Remington sighed audibly. He wished he had had the foresight to bring along a deck of cards so he could cheat at solitaire. Melancholy musing was not going to help him get through this night. He was in love with Laura. Had been from the first. Well, at first, it had merely been lust, he conceded. But, generally, he hadn’t needed to lift a finger to get women to fall in love with him. But, after all this time, he had no idea about Laura. She had shown signs of affection, attachment, friendship definitely. But not all consuming, passionate, true love.
To be fair, neither had he. It was difficult, between dead bodies, to sneak in a sunset and a sweet nothing. Now they were apart- Laura probably in danger and blissfully unaware of the fact, doting on Omar with smiles that should be his. Yet, he was rushing to her side like a faithful puppy…. Daniel would have laughed in his face if he knew about this. Oh well, noblesse oblige and all that. Whether she cared a flying fig about him or not, he owed it to her to make sure that Omar didn’t hurt her or the agency. If she wanted him to stay around after that, it was her decision.
He sighed again, and Mildred, still recovering, sidled up to him.
"What’s wrong, chief?"
"Er…nothing, Mildred. My dinner doesn’t seem to agree with me."
"Neither did mine. What I wouldn’t give for some real food."
"I believe I saw some oranges lying around earlier."
"They’re juggling with them. What am I supposed to do, catch them in midair?" she gestured, back towards the center of camp, where the Sufis were indeed juggling oranges, torches and other paraphenalia. They seemed to be having a great time.
"I’m sorry, Mildred. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this," he said apologetically. "Why don’t we see if we can get you a ride back to the airport?"
"And leave Miss Holt in the clutches of that monster? No way, boss. I’m with you," she said firmly. "They’ve been telling some awful stories about him. And Tarek, one of the boys," she said, jerking her thumb in their direction, "said that this Jewel everybody’s clamoring for… it’s bigger than a breadbox!" she finished excitedly.
"Bigger than a breadbox, eh?"
Mildred nodded enthusiastically. Seeing that Remington’s gloomy countenance had not improved, as the mention of precious jewels did generally appeal to him, she frowned. "It’s Miss Holt, isn’t it?"
"Hmmmm?"
Motherly concern crept into her voice as she patted Remington’s shoulder. "Don’t worry, Mr. Steele. She’ll be okay."
"I hope so, Mildred. I really hope so."
***
While Laura had a fantastic view of the night sky from her balcony, she was also afforded with a sweeping view of the courtyard in the middle of the grounds. Search-lights swept the garden and the doorways of the lower level from the guard tower at the palace wall. The oppressive atmosphere only made Laura feel worse. Sighing at her thoughts, she was about to return inside when she thought she saw something move down below.
She went to the railing and peered down. Three men in black suits, two carrying a large case, were proceeding to one of the rooms on the far right. Laura racked her memory. What the hell was that room?
Then she remembered. It was a mixture of a sitting room and an office. It was very spacious and had an impressive mahogany desk in front of the window. It also connected with Omar’s offices upstairs- there was another staircase, she thought, trying to remember the floor plan, right behind a door at the very back of the room. She was shuffled out of there more quickly than some of the other stops on the grand tour. Omar seemed very possessive about his offices.
Or he was hiding something, thought Laura. And she was pretty sure that was it. Why else would these men be lugging large trunks into the house in the middle of the night? Did they think she was stupid?
No, they just see me as a woman, she mused grimacing. Head full of cotton, hay and rags.
Where had she heard that before? Oh God, he’s got me doing it again. Rex Harrison said it in….
"AAAAGH!" A man in a white robe and turbancame running out of the room with his hand on fire. Screaming and waving his limb in agitation, he ran to the fountain on the edge of the garden and quenched his arm in the water. He then began to curse in what Laura supposed was lurid Arabic. It was Omar. And his trademark grin was nowhere to be seen.
"You bastard! You have burnt my hand!" he screamed.
