy. He dropped his hands lower and ran them over Rafiq’s body, ostensibly to check for other injuries. Rafiq knew he was being searched.
    “Drink...” he groaned.
    Nazim handed him an orange juice but didn’t bother unscrewing it for him. Icy suspicion glittered in his eyes.
    “She grabbed a couple of bottles and ran for it,” Rafiq muttered. “Towards Akajar. I followed her prints for a while once I could. She’ll never make it. She’s dead for sure.”
    Fayez checked the drinks crate. Three juices now missing, the Coca Cola untouched. The numbers tallied.
    Rafiq struggled with the screw-cap. Fayez took pity on him and opened it. Rafiq practically inhaled the juice. Fayez handed him another.
    “The first tape is at the TV station?” Rafiq asked once he could speak more easily.
    “Into the drop-box, and the bell was rung as you instructed.”
    “Then we’ve succeeded. Now, all we have to do is wait for them to comply.”
    “And if we can’t produce the girl?”
    “You know they’ll take their time and try to negotiate. It’ll be a fortnight at least before we have to worry. It hasn’t been a problem before.” He smiled—blazing white teeth against dark skin. “Load the gear. We stay apart for the time being. Let’s go home. I want to see the TV news tonight.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
    Laurel jerked awake in full darkness to the solid thumping of an approaching helicopter. She struggled to a sitting position, and sat blinking and confused on a bed that wasn’t hers. The unfamiliar room was dimly lit from light that spilled in from the adjoining bathroom.
    Damn—not a weird dream then! I’m still here...
    A knock thudded on her planked door. Yasmina’s thin arm snaked in from the hallway and switched on the black iron chandelier.
    “Rafiq,” she said, coming further in and pointing to the sky.
    Laurel plainly still looked half-asleep because Yasmina whirled one hand to simulate helicopter rotors, and said again “Rafiq.”
    “Rafiq,” Laurel agreed, nodding furiously. She struggled off the bed and did her best to indicate she required her jeans and T-shirt. No way was she meeting the pig in a see-through robe and nothing else.
    Yasmina shook her head and mimed wringing out washing with her bony brown fists.
    Laurel clapped a hand to