Panther's Prey (5 page)

Her appearance posed another problem. It was difficult to dismiss the image of a woman so gorgeous that she would turn any man’s head. He had held her in his arms during the ride to the camp, pressed the slight, curvaceous body to his own, inhaled the fragrance of her hair and skin. He had rarely seen eyes that color, gray without a trace of blue, like the ocean in the rain. And her hair! Pure beaten gold, like the minarets which topped the great mosque in the square of Hagia Sophia. Strands of it had blown back against his face as they were riding, soft as cornsilk and the same color, as fresh as grass.

Malik drained the bottle disgustedly and threw it into the stream, where it shattered against a rock. This rambling was unproductive and self-indulgent. He knew what he had to do and he would do it. He would forget her as he had the others, and move on, never losing sight of his goal.

There was no other way to reach it.

* * *

James Woolcott sat in the office of Secretary Danforth at the American Embassy and marveled how little the paneled chamber had changed over the years. The Under Secretary he had first met when his cousin Sarah disappeared from the Sultan’s harem was now the Ambassador’s Secretary. The Kirman carpet had been replaced with one of Afghan design, but the red drapes, the gold tassels, and the bust of the late President Lincoln still remained. James was reading one of the framed diplomas on the wall when Danforth bustled in from the next room.

James rose and shook the diplomat’s hand, noting that Danforth was even more portly and florid than when he had seen him last. The Secretary was also still something of a fashion plate; he sported a full skirted frock coat with braided trim in a gray tweed unsuitable for the climate, and carried a gold topped cane.

“How are you, Woolcott?” Danforth said, indicating that James should sit again. “I think the last time I saw you was at that Embassy tea about six months ago. You look prosperous, I hope that your business is still doing well?” Danforth sat behind his desk and picked up a single sheet of onionskin paper.

“Very well.”

“Yes, I assumed so. Well, you are becoming a rich man and I, as you see, am still here.” He sighed, perusing the letter he held. “I have your complaint in my hand, it was passed on to me by my attache´. It seems that now your niece is missing.” He dropped the page and folded his chubby hands on the desk before him. “If I recall the circumstances correctly, I first met you when your cousin Sarah disappeared. I have to ask you, Woolcott, how is it that you have so much trouble keeping track of your female relatives?”
 

James stared at him for a moment, then said, “How is it that a country as powerful as the United States cannot guarantee the safe travel of its citizens through Turkey?”

Danforth, who should have been insulted by the jibe, merely waved aside the remark. “Come, come, Woolcott, don’t fence with me. You and I have both lived here for years. We know what these people are like. If the Sultan isn’t executing some harmless peasant for spitting in the street the rebels are holding up trains and robbing passengers at gunpoint. We cannot change the culture, we can only try to hold our own and keep the diplomatic channels open, hoping that eventually the Sultanate will fall. In the meantime we have issued an advisory to every U. S. citizen who applies for papers to travel to the Empire, describing the uncertain political climate of this area and the risks inherent in coming here. More than that we just cannot do.”

James was silent.

Danforth looked down at the letter again. “Your niece was traveling with a chaperone?”

“Yes, a middle aged woman, a friend of her mother’s. Mrs. Spaulding was not taken by the bandits.”

“It seems that you would have done better to provide your niece with an armed marine from the barracks in Tripoli,” Danforth said musingly, pursing his lips. “Is this Spaulding woman available for questioning?”

“Yes, I assume so. She was of course very upset when it happened but I’m sure she would want to cooperate.”

Danforth nodded. “And the passengers were robbed, but only your niece was kidnapped?”

“Yes.”

Danforth nodded again. “It sounds like the work of the rebels to me.”

“My wife thinks so too.”

“Your wife?”

“Amelia is actually my wife’s niece, her brother’s child. Beatrice thinks it was Malik Bey or his men.”

“I agree. There are bandits abroad in the Empire who have no cause except lining their own pockets, but they don’t take chances like this and they don’t kidnap women for sale. They’re not organized enough to house and transport them. Bey has quite an extensive and efficient organization and this type of thing is his trademark, I’m afraid.”

“So what can we do?”

Danforth rose from his leather padded chair and strolled around the room, his hands behind his back.

“The United States is in a very difficult position with respect to the rebels, Woolcott, and I’m sure you can appreciate why. They are seeking to remove a ruthless dictator from power and replace him with a democratic government, so we are of course in sympathy with their aims. But since they raise money for their operation by preying on well heeled travelers, many of whom happen to be British and American, we have to condemn their methods.”

“This incident wasn’t just a robbery, Danforth. Amelia was kidnapped.”

“Selling Western women into slavery is even more lucrative than banditry,” Danforth said, shrugging. “From the description I have here your unfortunate niece is just what these men are always looking for: young, blonde, and I assume untouched.”

James nodded, not looking at Danforth.

“That explains why the other women on the coach weren’t taken. They wouldn’t be worth much.”

“What can we do?” James said again.

“Well, the Sultan’s government is the official one, as you know, and I will file a complaint with his representatives, but I wouldn’t expect anything to come of that. If the Sultan could control the rebels we would not be having this conversation.”
 

“My wife thinks I should ask Kalid Shah to intervene in this matter.”

“Kalid Shah? The Pasha of Bursa?”

“He is now a member of the family,” James said, looking at the ceiling.

“Yes, I recall that your cousin eventually married her purchaser, quite a turn of events there.” Danforth considered the suggestion, biting his lower lip. “Shah has been trying to moderate between the rebels and the Sultan,” Danforth said slowly, “he might be able to help.”

“Then you think it’s a good idea?”

