Desert Rogue

“Uncouth lout! This is not the time for such crude bragging.”

“But, sir, what could you expect of a man like this?” Ali ventured to say. He had no wish for Kincaid’s reference to the circumstances of their arrest to remind Hayden Reed that he still had two lawbreakers with whom he must deal. Now more than ever, Ali Sharouk wanted to disassociate himself from the troublesome Jed Kincaid. And so, he went on to say more. “Unfortunately, I have become acquainted with his temper. However, he and I are quite different. He is a drifter, whereas I am a family man, a businessman of good standing in this city. My people have lived here for generations, and recently I have been fortunate enough to wed the daughter of a rich man who has no sons. I have ties to this community, while this ruffian has none. I care about the consequences of any action against the Sudan, though he does not. Do not listen to his goading. You can send a messenger and expect him to arrive at the oasis within the appointed time, if he makes use of the Nile.”

“Lord knows where I’ll find a reliable, experienced man,” Reed reflected aloud as his long fingers tapped out a perfect rhythm on the polished surface of his desk.

“Look, if you insist on going through with this ransom business, and I hope you realize that payment is no guarantee you’ll ever see Victoria Shaw alive again, I can offer a simple solution,” Jed said, recognizing the fact that trouble had found him once again, though he was willing to concede he had gone halfway to meet it. “I’ll take the money there for you.”

“You!” Hayden snorted in surprise. “You can’t go anywhere. You’re under arrest.”

“Then release me,” Jed persisted. Though he didn’t know her, he wouldn’t feel right walking away and leaving the woman’s safe return in the incompetent hands of Hayden Reed. If nothing else, Abigail Kincaid Bradshaw had raised her boys always to help a lady in distress, and it sounded as if the Shaw woman needed all the aid she could get.

“If you do let me go,” he continued, “I’ll track down the men who stole Vicky and get her back for you.”

“It’s Miss Shaw to you. And I would never allow such a thing as you are proposing to occur. You would only make a muck of it. Miss Shaw would be killed before you ever came near her abductors.”

“Really? Maybe you don’t realize you’re talking to the man who recovered Sheik Abdul Nabar’s stolen amulet, the symbol of his sovereignty over his people. Tell me, who else could have done such a thing and returned to tell about it?”

“You? You’re the one who went after the amulet and helped avert a tribal war among the Bedouins?” Hayden asked, cocking his head to one side and studying Jed Kincaid anew.

“One and the same,” Jed asserted to Ali’s dismay. Stories of the amulet’s savior had circulated through the bazaar, celebrating the man’s ruthless cunning. The idea that he had unknowingly tangled with him did not sit well with the tall Egyptian.

“You almost make your harebrained plot sound workable,” Hayden stated wistfully, his hopes for the future once more taking flight. “Still, I’m not willing to put Miss Shaw’s fate in your hands.”

“But you can’t sit by and do nothing,” Jed said with derision. “You’ve said you can’t undertake your fiancée’s rescue, and neither can anyone else in your department without putting Vicky’s life at stake or chancing this international incident. Me, I’m an American. If something happens, you can write me off as lost.”

“You and the five thousand pounds,” muttered Ali.

“What! Are you casting doubts on my honor?” a hotheaded Jed shouted, ready to begin a fight with the Egyptian all over again.

“Stop it! The two of you!” commanded Hayden Reed, coming to stand between the two men, the Egyptian’s words echoing in his head. “You had better start being civil to each other, because you’re going with Kincaid to the wadi.”

“By Allah, no!” the Egyptian objected vigorously.

“Like hell he is,” Jed growled simultaneously.

“There’s no question about it,” Hayden replied.

“But we hate each other,” Jed grumbled.

“We would kill each other,” Ali added hopefully.

“There will be no discussion on the matter,” Hayden Reed reiterated. “You may have the ability to get the job done, Kincaid, but I am not such a fool as to trust a man of your caliber with five thousand pounds, when Miss Shaw’s life depends on every shilling of the sum involved. As for you, your claim of indissolvable ties to the Cairo community and your family assures me that you will not run off with the ransom. You are going to see that Kincaid does as instructed. And that means merely delivering the money, with no dabbling in heroics.”

“And what makes you think I’ll allow Ali to go along?” Jed asked, his voice as bellicose as his tightly drawn features.

“Quite simply put, Kincaid, you are a man who needs his freedom. Refuse me, and I’ll turn you back over to that constable and see to it that you are put in a cell and forgotten.”

“How do you know I won’t agree to your plans and then get the hell out of Egypt?”

“Because Ali will not allow you to abscond with the funds when I am holding him personally responsible for your actions. Should you disappoint me, his family will learn just how bad business can be in Cairo.”

