"Sydney, there’s no airport here, but I’ve got a flight out, anyway. There’s an independent pilot ready to fly tonight, heading for Sid Ifri. He said he leaves at sundown, and if we’re not there, there won’t be a refund. We’ll have to take a camel caravan or catch one of two local buses, which may or may not leave sometime in the next week or two." Claudia announced the small miracle in the same nonchalant tone as if announcing a new color of nail polish.
Tonight... How could they possibly leave tonight?
In the two hours since Lloyd’s return, Sydney had all but paced a rut in the stone floor. Her eyes darted back and forth between Nigel and Lloyd, each man asleep after his ordeal with the Viper. She no longer pretended that she didn’t care. Each man was a part of her in his own way, each filling a gap in her heart that was uniquely his. She’d come so close to losing them, and realized in the process that she was not prepared to yield either of them to death.
"Thanks, Claudia." Sydney knew that her secretary deserved more than the halfhearted courtesy, but it wasn’t in her. She was exhausted, her body ached, her mind and heart were in turmoil. She probably needed sleep, herself. Of course, it wasn’t going to happen. Sundown didn’t give them much time.
Ironically, it was Claudia who did more to hold their little caravan together than anyone else. The blond secretary and Dr. Reynolds’ assistant, Amarja, already had everything packed and ready to go, even had a replacement passport for Nigel. There was no telling what had happened to the original document, given the erratic, hopscotch race across three continents.
Amarja... There was another mystery, if there was ever time to put the puzzle pieces together. Truth be told, Nigel hadn’t yet seen the girl who claimed to have slipped him the note, at the conference. She’d been elsewhere from the moment he returned. When was their encounter, anyway? A week ago? A month ago? A lifetime? The Indian woman could be a spy for the Viper, for all Sydney knew. Reynolds had an assistant, yes, but Syd didn’t know the assistant’s name, and thought the assistant in question was male. While there hadn’t been any other reason to doubt the girl’s veracity, right now everything and everyone had to be suspect. Their survival could well depend on it.
Sydney knelt beside Lloyd, resenting the fact that she would have to rouse him. "Lloyd?" she murmured, stroking his cheek. "Derek? We need to head out. You’ve got to wake up."
His response was a grunt and a nod. He pushed himself up slowly, painfully. A hot breeze flowed through the open window, tugging at his short brush of dark hair. Sydney noticed that he avoided her gaze, and she didn’t push it. Neither of them was ready to look too closely. She couldn’t handle his vulnerability right now.
Before she allowed herself to consider that evasion, she moved to Nigel. Tears welled up in her eyes at the dark circles surrounding the hollows of his closed eyes. Nigel’s vulnerability was another matter. He once said all he wanted was a nice little teaching job. He wasn’t a trained government agent in danger by choice. He was here because of her, because she’d drawn him into her quest. "Nigel," she whispered, leaning so her lips moved mere inches from his ear. He still hadn’t shaved off the dark beard, and his face was so thin he was barely recognizable. Much as she had with Lloyd, she stroked fingers over his cheek. "Nigel, wake up."
Nigel's eyes fluttered open and he gave her a wan smile. "Morning already?" he whispered back.
"Not exactly," she confessed. "Our plane leaves at sundown, with us or without us. It’s probably the best deal we’re going to get out of here."
"Then by all means, let’s go. The sooner we’re out of here, the better." He accepted the hand she offered to help him up. Yet somehow it seemed that he was helping her, his relative calm steadying her increasingly failing balance.
The knot of travelers met in the narrow hall mere moments later. Nigel’s eyes went wide when he saw the young Indian woman. "You?" he asked, frowning. "You’re all right?"
Amarja blinked. Having only met the Englishman once, briefly, she clearly didn’t recognize the horribly thin, bearded stranger. "Do I know you?" She took a step back, swallowing, her breath coming in short little puffs.
"I’m Nigel Bailey. We met at the conference? You passed me the note about Ichriem."
She peered at him for a moment until the tension flowed from her shoulders. "Yes. I recognize your voice. Mr. Bailey, I am truly sorry to have drawn you into this. I didn’t know where else to turn."
So it was true. One less thing to worry about, Sydney thought. "Let’s go. There’s not much time."
Any large group of strangers would draw unwanted attention in this place. There were few travelers. This wasn’t a tourist attraction. But with all that had transpired, none of them were willing to part company, least of all Sydney.
There were no taxis here on the outskirts of a Saharan oblivion, either. They walked to the small dirt airstrip, each of them playing his or her respective part. All three women wore their traditional burqa and trailed the men the proscribed number of steps back. Each man was swathed in all-hiding robes, moving with as much grace and dignity as his condition allowed.
The pilot eyed the female passengers with distaste, and for a moment Sydney feared that he'd deny them entry, but he stepped aside to admit them all. For once, Sydney was glad that the women would be the last to board the propeller-driven vehicle. She wasn't going anywhere until she knew all of her people were safe.
Only after they were airborne did they stop to consider the one passenger who wasn’t a member of their own entourage.
A familiar laugh chilled Sydney to the bone.
"I am not a religious man, but perhaps I should offer up thanks to Allah. I could not done better if I had planned this myself."
Turning, she knew what she would see before she actually saw him. "Viper..." she breathed as she stared into the business end of a gun.
End of Part Thirty Five
Go to Part Thirty Six.