Heroes Never Die (15 page)

“Sabah al-hayri,” the immigration official said.  “Ma ismok?”

Stephanie knew what he said, but she wasn’t allowed to speak Arabic.  She shook her head that she didn’t understand him, and he spoke again in English.

“Good morning.  What is your name?”

“Mickey Chapman.”  She had rehearsed this moment many times, but she still felt nervous.  She wondered if her face had turned red.

“Is this your first time here?”  Stephanie nodded that it was.  “Landing card and passport, please.  I also want the letter from your company with the name of your guardian.”

“I have all of that,” she said as she handed him the documents.  While he looked over her papers, she watched as another agent checked her luggage.  He found her laptop and microcassette recorder and confiscated both pieces of equipment.  He opened a small bottle of perfume and smelled it to make sure that it wasn’t alcohol.  Then he closed her suitcases.

The immigration official suddenly shouted, “Guard!”

Stephanie turned her head and saw a guard rapidly approaching and her knees began to wobble.  I’m going to be arrested!

“Take this woman to King Hamid’s press attaché.  He’s standing over there.”  The immigration off
icial nodded off to his right.

Stephanie could still hear her heart pounding.  She forced herself to relax as she grabbed her luggage, and then she followed the guard.
  She instantly recognized Ayub Ali Masudi from the pictures Kyle had shown her.  He was short, thickset, and one of the key men who surrounded King Hamid.  He was wearing an abah over his white thawb, and his head was covered with a white keffiyeh with a brown braided agal around it.  His black shoes were so shiny that Stephanie noticed the overhead lights shimmering upon them.

The guard turned to face Stephanie, then he nodded toward Ayub and left.  “Hello,” she said when she knew she had his attention.  He was still wearing dark sunglasses.  Kyle had told her that Saudis believe the pupils become enlarged when one is lying, and that dark glasses were worn at all times, mostly by politicians, to hide their lies.  “I’m Mickey Chapman from Minute Magazine.  You are expecting me.”  She knew better than to reach out to shake his hand.  It was not customary for a man to shake a woman’s hand.

Ayub slowly lowered his sunglasses and stared at her.  Stephanie could see his look of utter disbelief.  “Something wrong?” she asked, knowing that he was expecting a man.

“Most definitely,” he bellowed.  “But I will explain once we’re in the car.”  He motioned to his driver to bring her luggage.  “Come with me,” he said, turning and walking ahead of her.  They stepped outside into the dry desert heat.  The warmth felt good after the early snowfall back home.

Ayub motioned for her to climb into his car.  He walked to the other side of the car and climbed inside.  He kept himself at a respectable distance, sitting as far away from her as possible.  “I’m afraid we must cancel your interview,” he said, staring at her through his dark sunglasses.

“I don’t understand.”  The driver suddenly slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting another car.  “Is His Highness ill?”

“His Highness is in perfect health, but he will not allow himself to be interviewed by a woman.  You must understand that Saudi women do not hold jobs like American women.  Here, women only care for their children and their households.  His Highness is a firm believer in tradition.  He is not accustomed to, how should I say, modern women.”

Stephanie pretended to be completely sympathetic.  “I’m terribly disappointed, but I understand.  Minute Magazine wants to feature a huge story on King Hamid in our next publication
, but my editor should have known better than to send a woman on such an important assignment.  I apologize for his lack of sensitivity.”  She was hoping that her sweet talk would gain his approval, but it was impossible to know when all she could see was his dark sunglasses.

“Your presence also creates another problem.  You cannot go anywhere without a guardian or you will be arrested for prostitution.  I had not planned on being your escort, but you are our guest, so I will try to help you as much as I can.”

“Thank you.”  Stephanie didn’t have to see his eyes to know that he was drawn to her.  His head moved up and down the length of her body when he spoke to her.

“I will talk to King Hamid.  Perhaps I can persuade him to meet with you.  I think he might like you, Mickey.”  She was counting on it.

The thirty minute drive to the hotel was unnerving.  The streets had no traffic lights and the driver drove however and wherever he wanted.  Stephanie was relieved when they arrived at the Intercontinental Hotel where she would be staying.

