Chapter 7 (cont.)
THE SHEIK AND THE VIXENMaybe it was empathy for the poor women stuck in their stifling abbas that prompted Sora to deliberately flout custom by sunbathing on the rooftop clad in a thong bikini for hours.
Only an occasional hawk soared overhead. That took away all the pleasure of breaking the rules. She might have enjoyed upsetting the equilibrium of one particular pilot. She was not given the opportunity to do so. No helicopters returned during her sojourn on the rooftop.
At noon, she retreated indoors. Though she tanned well, it was folly to risk sun burn. Ali proved to be a resourceful man for a stranded foreign woman could possibly found. Sora was desperately short of clothing. He graciously offered to send a servant to market to fetch anything she desired. Sora promptly accepted the offer and made a lengthy list. The young servant, Maari promised to fill the list as completely as possible.
Deviously, Sora was specific in her request, asking for curious weaves and embroideries, good samples of local garments. She claimed she couldn’t go home from a foreign country without presents for her mother, two sisters and two older brothers. All the while, she knew native clothing would make less conspicuous.
That left her only one or two more crucial problems to solve the way to independence and freedom. The first and foremost was money. She had to have Saudi money.
Ther next hurdle was to figure out where in the desert the base was. She knew it was north of Anaiza, north toward the Iraqi border in the Summan. She was excellent with directions, but she needed to see a map. What she really thought she needed was a trip into the sheik’s study.
There were several indications that the residence had every accoutrement imaginable, including a satellite communications dish on the roof. After midday, the sheik’s household shut down completely. Watching
from the roof, Sora saw the guards at the gate slip inside shaded shelter. The gardeners retreated. Even the dogs slunk under shady protuberances to escape the assaulting midday heat.
Satisfied that there was less chances to be caught now than at any other time, Sora darted inside her bedroom and hastily pulled on a simple blouse too short to tuck into her wrap-around ankle-length native skirt.
The shirt was a poor fit, hugging her broad shoulders too tightly, its sleeves too short for her long arms. She pushed her sleeves up to her elbows and shrugged over the gauzy fabric. It would have to do. She couldn’t waste time.
Thus robed, Sora struck off in search of the sheik’s private rooms. She already knew the layout of the most obvious rooms, having thoroughly explored those during the night. She had not explored the east wing of the complex, since two sinister men had lingered near that entry door last night. Now, nowhere, there was not a soul about.
Sora knew she’d struck pay dirt when she entered a sombre, dark formal hall. Two rows of tapestry-covered chairs faced one another across a breathtakingly intricate Persian carpet. Huge doors at the side were firmly closed to block out the midday heat. Sora scooted across the length of the room to the next set of interior doors.
So sooner did she poke her head round that door than the growl of a very large, dangerous-sounding dog made her still.
“Heel, Ouasyr,” a voice beyond the door commanded.
Sora opened her eyes wide, looking. She saw the dog, a hairy brute that gave new meaning to the word ugly.
Comments