“And if I decline to become involved?” Ali inquired.

“Then we take you home and tell your wife that we found you tonight brawling in a whorehouse. Will she be pleased by those circumstances? I doubt it,” said Hayden in an incongruously pleasant tone of voice. “There’s really no need to think about it, gentlemen. You have no other alternative.”

Jed scowled in Ali’s direction, visions of the Egyptian’s constant carping in the otherwise silent desert almost more than he could bear. His only consolation was that the shopkeeper appeared no more pleased than he was. Damnation! Jed swore silently before nodding his head in assent. This was going to be the most difficult job he had ever undertaken.

Chapter Three

Almost two hundred miles south of Cairo, Victoria, deposited as she was in the lowest part of the falucca, could feel the boat turning. She twisted her slender frame until she could look upward and see the sky beginning to show signs of evening, the sun cooling off to trace soft lavenders and blues across the heavens.

In the bottom of the boat, protected from sight and any possibility of a cooling breeze, the young Englishwoman knew only suffocating heat and discomfort.

This morning, though, just before dawn, the men had drawn the craft into shore in an uninhabited stretch of the Nile, beached it and allowed her a modicum of freedom, if not privacy, to care for her needs before resuming their rapid flight upriver. While they did not pamper her, neither could they afford to have their prisoner die of thirst or malnutrition.

As hard as Victoria tried to keep from surrendering to her fear, concentrating instead on Hayden’s inevitable pursuit, every mile they sped from Cairo increased the apprehension she sought to bury. Had her mother recalled the unfamiliar falucca she’d pointed out that night and associated it with her disappearance? If she had, was it not possible that the authorities might overtake these villains at any moment?

Straining her ears for unusual noise, the slender blonde was disappointed to hear only the rustle of rushes against the boat and the soft scraping of the sand as its hull touched bottom.

A heavy splash sounded suddenly, accompanied by a violent rocking. Someone jumping overboard to pull the boat in, she supposed, hopefully the tall, foul-smelling fellow.

Then the movement stopped altogether and the pudgy Arab loomed over her, reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her awkwardly to her feet.

Unable to voice her disgust at being manhandled, Victoria shrank away from the man, her muscles stiff from being in one position for so long.

“Soft lady,” muttered her captor, supporting her weight against him as he ran his callused hand over her hair, bringing coarse fingers up to stroke her cheek.

Had Victoria been able to, she would have spit in his face. Who did he think he was to touch her so freely? No one, not even Hayden, touched her without permission, and that was something she did not often give.

“I wager the rest of her is just as sweet,” said the odorous one, stepping forward to pull open her blouse. He’d been too long without a woman and here was this one, available, if not willing. “Let’s have a look at her.”

Unwilling to tolerate his impudence, Victoria didn’t stop to think, but swiftly wrenched her body free of the first man’s grasp with such force that she lost her balance, falling sideways against the hull and banging her head in the process.

“What are you ignorant dung-eaters doing?” bellowed a voice from outside the falucca. All at once the boat shook as their leader regained the deck, coming to stand between his men, scowling at the fallen Victoria. Even in a fit of temper, he spoke in English for the captive’s benefit. It was time she knew her destiny. “We have strict instructions. She is not to be touched or you will pay with your lives.”

“And you as well, Muhammed, not that you haven’t been wearing out your eyes staring at her curves.”

“But I am not jackal enough to use the merchandise before it is sold. English or not, unless she is pure, the slave market at Khartoum will not get top price, and our master Zobeir’s scheme will go awry. Remember, we will share the profit yielded by his cleverness. No bothering her!”

At the others’ reluctant nods, he relaxed his hold on the fearsome knife at his waist and motioned toward Victoria.

“Lift her carefully and bring her ashore to relieve herself. Farouk, fill the water jugs. Hurry so we can sail again.”

A short while later, when her gag was removed and Victoria was seated beside the apparent organizer of the group, she had prepared her arguments. Ignoring the goat cheese and dry bread he placed before her, Victoria chose to speak for freedom.

“See here, you said you were taking me to the slave marts at Khartoum. My family will pay you handsomely to take me home instead. You saw their lands. You must know they are wealthy,” she pressed. “A thousand pounds...two thousand. How much can a slave trader offer you?”

“Much more for a woman with blue eyes like yours, especially if she keeps her mouth shut,” he snarled, spitting out the pit of an olive. “Eat now or you will go hungry.”

“If you insist on selling me, you should know that you will never live to spend your fee,” said the blonde, refusing to consider the possibility of such an occurrence taking place. Hayden would come to rescue her long before they ever reached Khartoum. “Whoever your master is, he cannot possibly escape Queen Victoria’s forces.”