Ayub took her to the hotel lobby and helped her check in.  Stephanie stood to his side and scanned her surroundings.  The lobby was modern-looking with large copper columns and marble floors.  Conversation tables were placed over zebra-print rugs.  Pictures of the royal family were arranged on the wall to the right of the counter.  She noticed King Hamid’s picture right away.  He looked rugged and stern, and she wondered if he was as intimidating in person.

“You are checked in, Miss Chapman.”  Ayub handed her a key to her room.  “If you are hungry, I will take you to the dining room.”

“Actually, I’m more tired than hungry,” she politely refused.  “But thank you.”

“If you change your mind,” Ayub said as they walked toward the elevator, “call room service.  Remember, you cannot go out alone.  I will come and take you to breakfast in the morning.  I should know King Hamid’s decision by then.”  The elevator stopped on the fourth floor, and he led her to her room and unlocked the door.  “I hope your stay in Saudi Arabia is comfortable.”

“I’m sure it will be.”  She closed the door and locked it.  Her room looked comfortable and clean, and the bed looked wonderfully inviting after the long trip.  She walked over to the bed and dropped on it.  She looked up at the ceiling, and her eyes grew wide with alarm.  “Cripes,” she shrieked as she quickly rolled off of the bed so the uninvited guests wouldn’t drop down on her.  “Cockroaches!”

There was an immediate knock on the door.  Stephanie unlocked the door and cracked it open.  The bell captain from the hotel greeted her with a can of insecticide.  “This will kill cockroaches,” he said, speaking in broken English.  He held out the spray can and offered it to her.  She gratefully reached out for it, but he quickly pulled the can away.  “It will cost you.”

“How much?” she asked, willing to pay the price.

“Fifty American dollars.”  She tried not to express her shock.

“Twenty-five,” she bargained.

“Thirty, and no lower.”

“Sold.”  She paid him the price and then went on a cockroach hunt.  She aimed the can at the ceiling to neutralize her first guest, and then fired away.  She was suddenly struck with the realization that something was wrong.  She looked at her hand that held the insecticide, and then her focus slowly shifted toward the door.  She wondered how the bell captain knew she had seen cockroaches.  Barry and Kyle were right.  Her room was being monitored.  As instructed, she went to the phone and dialed Marcus at Minute Magazine to let him know that she had arrived.

Stephanie climbed between the sheets.  It wasn’t bedtime, but her eyes were swollen from exhaustion.  She thought about Brian and her dad, and she prayed to God to keep them safe.  Then with one arm hugging a pillow and the other hugging the can of insecticide, she fell into a deep sleep.  The clock beside the bed silently ticked into the early morning.  Stephanie was suddenly jolted out of her sleep by the sound of the muezzin wailing over a loudspeaker as he called all Moslems to morning prayers.  Waiting for the wailing to stop, Stephanie mentally prepared for the day ahead by rehearsing all of her lines.  Then she rolled out of bed to dress for the interview with King Hamid.  Today she had to look exceptionally beautiful.

After she was dressed,
she sat on the edge of her bed and waited for Ayub.  She reached for the hotel brochure and read it out of complete boredom.  The hotel had a luxurious pool, an exercise room, a golf course, a bowling alley, tennis courts, and interesting places to go and see, but she wasn’t allowed outside the door without an escort.  All of her freedom was gone.  It was a large price to pay for being born a woman.  She tossed the brochure onto the nightstand and looked at the clock for the hundredth time.  She heard a knock on the door.  Ayub was right on time.

Ayub took her to the Al Bustan restaurant inside the hotel where they were served a light breakfast of rolls, fruit, and coffee. 
Then he escorted her to his car and they left for the palace.

Stephanie knew they had arrived when she saw a towering wall of pure marble that hid the palace from view.  After they passed through the gate, they drove through a plantation of trees.  Then from behind the trees, Stephanie saw an immense four-story palace.  The stunning entryway had several huge foyers with tall archways and ornate filigrees carved into the stone columns.  Lush landscaped gardens and fountains surrounded the palace.  Off to either side of the palace were huge two-story villas, at least sixty in all.  It was a city within a city.

