Desert Rogue. Erin Yorke
removed from the most frequented trails across the desert, this small haven of shade and water had seen no arrivals since they’d begun their vigil in late afternoon. Clearly the kidnappers had known what they were doing when they chose it. Indeed, from what Jed could discern, they hadn’t even set a guard, though that didn’t mean a trap wasn’t laid within the oasis.
“Reed said we were to work together,” complained Ali. It was not that he wanted to venture into the camp himself, but he could not justify Jed’s acting alone, nor could he trust the dangerous gleam lighting his companion’s eyes.
“Reed is an unqualified jackass,” answered Jed, hard put to respect even those of legitimate authority. While there was the smallest chance of success, he could not let it pass. “Look at it this way, Sharouk, if it is a trap and we go in together, who will be left to report what happened to Hayden Reed?”
“But if they think you are alone—”
“They may be careless and give me the chance to save the girl and the money—”
“No! You swore you were not going to try that,” protested Ali, jumping up and pulling his knife. “I will cut you myself before the others have a chance if you are so foolhardy as to risk our lives so you can be a hero—”
“All right, all right. No heroics, but I am going in alone to deliver the money.”
“Why you? I am perfectly capable of doing as Reed ordered, handing over the English pounds while you sit here with the flies buzzing in your ear and the fleas biting at your—”
“I give the orders, damn it! Don’t you know the only reason Reed sent you was to prevent me from taking off with the cash? Regardless of your fine opinion of yourself, you’re nothing but a glorified watchdog.”
“And you would trust such a lowly dog to guard your back? How do you know I won’t put a knife in it instead?” challenged the Egyptian. Had he known what his brass coffee set would cost him, he would have long ago forgone its price.
“You’re too blasted concerned with your good name and your shop to do anything so disreputable, which is what got you into this fix in the first place. Besides, if you ever thought to cross me, I would sense it and you’d never live long enough to make your plans a reality. Stop your complaining and listen,” ordered the American. “If you hear trouble, come in fast, ready to toss that knife.”
“If I don’t hear trouble, you mean. Death in the desert is swift and silent,” warned Ali grudgingly.
Nodding at the advice, Jed slung the money pouch over his shoulder and moved stealthily through the darkness, determined to see what he could before he himself was seen.
A thousand yards from where Ali waited, a single man sat by a small campfire, smoking and drinking from a jug. The low tent behind him had a lantern shining within, so doubtless there was at least one more kidnapper around. The only question remaining was whether or not Victoria Shaw was at the oasis, as well. In all likelihood, they were holding her elsewhere, but Jed couldn’t afford to risk the young woman’s life on a miscalculation. In truth, he was surprised at the concern he felt for this female he’d never set eyes on, but given her attachment to Hayden Reed, she surely deserved his sympathy, if not his condolences.
He had to admit that as Ali suspected, he would like nothing better than to return the money and Reed’s fiancée unharmed, just for the satisfaction of making the Englishman apologize.
Hesitating in the inky shadows, Jed weighed his options. If he did rush the camp, he might take them by surprise, but that would count for nothing should he be greatly outnumbered. Then, too, he had promised Sharouk not to give in to heroics, no matter how tempting it might be. Instead, he would learn what he could before he surrendered the ransom. But, if he stood here much longer, nothing would ever happen. The American secreted the money bag beneath his shirt and stood up.
“Salam habib. Greetings, friend, could you spare a smoke?” he called, strolling casually into the light of the campfire. “I find myself fresh out of my brand.”
The Arab was on his feet at once, calling for help even as Jed raised his hands in the air and gave a short chuckle.
“Stepped into a viper’s nest, have I, then? Well, let me assure you, this American doesn’t intend any harm,” he drawled, deciding he would learn more feigning ignorance of Arabic than speaking it. “You got somebody around who knows English?”
“Amerikani, are you?” asked a voice from the open tent where a second man stood watching, a rifle ready as he moved forward to confront the stranger. “Far from home, wouldn’t you say?”
“I can’t deny it, but then you haven’t met my missus,” Jed lied jokingly, noting the modern weapon was expertly handled by the Arab, despite his unsophisticated appearance. “The farther I am from that woman, the better I like it. I don’t suppose you have a more accommodating female around here? I’d pay well.”
For a moment the Arab’s eyes narrowed as he considered whether the dusty, unkempt male before him might be the Shaws’ messenger. Then he shook his head at the improbability of it. No lone man would be so bold as to blithely step into his enemies’ camp. No, this was only some eccentric American who would be dead before he left the desert.
“I’m afraid not, but if you want to share a drink or two, I’ve some zabeeb you might enjoy,” he offered, motioning the other to relax his guard. “Hammud’s the name.”
“Jed Kincaid. My horse turned up lame a few miles out and I had no choice but to shoot her. Any chance you could spare one? I fear it’s a long way to the nearest village.”
“There again I’ll have to disappoint you, American. Once we have concluded our business, we head to Khartoum. We only have horses for ourselves,” explained the Sudanese, pouring liberal tots of the native liquor.
“Khartoum? What’s down there?” Jed pressed, playing with his drink as he watched the others empty their cups in short order. “Other than miles and miles of savannah, I mean?”
“He wants to know why we go to Khartoum,” the leader translated for his cohort.
“High prices for blond English women,” snickered the guard in Arabic. “Zobeir pays well.”
“Yes, and he’s shrewd, too. While we keep the ransom for our efforts, he’ll sell the girl and line his pockets,” reminded Hammud, his caution gone as he refilled their glasses.
“It’s just too bad we couldn’t have enjoyed the merchandise before the bill was paid,” complained his associate. “But our job was to be here while Farouk and the kidnappers took the girl to Khartoum.”
“We trade there,” said Hammud, reverting to English. Dealing in white slavery was a serious matter and he belatedly remembered he must take all possible precautions not to be caught. Still, if the American had understood what they’d said, he would have reacted. “What’s your business in the desert?”
“I’m looking for Victoria Shaw,” Jed answered calmly, grabbing the rifle from where it rested against the tent and turning it on the unresisting kidnappers.
“That’s unfortunate,” announced another man from behind him. “She’s not here, and you are about to be very sorry you are.”
Even as Jed wheeled around and fired, a knife whizzed through the still night air, moonlight glinting off its silver blade as it aimed straight for Jed’s heart. Hearing the two Sudanese chuckle as it embedded itself in his chest, Jed turned to direct a bullet at one of them as their compatriot fell in his tracks, victim of the first shot.
Pulling the knife from where its point had landed smack in the depths of that tightly packed wad of British notes resting against his chest, Jed threw it at the last man, now brandishing a scimitar. The American’s aim, as always, was true.
“Kincaid, you need help?” called Ali, stepping out of the darkness.
“See