Grains of Truth (33 page)

“War accomplishes nothing. Nothing but death and destruction. History teaches that lesson repeatedly, but those in power refuse to learn it. You soldiers follow orders and perpetuate the cycle of violence. Over and over and over again. That’s what puts innocent people like Julia in danger. And gets them killed.”

With a strangled gasp, her fists suddenly uncurled and fell to her side as she hung her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

Alex, incapable of a clear-headed response, could only stare.

Seconds ticked by before she looked up and went on, clearly making an effort at self-control. “You may not like the fact that I’m here, but let me tell you something: I know Julia. I know how she thinks and the kinds of things she’s likely to do. That knowledge might make the difference in whether she lives or dies. And I’ll tell you something else. She’s a lot tougher and a lot smarter than you think. Under that soft layer of generosity of spirit lies a solid core of iron will. Once she makes up her mind to do something, she doesn’t rest until it’s done.

“She will not surrender to those murdering bastards. She will not!”

Chapter 38

The sack still covered Julia’s head beneath the burqa, but at least she was free of the suffocating gag. For now. As long as she remained silent she might avoid that extra element of torment. When the boat reached shore, after what seemed endless hours on the open water, they herded her along and once again guided her into a back seat.

She wiggled across it in an attempt to untangle the cumbersome robes and, in the process, found herself the sole occupant. Occasionally, she heard low voices exchange a few words up in front. By listening intently, she made out that there were still only two of them. They always spoke in Arabic, so she couldn’t guess what was said, able to understand only a few basic words.

But she knew exactly where they were.  

On her last trip to Egypt, while Julia waited in vain for Mohamed to make up his mind about their relationship, she ventured out on her own to explore the Sinai Peninsula. Bravely taking on the midnight climb to the top of Mt. Sinai formed one of the highlights of her time spent here.

The climb started at St. Catherine’s Monastery, already at four-thousand feet above sea level, with the additional four-thousand foot ascent done at night to avoid the ruthlessness of the sun. A breathtaking meteor shower that night provided spectacular entertainment during the difficult climb.

Breaking dawn on the precipice where Moses was said to have received the Tablets carved with the Ten Commandments was a memory that would remain with her always. Sculptured red mountains spread out into eternity beneath misty shades of blue-gray sky that created stunning, shifting patterns in the growing golden light. A truly mystical experience.

The descent, much easier in the light of day, brought her, along with other newly-inspired travelers, back to tour St. Catherine’s, the legendary home of the biblical burning bush. A small enclave of Eastern Orthodox monks still inhabited the remote monastery, with its world-renowned scholars’ library and carefully-tended surrounding gardens.

Her captors stopped briefly along the road after leaving the wharf. As her veils were lifted for a drink of water, she glimpsed a sign, in English as well as Arabic, with directions to St. Catherine’s.

They’d crossed the gulf to Sinai. She’d suspected as much. After driving for a while, they slowed to a stop. Both front doors opened then slammed shut. The door beside her creaked open. She heard two men speaking in a heated debate nearby as someone led her into a building and up a flight of stairs.

Gentle hands, the same as before, removed the burqa and untied her wrists before leading her to a chair. When he lifted the sack from her head, the voluminous black robe remained the only encumbrance. This welcome reprieve lessened her fright, if only a fraction. Fingers of daylight crept around the edges of closed shutters, providing the only illumination in the dim room. He addressed the first words to her since their arrival. 

“You have done very well, thus far, Madame Julia. Continue to do so and you will live to see another dawn. We are in the house of a friend where we will take food and rest. Please do not entertain any foolish ideas. A guard will be posted outside your door.”

As he spoke, he moved across the room to open the shutters. A heavy wrought-iron screen covered the window. When he turned back to face her, daylight illuminated his knowing smile. A sharp intake of breath betrayed her shock at his handsome, aristocratic face.

This was the face of a hero of legends—not a murdering terrorist.

Fathomless, dark, beautiful eyes, lushly fringed with sable lashes, full of mockery, regarded her with unmistakable understanding of her thoughts.

“You may call me Ahmed. I will bring what you need to refresh yourself.”

Disconcerted, Julia continued to sit on the straight-backed chair until he returned a few minutes later. He placed a wicker basket on the neat cotton spread of the bed and a pitcher of water on an antique dresser that had seen finer days.

“Make yourself comfortable. There will be food soon.” The lock on the door clicked behind him.

With a sigh, she rose and went to the bed. Her hand was steady enough as she removed items from the basket: a pair of clean khaki pants and shirt, a hairbrush, toothbrush and toothpaste, and a jar of moisturizer. Tears sprang into her tired eyes, red from the blowing sand in the hot air that penetrated everything, even the layers of cloth that covered her. It was the moisturizer that did it. What kind of man was this? A man who could be this gentle, this thoughtful and considerate, while plotting the deaths of thousands—possibly millions—of innocent people?

A new fear seized Julia with sharp, piercing talons. Her fingers sprang apart, dropping the jar like a burning coal.

He had shown his face.

Mohamed’s description of his nasty encounter with this man came back to haunt her. He had shown his face. What did that mean for her?

When the whirling, sickening panic subsided, a wave of potent determination mercifully followed. She shoved the straight-backed chair under the doorknob and swiftly removed the robe. Her reflection in the cloudy, cracked mirror above the dresser gave her quite a start.

The once elegant cocktail dress, now torn and smudged with dark grease stains, hung like a feed sack. Somehow, the silk scarf still draped around her neck had survived relatively unscathed. She stroked it as if it were an old friend. It was an old friend. Sarah gave it to her for her last “significant” birthday.