One of the suits, gesturing wildly, began to reply in a thick Cockney accent, "Look, look, Aye didn’t say it wouldn’t burn, aye said it wouldn’t ‘urt. See," he lifted up Omar’s wide sleeve and turned his hand at the wrist, "No blisterin,’ no blisterin.’ Aye told you, Aye’ve done it ‘undreds o’ times on stage."
"You foolish idiot, this is not a cheap theatrical stunt. This is a miracle! My people have to believe it!"
"Omar, trust me, trust me! If I can make gods out o’ rock n roll stars, just imagine wot Aye can do for you," the suit replied, brushing off Omar’s galabiya in a friendly like manner.
Omar was not placated. In a voice that made Laura recoil, he said, "For your information, I am not a rock and roll star. The people must believe I have the same powers as the Jewel. If they do not, all my plans are foiled! And you, you will not be doing anything on stage anymore."
"Point taken. Aye’ve got some other stuff in the trunk- would you like to see that, then? Right," and he returned to the office with Omar following behind him.
What the hell was that about? Laura wondered. Something was going on. Omar was certainly up to something. He had mentioned the Jewel. Something about the power to perform miracles. What kind of stone was this? She had to get more information. But how? She couldn’t get out of the palace without the express permission of Omar and then probably only taken to the places he would allow. It would be next to impossible to track down somebody who knew exactly what the Jewel is, much less where to find it. And if she did find somebody, it probably wouldn’t matter since she couldn’t speak the language….
The language. Aha! The first genuine clue she had had that something about Omar was not as he claimed was the assassin. Who had screamed El-d’Jahara before plunging the knife in his chest. What did that mean?
With my luck, it’s probably just some dirty word, thought Laura pessimistically while she searched her luggage for the Arabic dictionary Omar had given her.
El d’Jahara. The Jewel.
Why would someone want to kill Omar for the Jewel? He hasn’t got it. If he had it, why would he hire me to find it?
But then, why would he hire me in the first place? Why not get a few hundred extra of his black cladlackeys to go running down the Nile waving their guns and force whoever stole it to come forward?
Laura realized that the only place she could find answers to her questions were the places Omar had forbidden: his offices. Grateful for the black clothing, Laura retrieved the veil from where she had thrown it. Seeing the guards positioned at her door, she couldn’t very well get to them in the conventional way.
So she climbed over the balcony’s railing and began to inch her way along the wall, balanced precariously on a small ledge just underneath the windows. It was slow; her balance was shaky and she had to keep stopping every time the searchlights swept that side of the courtyard. Her room had been on the fourth floor, and she dared not to take the stairways up for fear that guards would be stationed there as well.
When she came to a stretch of wall out of the reach of the lights, she inched under one of the office balcony’s and grabbed hold of the ledge. She was hanging only by her hands now, gripping the iron gates that held the railing and slowly pulling herself upward. Eventually, she got one foot up onto the ledge and with the additional leverage, pulled herself upright against the railing. She easily climbed over it and with a good shove, opened the one of the double doors that led to Omar’s office.
The room was spacious, and the same design that donned her bedroom walls decorated its interior. In the middle of the room was a large desk, cluttered with papers. She approached it and in the darkness, tried to read them. It wasn’t until the searchlights swept by again did she get a clear look at the papers.
War plans. Omar was planning a massive military attack on all surrounding tribes. The impetus seemed to be originating from the city of Kadir in the south.
Kadir. Where had she heard that name before? That was where Omar was to be made emperor. In three days. That was her deadline to find the Jewel- before his inauguration ceremony.
More like his coup d'etat, Laura grimaced, replacing the papers. So much for Omar’s vision. Obviously, his people didn’t have as much confidence in his leadership as he had let on. So, whether they liked it or not, he was going to proclaim himself emperor in three days time. And if they didn’t like it, they could roll over for a tank. Laura had seen quite a few of those at Omar’s private "airport." More like his personal military compound.
But why did he need the Jewel? Did he think he needed a miracle to beat his people into submission? They were poor, desert people. They didn’t value precious stones; they valued water and shelter. And their lives. Things which Omar probably wouldn’t let them keep if they contested his imperial power.