Danforth widened his eyes. “It’s worth a try. Like my government, Shah is caught between the two factions. He has a Western education, a Western wife and decidedly Western political leanings, but he is still the Sultan’s man and if the Sultan falls he loses the pashadom of Bursa for his son.”

“I assume that Shah hasn’t been getting anywhere with the Sultan or the rebels wouldn’t be so active.”

“Shah’s been trying to win some concessions from Hammid to placate the rebels and work out a compromise.” Danforth spread his hands to indicate futility. “But the Sultan is adamant about retaining his absolute power.”

“That’s how dictators always fall. They won’t give a little to preserve what’s left and eventually they lose everything.”

“Such is the lesson of history,” Danforth said sadly. “And in this case the Sultan’s attitude toward the rebels is exacerbated by the fact that the oldest Bey brother ran off with his daughter.”

“Yes, I know. Roxalena is Sarah’s dear friend.”

“Then you understand why the Sultan regards the Bey brothers as twin thorns in his side. Osman, his former captain of halberdiers, eloped with Princess Roxalena, and now Osman’s kid brother is organizing a grass roots army against Hammid. It’s a very tense situation.”

“And Amelia is caught in the middle of it.”

“We all are, but she’s in the most immediate danger. The rebels don’t hang on to their captives long, quick turnover is imperative. We must act fast.”

James rose. “I’ll go to see Shah immediately.”

“And I will meet with the Ambassador today to see what we can do from our end.” Danforth reached out to shake James’ hand. “Good luck, Woolcott.”

“Thank you,” James said.

He had a feeling he was going to need it.

* * *

Amy watched as the man entered and dropped the tent flap behind him. From his height and his eyes she recognized him as the first bandit who had kidnapped her.

“What are you going to do with me?” she demanded, tugging on the ropes which held her bound to the pole.

The man surveyed her without replying. He was now dressed in loose homespun trousers with a belted tunic slashed deeply at the neck. His coal black hair waved loosely over his forehead and his collar, and she saw that his mask had covered a thin, high bridged nose and a wide, sensuous mouth with a full lower lip. She had been right about his age; he was no more than twenty-five or thirty, but his intense, serious gaze bespoke a responsibility and a drive far beyond his years.

She could not tear her eyes from his.

“Answer me,” she said. “I know you speak English.”

He said nothing, merely walked in a circle around her, surveying her as if she were the blue ribbon heifer at the county fair. The scrutiny made Amy intensely uncomfortable and she was finally able to look away from him. At that moment he stepped forward and lifted her chin with his finger.

He studied her face, and at such close range Amy was able to study his. He had the longest eyelashes she had ever seen, so thick and dense that they made his eyes seem huge in his olive skinned face, and when his lips parted she had a glimpse of strong white teeth. He stroked her chin absently with his thumb, looking her over, and she shivered at the touch, mesmerized by his stare. Then she realized that she was submitting to this humiliating examination without a struggle and she jerked back from him angrily. He smiled slightly, which infuriated her even more.

“You’ll never get away with this,” she hissed.

He removed the veil the old woman had pinned to her hair and ran his hand lightly over the flaxen mass, lifting it from her neck, as if weighing gold.

“Stop touching me!” she yelled, close to her tears at her inability to get away from him. She hated her helplessness, as well as the way he was making her feel.

In response he undid the single button at her neck and slipped his hand smoothly inside her collar, as if to sample the silken texture of her skin.

Amy reacted instinctively, not taking time to consider the rashness of her action. She spit in his face.

He looked surprised for a moment, then his expression hardened. He grabbed her collar and was pulling her toward him roughly when the tent flap lifted and the second bandit came in, calling, “Malik!”

Malik, Amy thought. Where had she seen that name? Then she remembered. Malik Bey was the sworn enemy of the Sultan, the rebel with an enormous price on his head she had read about in the newspaper.
 

Amy felt her throat close with fear. Her first guess had been correct then, and she was destined for the slave markets. That’s why she had been bathed and handled so carefully, why this man was examining her as if she were some rare commodity. To him she was; selling her would bring him a fortune that he could then spend on weapons and supplies to outfit his men.
 

Amy refused to cry, but she began to tremble helplessly. Finding the flyer and the rebel leader in the same camp was not a coincidence.
 

She was lost.
 

The second bandit stopped short at the scene before him and then burst out laughing. He said something jokingly to Malik, but the rebel leader did not smile. He released Amy suddenly and then stalked out of the tent.

Anwar Talit dashed out after him and said again in Turkish, “Come on, let’s strip her naked and have a look. That’ll help to put a price on her.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have to mistreat her to see that she’s worth fifteen hundred kurush, maybe two thousand. She’s very young, probably a virgin.”

“Probably? I’ll make sure!”

“I said no. If we start violating our captives then all the men will want to do it and we’ll be running an orgy here, the revolution will be forgotten. I must demand the same discipline of myself that I expect from my soldiers.”

Anwar studied his friend and then his face changed. “You want her, don’t you?” Anwar said slowly.

“Don’t be ridiculous. All she means to me is the price she’ll bring.”

“But you like this one. That hair, the gray eyes, the white skin. She’s much more beautiful than any of the others we’ve sold. And she has spirit, you always respond to that.”

Malik shrugged.

“Then why were you undressing her when I walked in?” Anwar persisted.

“I wasn’t undressing her, I was merely seeing if the report I got from the women was accurate. She must be perfect to demand that much money for her.”

“And?”

“As far as I was able to see, she is flawless,” Malik answered quietly.

“Then take her. If it knocks a few hundred off the virgin price, what’s the difference? She’ll still bring more in one shot than we could raise with several train raids.”