This positive psychological connection brought with it a forceful surge of energy. Julia stripped off the dress, gave it a last look of reluctant regret before tossing it aside. She unwound the scarf from her neck, wrapped it around her bare waist, and gave the talisman a final loving stroke before drawing on the clean, crisp pants.

Whatever lay ahead, she would be ready.

Chapter 39

Henrietta stood rigidly on the wharf, looking with unadulterated dismay at the boat. Henry tucked her arm firmly in his own and pronounced with a confidence she felt certain he didn’t feel, “We’ll be all right, dear. The captain says he makes the trip frequently and has yet to capsize.”

“Yes,” said Mohamed, positioned a few feet away with legs spread apart and arms folded across his chest, reminiscent of a forbidding pharaoh. “This boat has no doubt made the trip many times over the past few thousand years.”

It looked as though it had. A peculiar looking craft, kind of a cross between a barge and a felucca, its wooden beams moaned as the crew shouted orders at each other while scurrying around the deck in all directions. The other members of the group came together with fascinated apprehension as one of the barefoot youths jumped behind the wheel of the van. He gunned the engine before heading—with alarming speed—toward the skinny planks of wood, apparently meant to serve as a ramp.

“I hope we maxed on the insurance,” murmured Linda to no one in particular.

They held their collective breath as the weighty vehicle, with luggage still piled precariously on the roof, rolled down the ramp onto the boat’s narrow deck. The scene reminded Henrietta of a caricature of an “exotic” vacation. All the men on deck waved their arms and shouted out instructions at the driver, whose face shone with excitement. He ignored them completely, coming to a squealing stop less than an inch away from mowing down the mast.

Everyone applauded the successful loading, especially the audience on shore. The captain frowned his approval and signaled them to come aboard.

“Well, I’ve had a long and happy life,” sighed Henrietta as she clung to Henry’s arm and started resignedly down the ramp. “I suppose it would be wishful thinking to imagine there might be lifejackets. I’ve never been especially fond of water sports.”

Her comrades-in-arms laughed, one or two in a higher than usual pitch. With everyone on board, the ragged ropes flew from their iron railings on the equally decaying wharf, releasing the craft out into the crystal clear, blue-green Gulf. Under any other circumstance, this might be construed as an exciting experience, an adventure.

Wind gusted into the patched rusty-red sail that rushed up the weathered mast, lending a helping hand to the engine laboring beneath the deck. The trip across the Gulf of Suez would take three hours, more or less, Mohamed told them. Depending. No one needed to ask what he meant by that disclaimer.

“I suggest we all try to get some sleep,” said Alex. Team L had already gone to a pile of blankets heaped on the deck. Henry bent over to hand a couple of them to Henrietta and she, in turn, passed them to Linda, smiling as she patted her arm. Once everyone was provided with the basic means of comfort, the elderly couple lay down, spooning on a nest of blankets, and closed weary eyes.

Mohamed gravitated to the bow, staring out across the water in the direction of their destination on the eastern horizon. Brad signaled wordlessly to Alex and they moved toward the stern, with Linda close behind. 

Sarah leaned against the rail, her unruly blonde curls dancing in the sea breeze. For the first time since arriving in Aswan, she allowed her thoughts to drift from the desperate circumstances she’d stumbled into. She felt sure they were on the right track. And had confidence in the abilities of these new-found friends to accomplish their mission. She simply would not allow herself to think otherwise. Pessimism was not in her nature. What now concerned her was the situation regarding Alexander Bryant and Mohamed.  

She now fully understood, after meeting the attractive and enigmatic Egyptian, Julia’s obsession with him. He presented an irresistible combination: that of a man-child, sparking a compelling appeal to his undeniable charm with a simultaneous desire to relieve his burdens. This would have been impossible for Julia to resist. Her need to be needed was, undoubtedly, a huge part of the merciless attraction. Julia always picked up strays. Not that he was that—but he was definitely a man in need. Not to mention unavailable, another perverse psychological anomaly.

He’d changed his mind several times over making a real commitment: The man in him postponed their marriage, while the child refused to let her go. Sarah shook her head with compassionate regret as she glanced over at his profile, where he stood motionless and brooding in the dazzling sun.

The military man posed another problem altogether. True, he represented the antithesis of all that she and Julia had fought for all these years; but she had to admit he had undeniable allure. No way could Julia have been completely immune to that. He was a sexy man: intelligent, tough and confident, with an aura of strength that gave the impression one would always be safe in the circle of his care.

Except that Julia was not safe. To be honest, she had only herself to blame for that. Damn her hide! What the hell possessed her to leave the hotel grounds? She planned to have a nice chat with Madame Julia when she saw her next.

Sarah couldn’t suppress the grin that sprang to her lips at the thought of that reunion. Julia would be flabbergasted, to say the least, at the unexpected sight of her “comrade-without-arms” in the midst of this fiasco. But Sarah had felt not one second of uncertainty about traipsing thousands of miles after her imprudent friend. Had their positions been reversed, Julia would’ve done exactly the same.

Sarah’s faith in the people responsible for this catastrophe was minimal, at best.

It was a huge relief to find Alex and the Langleys with Mohamed in Aswan. Between the seven of them, surely they would save Julia.

They just had to.

Chapter 40

The petite, wiry woman removed a dirty, limp hat from her closely cropped graying hair and wiped sweat from her brow with a shirt sleeve. Reluctantly, she called out to her reis in charge of the dig.

“Ragaa! We must stop for the day.” She would normally have pushed the workmen and gone on right up until dark. Archeological fever always charged her with an intense energy the minute she returned to the site each year. She had excavated here for the past four years now and felt much more at home on the dig than in her native Paris. A dedicated Egyptologist and leader in the field, Mariette Chatillon had already published one book on her discoveries at the remote site in the mountains of the Sinai. The promising finds would provide material for at least one more.