Bodyguard Lockdown

chapter Nine



Quamar stormed into the palace’s main office. “You cannot do this, Jarek. You cannot issue an order for your guards and secret service to join in the search for Sandra.”

“You forget I am king. I do what is necessary,” Jarek snapped. “Sandra has been missing for over twenty-four hours. I want her found. She hasn’t left the country through the checkpoints or airports. It means she’s still out there.”

“We do not have the manpower to protect the palace and to search the desert,” Quamar reasoned. “She is with Booker.”

“With our wives and children sent to the States for protection, we need no one else.”

“Your duties—”

“Have been canceled, damn it!” Jarek said, his patience gone.

“Uncle Bari has offered the men from his caravan,” Quamar offered.

Bari Al Asadi, even after abdicating, still had many men who stayed with his nomad ways, following his caravan. Men who fought against the Al Asheera years before.

“They were once soldiers...most are too old now. They are no longer able to fight off trained mercenaries.”

“He has a hundred men—”

“We need ten times that many, Quamar,” Jarek replied slowly. “I convinced Cain to send some American troops here to help.”

“And?”

“Someone on Capitol Hill blocked his order. Cain flew back this morning to find out who.”

Quamar knew Cain well enough that heads would be rolling once he hit the States. “Is President Mercer aware of this?”

“No. Cain suspects whoever blocked the order might be the same person who helped Trygg escape. And might deal directly with the Oval Office.”

“When Mercer finds out Cain is keeping him in the dark—and he will—Cain will be flayed alive.” A strategist, Cain’s reasoning was always sound. But President Mercer had an Irish temper that never fit in any equation.

The intercom clicked on. “Your Majesty.”

Jarek hit the button. “Yes, Trizal.”

“Dr. and Mrs. Omar Haddad are here to see you.”

Jarek glanced up at Quamar. “Do you want to explain our problems with manpower to them?”

Quamar sighed. “No, I do not.”

With a curt nod, Jarek hit the button again. “Send them in.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Omar Haddad wasn’t a tall man, but he was fit for his age, with dark eyes and silver-gray hair that covered most of his head. Dark skin, with deep lines marring his features—more from worry, Quamar imagined, than the Sahara sun.

“Your Majesty.” Omar’s tone cut with censorship. “We are sorry to disturb you, but we couldn’t wait around our quarters any longer without hearing a word from you.”

Jarek acknowledged Omar’s frustration with a nod, but it would not change his position on the matter. As a precaution, Jarek had ordered the Haddads to the palace and placed them under guard. He did not want Trygg using them as a weapon against Sandra.

“Have you found out anything, Your Majesty?”

“Not yet.” Jarek took Elizabeth’s hand in his and frowned at the icy feel of her skin. He covered it with his other hand to add his warmth. “Elizabeth, if there was news I would have sent it over at once.”

“You haven’t heard from Booker McKnight, then, either?” Omar asked, his eyes narrowed. It was apparent to Jarek that Omar did not trust Booker to take care of his daughter.

“No—”

“Are you looking?”

“The Sahara is thousands of square miles. It takes time—”

“I know this,” Omar said. “This is my daughter we are talking about, Jarek.”

He used his king’s first name, a sign of family—one that Omar didn’t often use to take advantage. Jarek sensed the extent of his friend’s worry. He let the familiarity pass.

“I understand—”

“With all forgiveness, I do not believe you do, Your Majesty,” Elizabeth said quietly, then looked to each man. English born, Elizabeth Haddad was steeped in blue-blooded culture. The daughter of a surgeon, she made the perfect wife for Omar. Trim, petite, with impeccable taste, she’d endured much over the years that tested her spine of steel.

“You both are husbands and you both have children. If your child disappeared, would you not worry? Would you not demand answers?” Elizabeth paused, the paleness of her skin evidence of the strain, the fear. “Would you not do everything in your means to bring her back, and those who have done her harm, to justice? If not for yourself, then for your wives?”

“What do you mean, ‘everything in your means’?” Jarek questioned, purposefully looking beyond the despair to the couple’s determination. Something was amiss, something that he could not put his finger on.

“I hope you have not done anything foolish, Omar,” he said, then turned to the older woman. “Elizabeth?”

“What they are not telling you, Jarek, it that there is a bounty on Sandra’s and Booker’s heads.” Sheik Bari Al Asadi entered the office unannounced—a privilege given only to the man who had abdicated his throne years before to Jarek’s father, Makrad. “Omar has offered double the amount for the return of Sandra.”

“How much is that, Father?” Quamar asked.

Hard-bitten and weathered, with a white beard and black eyes, Quamar understood his father, Bari, had little patience when those he loved were in danger. And while Sandra wasn’t blood, Sheik Bari considered her a niece, and Omar his brother.

“Two million,” Omar stated, his tone arrogant, almost defiant.

“Do you have two million?”

“I have means of getting it.”

“And you know this how?” Jarek’s tone matched his uncle’s impatience.

“Mind your tongue, nephew.” Bari’s black eyes hardened, his tone sharpened by an innate royal edge. “Just because I am no longer king does not mean I no longer have loyal subjects. Or deserve the respect of my position.”

“My apologies, Uncle.” Jarek’s jaw flexed, his impatience schooled behind set features. But he didn’t back down. His uncle might once have been king, but Jarek still was. “At the end of the day, it is I who am responsible. Not you.”

Bari gave a brief nod, accepting the explanation. “Trygg now has the Al Asheera hunting Booker and Sandra.”

“The Al Asheera are no longer a threat,” Jarek replied.

“I have heard whispers they have a new leader by the name of Minos.”

Jarek waved his hand. “We obliterated their armies years ago. Those who survived are scattered over the desert.”

“Even if only one is alive, they are still a threat, nephew. Do not ever forget it.”