They stepped out of the car.  Saudi soldiers dressed in khaki uniforms and burgundy berets were positioned at all fronts to guard the palace.  Stephanie even noticed guards standing on the roof.  The guards looked fierce, but the rifles they held were downright frightening.  A sick feeling of fear rushed through her body and she had to remind herself that she was fully capable of carrying out the plan.  If she did exactly what she had been trained to do, nothing would go wrong.  Before she entered the palace, she looked over her shoulder as though Matt and Zach could see her through the dense trees.  This is it, guys.  If anything goes wrong, I hope you can save me.

Ayub led Stephanie inside the palace, and then he left her alone in the receiving room while he went to find King Hamid.  Vibrant flowers in antique brass pots were scattered around the room.  A crystal chandelier hung from the tall ceiling, and the light-colored walls were, with the exception of a single portrait of King Hamid’s father, undecorated.  The palace was just as lavish as she had expected, but the wall in this particular room suggested that King Hamid was a practical man who was not the least bit ostentatious.  The only ornate object in the room was the beautiful Persian rug she was standing on.  She followed its intricate design as she made her way over to the portrait to admire it.

“You must be Mickey Chapman,” a powerful voice boomed from behind her.

“Yes,” she gasped as she swung around to see King Hamid’s imposing figure bearing down upon her.  His long white thawb reinforced his powerful appearance.  The matching kaffiyyah that covered his head was tucked beneath his ivory abah.  The fabric of his garb was fine-woven, and his abah was exquisitely embroidered in gold.  Wit
h jet-black hair, penetrating dark eyes, and a full rugged mouth, he looked as commanding as his royal robes.  She wondered whether he could see the fear in her eyes.

“Did I frighten you?”

“No, of course not,” she said, nervously shaking her head.  Then she quickly changed her mind.  “Yes,” she nodded.  “I was expecting Ayub.  He went to find you.”

“He did
find me, and I dismissed him.  He will return when our interview is over.”  He stepped closer to her.  “So you are the woman with the man’s name.”  His English was heavily accented but flawless.

“I never thought about it that way, but you are correct.  My name is intended to be masculine.”

“What a pity.”  She watched as his eyes darted over her face.  “Especially when you are so feminine.”

“Thank you
, but I like my name.  It’s very unique.”

“I don’t like it.  It does not become you.”

“Perhaps you would be more comfortable addressing me as Miss Chapman?”

“Perhaps I will change your name altogether.”

“To what?” she challenged.

“That I have not yet decided
, but I would choose a name that would grace you.”

Stephanie conceded with a smile.  “I’m anxious to hear what you come up with.”

“Do you know who that is?” he asked as he nodded toward the portrait she had been admiring.

“Yes,” she replied, fully versed in ancient Saudi history.  “He is your father, King Kamal Hamid, an aristocrat of the desert from the Anizah tribe.  Your tribe can be traced all the way back to Ishmael, the son of Abraham.  Ishmael and his mother, Hagar, were forced to flee into the desert.  They
nearly died of thirst, but God saved them by causing a well to appear.  Then the angel Gabriel appeared to Ishmael and told him that God had not forgotten him, and that he would be the father of a great nation.  Ishmael settled in the Arabian Desert, and here you are.”

“Impressive.  What else do you know?”

“Not as much as I would like.  That’s why I’m here.  But I was told that you objected to being interviewed by a woman.  What changed your mind?”

“You have come a long way to be disqualified on the basis of your gender
, so I will keep my end of the bargain.  Shall we begin?”

Stephanie was dwarfed by
the king’s size as he led her to a group of gold-framed chairs upholstered in regal gold and blue.  The gold filigreed coffee table had a marble top covered with long-stemmed red roses, yellow lilies, and pink orchids.  The king ordered coffee service with a clap of his hands.  He had the biggest, most powerful hands she had ever seen, but he had never known hard labor.  His hands were smooth and well cared for.