The Lost Prince Page 11

  “What if you become Akbar for real? What if, when the Army eventually releases the prisoners, you just disappear? You could come to the United States and start a new life. With me. Don’t you want that? Has everything between us been a sham?” Her voice broke.

  He put his hand on the back of her head and pulled her close, absorbing her sobs into his shoulder.

  “Sweet Katy. If I were a regular man, I’d love nothing more than to disappear with you and live out the rest of our days quietly. But the fact remains that I am not just any man. I am the king of Baraq. I was born to this fate.”

  “Bull,” she threw back at him. “Fate is what you make of it. You can walk away from being the king. Stop being Nick Ramsey and be someone else. My government sets up new identities for people all the time. Plastic surgeons can make you look completely different. Nobody will ever find you.”

  “But I will still be me. Even if I did change my name and appearance, in my heart—in my soul—I would still be me. I would still owe a duty to this country and I would still feel responsible for my people. As tempting an offer as you make, I could not live with myself if I ran away from doing the right thing.”

  “How can it be the right thing to die?” she cried.

  “You’re an American. You, of all people, should understand. Your country was founded upon the blood of men and women who were willing to die for a principle. Your countrymen still die today for that same principle.”

  “We’re not talking about democracy here. We’re talking about your life, Nick!”

  He smoothed her tangled hair away from her tear-streaked face. “My love, we’re talking about what it means to be a king. I allowed Kareem to talk me into hiding among the soldiers once. And I’m glad he did or else I never would have found you. Not only have you given me a chance to preserve the Ramsey name, but you’ve taught me more about life and love in these few days than I learned in a lifetime before you.”

  His gaze pierced straight to her soul. “But make no mistake—I will not run again. Next time I will die like a king.”

  Panic clawed at Katy, ripping the flesh from her bones, gashing her heart until her lifeblood gushed away. She placed her hands on both sides of Nick’s face and looked deeply into his sorrowful, implacable eyes.

  “Nick. Do this for me. Please. I’m begging you. Live. For me. Put aside your duty, your guilt, your overgrown sense of responsibility.”

  He shook his head and started to speak, but she cut him off. “Don’t you understand? I can’t live without you!”

  “I promise to give you the sun and the moon and the stars in my heart before I die, Katy. But the one thing I cannot give you is happily ever after.”

  She drew breath to argue, but instead a knock sounded upon the door.

  “Miss Katy,” Riki murmured urgently through the panel. “I must ask you to go now. My commander comes this way.”

  Katy jumped to her feet and frantically threw on her veil. As she slipped out the door, she paused just long enough to whisper, “Please, Nick.”

  Katy tossed and turned all night. Her sheets grew hot and tangled, and finally she got up in the wee hours of the morning to take a cool bath. What was she going to do if Nick didn’t see reason?

  She even considered calling the U.S. government back in Washington to ask for help in pulling Nick out. Maybe the State department could bully Sharaf into handing him over to the Americans. But would he go? She doubted it. Knowing him, he’d make a grand gesture and insist on staying right where he was, receiving the same treatment as the common soldiers.

  God, he was frustrating! What was so wrong with happily ever after? She felt like tearing her hair out and screaming at his obstinate attitude. While she understood his point of view in principle, it was also suicidal. Why couldn’t he see that his nation needed him? Not his child, not a vague hope of a restored Ramsey throne. Him.

  Once the Baraqi people got to know him as well as she did, they’d adore him. He’d lead his country brilliantly out of its economic and social troubles and into prosperity. She had no doubt whatsoever about that.

  She went back to bed after her bath, but still sleep evaded her.

  In the morning she dragged herself downstairs for breakfast with the other InterAid workers. Unfortunately her distress was such that the mere thought of food made her ill. She choked down a few grapes and a hunk of dry flatbread.

  This morning she and Larry were visiting another Army installation outside of Akuba. Several dozen prisoners had just been transferred to the facility, and they were to check on the men’s status.