Laura began to pace. She tried desperately to think of every small detail she had heard about the Jewel. It had great religious significance supposedly. So what? Was Omar preparing to claim divine right to rule?
Suddenly, she heard voices outside the door. Omar and the suit! DAMN! Where could she hide? There weren’t a lot of options. Under the table? Yeah. Right. Like they wouldn’t spot her there. The gauzy curtains on the balcony doors wouldn’t be able to conceal anything. The balcony itself? It was worth a try.
"…In three days! If it weren’t for the Jewel, I’d have led my people to power long ago." Omar’s booming voice became clearer and louder as he proceeded into the office. "Westerners understand nothing. The Jewel represents the spiritual world of my people. Unless I can convince them that I am their spiritual leader, they will never follow me into battle. That is why you are here."
"It can be done. Aye can have the sound stage up in a few ‘ours at the most! It’s the pyrotechnics that are gonna cost you. That’s got to be shipped special, and it’s expensive too."
"Money is no object. As long as the performance continues as planned, you shall be paid. If I am not satisfied, if the people do not believe, I do not think I have to explain what shall happen to you."
"No, sire. Crystal clear in all respects," the man nervously replied, adjusting his tie.
Laura scrutinized this scene from the balcony, attempting to remain invisible, couched behind the door and the side railing. He wasn’t exceptionally tall, medium build, and had very greasy hair, she observed, looking distastefully at the back of his head, glistening with oil. Why would Omar hire a special effects expert for the ceremony?
"Sir, I do have one, small request," the man said tenatively.
Omar turned around to face him. He had been looking in the mirror on the wall. God, couldn’t he get enough of his reflection! Between the mirrors and the photographs… just build yourself a shrine already! "And what is that?"
"Aye…Aye would like to know wot exactly we’re imitatin’ ‘ere. Cuz it would be my profound hope that your people are thoroughly convinced an’ all…. Wot aye’m sayin’ is…wot kind of techniques is this guy usin’ so that Aye can create something on a comparable scale."
"Comparable to a miracle."
"Yes. You’ve been sayin’ that. But wot kind of miracle, specifically?"
Omar let out a cry of frustration. "We will go see him now." With a wave of his robe, he strode out of the room, the greasy man following close on his heels with Omar’s bodyguards.
Laura burst back into the room the second they had closed the door. Where were they going? And who was it that they were going to see? Frustrated, she opened the door a crack to see them beginning to ascend the stairs. The roof. And there were more guards by the stairwell. Damn.
Laura returned to the balcony. If she could hoist herself onto the ledge above the double doors, she could pull herself onto the roof. Warily, she glanced down to the courtyard floor five stories below. "Well, here goes nothing," she muttered, and began to climb onto the railing. Teetering on the thin metal, she made a grab for the ledge. She had her hands wrapped around the stone jutting out from the wall. She desperately searched blindly for a foothold, but her feet merely hit the glass doors, and kept slipping. She silently cursed herself for wearing the slippers.
Using the doorframe as leverage, she twisted her body to the side and slowly inched upwards, eventually gaining enough height to pull herself up. Now standing on the edge, she easily climbed onto the roof, which hadn’t been as far up as she had assumed. Walking along the tiles now, she crept along until she reached the end of the building. A few feet below her was a large sandstone staircase, a landing and a door.
That must be where they’re headed! She jumped down and as she approached the door, she heard them coming from below. She scrambled up the remaining steps where it reached a dead end. Keeping flat against the wall, she heard them approach the door and the jangling of keys. They entered the room.
Laura moved close to the edge of the small landing. She could see through a small slit in the wall. It was a sparse room, nothing on the walls and the only furniture a small cot. She saw Omar, looking very angry and very dangerous, standing over a slight male figure, clothed in less elegant striped robes.
"Tell me how it’s done, magician," he ordered malevolently. Presumably, he had requested this in English so that the greasy suit could understand.
"Is not magic trick, is miracle," the man answered in kind.