“The good Queen means nothing in Khartoum. It is outside her province,” chuckled the native, briefly tempted to take the woman’s money. Still, he would die more painfully and much more slowly if he disobeyed Zobeir, the slave trader. No, the female would be delivered as ordered. Rising to his feet, he looked down at the girl. “Money is the only power in that city, and you cannot pay what Zobeir will receive for your lovely white skin. Eat now. We leave in five minutes.”

Biting back her disappointment, Victoria took a sip of the wine he had provided. The fool had rejected the salvation she had offered, so there was nothing to do but wait for the British army to overtake them or at worst to invade Khartoum. It was regrettable an international incident could not be avoided, but she could do no more. There was absolutely no doubt Hayden would rescue her.

* * *

On the fourth day of their forced excursion out of Cairo, Ali could see no reason to celebrate. Instead of holding his head up proudly, running his shop and bringing honor to his family, he had been ignominiously linked to this rowdy foreigner until the ransom for the English girl was paid, an issue that never should have involved Ali Sharouk.

Where the American viewed this journey as merely another exciting chapter in his quixotic existence, Ali sorely missed his own bed, his loving wife, and even the tiresome chores associated with his livelihood. His only consolation was that since they had begun their pilgrimage, Kincaid had become a man whose only vice was dedication to his mission. Yet the foreigner’s very intensity made him as fearsome sober as he had been drunk.

Still, they had made excellent time on the Nile considering the current, one sleeping while the other maneuvered the craft. Now, however, the overland trek was about to begin.

“Enough sleep, American,” he announced abruptly, using his foot to nudge the dozing figure, successfully resisting the urge to kick more forcefully. “It is time we must go.”

“The only thing you must do is to quit telling me what to do,” snarled Jed, thoroughly aggravated by his unwanted companion. He wasn’t a native to the Egyptian desert, but Jed had spent enough time in it to learn the tricks of survival. Besides, being bred in the city of Cairo, Ali probably knew less than he did. “I’ve told you a dozen times already, go home and let me see to my business my way.”

“Our business, Kincaid, much to my misfortune.”

“But it was my idea to deliver the ransom. Hell, without me, you’d be rotting in jail—”

“Without you, I would have no reason to be in jail. You started this whole sorry mess by landing on my coffee set whose design took weeks to hammer—”

“We’ve already been through this—”

“And then you tried to escape responsibility—”

“All right. I’ve heard it all at least a hundred times—”

“And struck a police officer—”

“I’m going to beat the tar out of you if you don’t shut your mouth,” yelled Jed, jumping to his feet. To his amusement, the other man stood his ground. Giving the Egyptian a look of pure malice, Jed laughed and began gathering his gear. “Let’s get one thing straight, Sharouk. I am no happier to be stuck with you than you are with me. In fact, I’m a damned sight unhappier—”

“Impossible,” muttered Ali.

“I told you to go home and wait for my message, but you wouldn’t hear of it.”

“That is not the honorable thing to do.”

“But it’s a hell of a lot more practical! Without you, I could have been halfway to the oasis already, but you insisted on wasting extra hours packing supplies—”

“It is only prudent to be prepared. It makes a long journey safer,” retorted Ali, folding the canvas shelter he had erected against the sun.

“It makes a long journey longer,” snorted the dark-haired American, running a hand across his ever-increasing beard. Ali was a novice at this, Jed reflected, mounting the larger of the horses Ali had hired near where they had traded the falucca.

“Enough talk. Let’s ride,” Jed ordered, determined to reach the oasis as quickly as possible now. The thought of surrendering five thousand pounds to unknown villains with no guarantee of the girl’s safety still irked him, but perhaps another option would evolve. It would depend on the situation south of the wadi. If the girl was there, well... No man would say Jed Kincaid couldn’t accomplish what he set out to do, regardless of the wishes of the authorities or puppets like Hayden Reed.

* * *

Miles spent on horseback over almost imperceptible routes through the desert didn’t mellow the Egyptian’s stubborn resistance to Jed’s leadership. After a hard day of riding, they’d reached the oasis and Ali wanted nothing more than to turn over the ransom and head back. Jed, however, had other notions.

“By the life of the Prophet, American, you are magnun, crazy! Risking our lives for a woman we did not know was insane, but we had no choice once you opened your mouth to Reed. This new scheme of yours, however, makes no sense. No matter how you threaten me, I will not agree. Your foolishness will not cost me my life,” muttered Ali as they lay in the sand, watching the small camp in the oasis for signs of movement.

Well 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 if that one is still alive, will you?” suggested the American casually in Arabic. “Maybe he’ll tell us where in Khartoum we can find Vicky Shaw.”