  As they stepped into the makeshift prison, Katy noticed right away that something was afoot with this bunch of prisoners. They were badly, even brutally, beaten. In fact, she spent much of the morning taking Polaroid pictures for the complaint that she and Larry would be filing regarding the treatment of this batch of prisoners.

  And then, as she tended their wounds and started talking to them, a horrifying pattern began to take shape. All these men were from the palace guard. And they’d all been questioned—ruthlessly—about where the king had disappeared to on the night of the coup.

  It was all Katy could do to continue rendering aid to them. Each bruise, each cigarette burn, each broken bone was her fault. If she’d told Nick yesterday that the Army was looking for him, as she should have, none of these men would have been beaten and tortured last night. Guilt forced the little breakfast she’d eaten back into her throat time and time again.

  Her hands shook so badly she could barely write the notes Larry dictated to her as he sutured wounds, put arms back into sockets and set bones as best he could without anesthesia.

  Finally they’d seen every prisoner. Larry lectured the Army officer in charge forcefully about proper prisoner treatment while she looked on, and the two of them were duly thrown out of the jail.

  Larry rubbed his hands over his face. “Lord, that was a mess. You held up great, Katy.”

  She laughed shakily. “I faked it.”

  He looked sharply at her. “You look like hell. Why don’t you go back to the hotel and call it a day? I’ll do your rounds at the palace for you.”

  “No, that’s okay. There’s someone I have to talk to.”

  “Your contact?” he asked astutely.

  “Yeah,” she answered glumly.

  “Tell him any help he can give us will be greatly appreciated. They’re not the first palace guards we’ve run into who’ve been treated like that.”

  “Really?” Katy hadn’t heard about any other incidents. But then, she rarely spent time with the other members of the team. She spent every moment she could with Nick and then had to work extra to make up the lost time. By the time she got back to the hotel each night, she was too exhausted to do anything but gulp down a bite to eat and head for bed.

  Larry murmured under his breath as they walked down the crowded street, “A couple of our guys ran into a batch of prisoners yesterday who were so messed up most of them couldn’t even sit up. The way I hear it, they went through Vietnam-style torture. Broken backs, amputated fingers, pulled teeth—the works. We’re filing a big complaint over it.”

  Katy lurched to a stop, her hand over her mouth. She looked around frantically and tore off her facial veil. She bent over the curb and threw up the entire meager contents of her stomach.

  Larry’s hand landed on her shoulder. “Jeez, Katy. I’m sorry. Didn’t realize you were touchy about stuff like that. I figured with you being who you are and all, you were used to hearing about gory stuff.”

  She wiped her mouth on her cuff. The bitter taste of gall nearly made her ill again. “My brothers don’t talk about their cases over the dinner table,” she choked out.

  “Come on back to the hotel. Let’s get a decent meal in you. I’ve got some stuff that’ll calm your stomach.”

  “No,” she managed to force past her clenched teeth. “I’ll be okay. You just surprised me.”

  “You’ve been losing a lot of weight,
Katy. You’ve got to take care of yourself, you know. What we do takes a toll on a person.”

  He had no idea the toll it was taking on her. “Thanks for your concern, Larry. But, really, I’ll be okay. Let’s just go to the palace so I can—” She broke off.

  “Yeah, I know. So you can put the screws to your contact and tell him to get cracking and get us solid evidence so we can put a halt to all this crap.”

  “Something like that,” she managed to force out.

  The smells of the bazaar almost made Katy sick again, but she managed to stagger through the squalor to the palace. She waited impatiently while the guards completed a shift change, but finally Riki led her down the dark corridor of cells. It was so dark that when she drew even with the door to Nick’s cell, it took her a second to notice that it stood open a few inches.

  “Riki, what’s going on here?” she asked. “This prisoner’s door isn’t locked!”

  Oh, God. Something had happened to Nick. He was so hurt he couldn’t move, and they hadn’t bothered locking him in.