Omar slapped him, causing him to fall backwards. Apparently, the man wore glasses, because they flew off his face and onto the dusty floor. He gingerly picked them up and replaced them onto his face, hooking them behind his ears with care.
"I am losing patience with you."
"But you cannot kill me. Even you are superstitious. El d’Jahara lives!"
Laura furrowed her brow. The Jewel…lives? What did this have to do with Omar’s prisoner?
"In two nights, it will not matter," Omar said with a lordly sneer. With a curt "Yalla" to his men, they exited the room and Laura heard the jingling of keys once more.
Laura glanced around at her options. She couldn’t very well come back the way she came. Stepping onto the ledge of the staircase, she climbed effortlessly onto the roof of the small room. The thatched roof seemed very fragile so she carefully began to move upwards…until the roof caved in underneath her and she found herself falling straight down.
Luckily, she fell directly onto the cot, bringing with her a portion of the roof and lots of dust. Coughing she struggled to sit up.
The man had been retying his turban and turned around. He blinked at her a few times from behind his glasses and said quietly, looking up at the ceiling, "A woman. Most unexpected."
Laura got up from the cot and brushed past the man, circling the room. "I gotta get out of here. I’ve gotta stop Omar."
"Did you bring an army?" the man asked her, continuing to affix the cloth to his head.
Taken a bit aback, she stuttered, "No. No. I’m just Laura Holt." She moved to the sole window above the cot, and grabbed the bars, looking for a way out.
"Just Laura Holt? I am El d-Jahara. The Jewel of the Nile." He finished tying his turban and extended his hand.
"El d-Jahara?" said Laura questioningly. She stopped and looked at him. This thin little man, with big glasses and a short black beard… was the Jewel? "I don’t understand. How can you be the Jewel?"
"It is my title. For the moment. In two nights, Omar will proclaim himself emperor at the holy city of Kadir and without me to oppose him, he will march across North Africa like a mad man."
Then Omar and his bodyguards burst into the room. The door clanged against the sandstone wall with the force of their entry. Omar spoke, "But the world will see me as a savior to my people."
"The world won’t believe you," said Laura. "I’ve been in your office. I’ve seen your vision. I’m going to tell the world the truth about you!"
"If I had wanted the world to know the truth, I would have hired your boss," he said nastily. "Why do you think I brought you here? To find the truth? The Jewel? I brought you here so that you could announce the discovery I tell you: that the neighboring tribes had murdered the Jewel out of jealous spite."
"So that the people continue to back your bloodbath and the Western world believes you are a modern crusader," Laura finished bitterly.
"See? I told you that you were good. And that is exactly what you will do in two days time."
"Do you think no one knows I’m here?" Laura countered.
"Ah, yes. Your boss. Mr. Steele. I forgot to tell you. Steele is dead."
Startled and refusing to believe him, she babbled, "Don’t be ridiculous. Mr. Steele would never die without telling me. You lie." And yet, there was a sinking feeling in her chest. The unanswered phones….
"Nevertheless, he is dead," Omar said coldly. He turned to leave and added sarcastically, "You look pale, Miss Holt. Allow me to send for my personal physician." With that he slammed the door shut with as much fury as he had opened it with, leaving Laura alone with the Jewel.
As if in a daze, she moved over to the cot and sat down, barely conscious of her movements. Her eyes began to fill with tears; she could barely see. She whispered, "It can’t be true. It can’t be…"
The ringing of the phones echoed in her ears. He can’t be dead…it’s a ruse…I’m responsible for his death…I never told him how I felt…I’m all alone…it’s my fault…I practically killed him…and I love him…so much…he’s gone….
Her thoughts were interrupted by the Jewel. "This Steele… he is friend for you?" he asked gently.
"Yes. He is my best friend." With that, she began to weep. Curling herself up into a ball on the cot, she cried until it hurt. Without any tears left and no voice, she silently sobbed herself to sleep, the pain in her chest not subsiding until merciful oblivion overcame her.
To Part Five