  She shoved open the heavy door and rushed inside. And stopped cold. He wasn’t standing at the window as he usually did. Nor was he lying on his hard ledge. He wasn’t in the cell at all.

  She whirled, barely able to breathe. “Riki,” she gasped, “where did they take him? What’s happened to him?”

  The young guard shrugged, and she leaped forward, grabbing his shirt in her desperation. “You have to tell me!”

  The young man looked genuinely alarmed. “Miss Katy, I don’t know. I just came on duty.”

  She realized she was clutching his shirt in her fists and she forced her fingers to let go.

  She whispered, because her only alternative was to scream, “Please, you must help me! I have to find this prisoner. I have to know what’s happened to him!”

  Chapter 9

  Katy followed Riki back out to the guard room, her heart pounding. She kept her eyes downcast—lest she reveal her panic—while he asked his fellow guards about the missing soldier. But nobody seemed to know or care what had happened to Prisoner 1806.

  What is going on?

  She dragged the reluctant teen to his commander’s office and all but pushed the lad through the door. Major Moubayed stepped outside a moment later. He looked annoyed that a foreign infidel, and a woman at that, was pestering him. But Katy didn’t much care at the moment.

  Katy spoke without waiting to be spoken to. Another faux pas, but tough. “What have you done with Prisoner 1806? We were not notified that you were going to move him,” she said as rationally as she could manage.

  “We are not required to notify you of anything we do with our prisoners,” Moubayed informed her curtly.

  “That may be true, but I am required to report on the status of each prisoner I’m tracking.” She added in the nicest voice she could muster, “Please, sir, if you could just tell me what you’ve done with him?”

  The officer gave her a disgusted look. “One moment.”

  He stepped back into his office.

  Katy started when a hand touched her shoulder. Arab men never touched strange women. She whirled, alarmed.

  It was Larry Grayson. “What’s up?”

  “They’ve moved one of the prisoners.”

  “They move prisoners all the time,” he said, confused.

  She stared at him significantly until she saw the light-bulb go on in his brain. They’d moved that prisoner.

  Moubayed stepped out of his office again. As soon as he saw Larry, he turned his back on Katy as if she didn’t exist. “Aah, Mr. Grayson. You have saved me the trouble of finding you. Come with me.”

  Larry didn’t move. “Where are we going?” he asked suspiciously.

  Katy stopped in the act of following the soldier, surprised by Larry’s obvious reluctance. What did he know that she didn’t?

  “You will come with me,” Moubayed ordered imperiously.

  “No, we will not,” Larry answered politely but just as firmly.

  The officer spoke in rapid Arabic and several soldiers stepped forward. One of them poked Katy in the back with a rifle, and two others grabbed Larry by his arms.

  She froze in place, too shocked to move.

  “Don’t resist them,” Larry murmured in English.

  “Silence!” Moubayed barked.

  Katy stumbled as she was shoved again from behind. Oh, God. What had she done? What had she gotten them into?

  They walked upstairs into the palace proper, into the royal apartments. It was the first time Katy had ever been in this part of the edifice. It must have been beautiful before the coup ruined so much of its decor.

  As they were shoved into the wrecked remains of a gorgeous room, Larry maneuvered close enough to her to murmur, “Let me do the talking.”

  The room was long and narrow, with a high ceiling and colonnaded walls lined with tall stained-glass windows. Sunlight streamed through the cut glass, pouring rainbows of color across the white marble floors. Broken wires dangling from the ceiling announced where a chandelier must have hung until recently. A few of the windows were clumsily boarded over, as well. At the far end of the room she glimpsed a large carved chair encrusted in colored stones—probably real jewels, if the opulence of the rest of the room was any indication. The Ramsey crest—crossed swords flanked by a pair of lions—was carved into the wall and decorated with real swords behind the elaborate chair.

  This must be the throne room.

  Except now it was lined with tables and desks, and twenty or more Army officers of varying ranks and ages worked on the assorted computers and phones.

  Katy followed Larry down the impressive length of the room toward the throne. Nick’s throne. At the last second, their guards veered off and shoved them toward an inconspicuous door tucked behind the throne. A guard stationed beside the door opened it for them. The panel swung back to reveal a small but opulent sitting room. It, too, had been converted into a utilitarian office.

  A handsome man—Katy guessed him to be maybe fifty years old—stepped out from behind the desk and said in French, “I am General Nagheb. I understand you’ve been making a big stink over one of our prisoners.”

  Katy drew breath to answer, but Larry sent her a quelling look.

  “I wouldn’t call it a stink at all, sir,” the American answered smoothly. “We merely asked about the status of a prisoner who was moved sometime between yesterday afternoon and now. I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding of some kind.”

  “No misunderstanding,” the general growled. “You were asking about Prisoner 1806.”

  Larry shrugged. “I think that was the number. I’d have to check my list.”

  “Don’t play games with me!” the general snapped.

  Katy recoiled at the harshness of his tone. A rifle poked her in the back, silently ordering her to be still.

  Larry was immediately apologetic. “I’m sorry. You are right—this is no game. It is very serious business indeed. InterAid has been charged with full and detailed observation of prisoner treatment in Baraq. We’re merely attempting to do our job as stated by your commanders. No more, I assure you.”

  Katy gulped. She’d done, oh, a teensy bit more than that. Thank God a veil hid her face right now.

  With a sharp hand gesture, the general waved all the soldiers out of the office. He glared at Katy and Larry in silence until the door closed behind the last man.

  General Nagheb turned to them, his face abruptly calm and his expression pleasant. The transformation was startling. He asked quietly in flawless English, “What do you know about Prisoner 1806?”

  Larry blinked in surprise and answered, “Mr. Mulwami has become an informal leader among the prisoners. He keeps abreast of what’s going on among the others and has been helpful to us in our efforts to monitor how the prisoners are being treated.”

  Katy stared at Larry, appalled. What was he doing? He was handing Nick to this guy on a silver platter!

  The general no
dded. “Go on.”

  Larry continued blithely, “He has hinted to us that there may have been violations of the Geneva Conventions against the prisoners, particularly in interrogations.”

  Katy balled her hands into fists. She doubted she’d be allowed to throttle her partner, but she was tempted to give it a try. Why not just lay Nick’s head on the chopping block for him?

  Larry’s voice abruptly changed tone, became much more forceful. “Hence, our particular interest when this prisoner abruptly disappears. InterAid will strenuously object if any reprisals are forthcoming against Mr. Mulwami for his assistance to us with our work.”

  Katy subsided. Aah. Larry was attempting to put the muscle of InterAid behind protecting Nick. It might be a small, private organization, but it had the ear of some big dogs in Washington. And surely this general knew that.

  “Furthermore—” Larry gathered a head of steam “—my partner and I don’t appreciate being bullied around at gunpoint. We are honored guests in your country and such treatment is wholly unacceptable.”

  The general smiled, acknowledging Larry’s tactic in invoking the Islamic law of hospitality by declaring himself a guest in Baraq. Then the man said blandly, “I apologize if my subordinates were overenthusiastic in carrying out their orders to bring you to me immediately.”

  Larry nodded politely, but Katy’s attention swiveled completely to the general at his next words.

  “Prisoner 1806 has been lying to us about his identity. He is not Akbar Mulwami, as he has claimed.”

  It felt as though a sledgehammer had just hit her squarely in the gut. The air whooshed out of her lungs, and it was all she could do to hang on to consciousness.

  They’d found him.

  Nick stared out the window. His eyes hurt, unaccustomed to the brightness of direct sunlight. He didn’t care, though. He was so grateful to see the light of day, to feel its warmth upon his skin, that he didn’t mind the pain.