Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) (40 page)

He can’t stop me so he doesn’t even bother to try. Instead, he concentrates on the practicalities.

“Stay in contact. I’ll have a group ready to head out if you find anything.”

I’m a man of action, and barking orders from the safety of a command centre does nothing at all for me, so having something concrete to do at least helps dissipate some of my frustration. I walk towards the elderly observation helicopter feeling better than I’ve felt for hours. A co-pilot comes towards me, but I dismiss him, being in no mood for the company today. I swing myself up into the cabin and quickly complete the pre-flight checks before getting into the air. With rotors turning above me and the ground dropping away, I experience the sense of freedom I always get from flying, especially alone. Here there are no protocols to follow; it’s simply me against the air.

The machine swoops up and away, the palace and the desert city of Z̧almā fast left behind. Nothing lies beneath me now but the inhospitable sands of the southern desert. I fly along the border of Amahad. It’s as invisible from the air as it is on the ground, but I know where it is. It feels as though I was born with the knowledge. Along the way I see pockets of our soldiers, their combat gear making them almost invisible, had I not known where to look for them. The evidence of tyre tracks is clearer to see than the men themselves. Have we sent them to the right place? Our intelligence was not entirely clear on whether it was to be one concentrated attack, in which case our forces might be overwhelmed, or a number of smaller strikes, in which case the jihadists may slip in through points not sufficiently guarded. At least by flying the border I can hope that I might be able to get a better view than the one from the ground.

I reach my destination, the sandstone cliffs, and circle in what could be called a suicidal move if enemy soldiers were indeed hiding there. But it doesn’t stop me flying lower, hovering around the peaks and over the crevices to check for any signs of life on the rocks below. I’m quite possibly making myself a target, but I’m confident I can pull up and away at the first sign of danger. There’s nothing to see and I’m drawing no one’s fire. I call back to base and give the all-clear.

Instead of returning directly to the military headquarters I decide to fly further along the border. I check my fuel, assessing how much flying time I’ve got, checking I’ve sufficient in reserve to continue further. I decide to carry on until I’ve just over half
a tank remaining before turning back. If I’m honest, I don’t want to give up the freedom of the air and the feeling that I’m doing something tangible to help.

Below me now is a pocket of our men fighting. They seem to have the upper hand. Flying single-handed there’s little I can do to help in any event, so I fly on but report in, giving another brief radio update. With luck, that’s the main bulk of the action today, and we’re gaining the upper hand.

I fly on automatically, increasing my speed. The sands speed by below me. Now I’ve passed the cliffs the scenery is monotonous, and instead of gleaming white I see a different vision before my eyes. Cara, her body open beneath me as I thrust my rigid cock into her. The sweetness of the sounds she makes as I bring her to her peak, the softness of her breasts as I touch them. The look of love on her face.
Her betrayal.
The helicopter lurches as I clench my muscles.
I can’t forgive her because I can’t forgive myself.

My eyes mist at the thought of what I’ve lost. The night in the dungeon will for ever be etched in my mind, the whiteness of her skin as she lay captive in my ropes, the flush that swept over her when her orgasm rushed through her, enhanced by her helplessness. My cock stirs at my memories, and I will it to subside as I realise that never again will I touch her soft skin
. Can I bear to live without her?
Will my life be worth living?

With a start I realise where I am, and what I’m doing. Fuck, I’m almost out of range. If I don’t turn back now, I won’t make it. I turn the aircraft around, almost missing the glint below me, but my sharp eyes narrow in and quickly identify the shape I see as a machine gun – and I’m flying far too low. Fuck! Automatically my survival instincts kick in and I try to pull the collective to gain height, but I’m already on full power. Pulling back, I sacrifice some speed to gain more altitude and soar away. Suddenly I feel the helicopter yaw to the right and the pedals are unresponsive. My tail rotor has taken a direct hit. There’s smoke flying out behind me but I manage to maintain my speed at just above seventy knots, which at least means I should be able to keep flying in a straight line, the speed of the wind on the tail compensating for the loss of the rotor. I thank Allah that I’m already heading back towards base because, fuck knows, I wouldn’t have no chance of changing direction now. For that one piece of luck, I let out a deep sigh of relief. I should be able to make it.

What a fuck-up! The initial panic over, I realise I can handle this. Like all pilots, commercial, private or military, I’ve learnt how to control a helicopter when the tail rotor fails, that vital part of equipment essential to make sure the rotors rotate around the chopper instead of vice versa. As long as the fuel holds out I should be able to make it home, or at least get close enough to get help. Once I’ve regained a semblance of control, I get on the radio and broadcast a pan-pan urgency call. Confident in my ability and assessment of the situation I use the distress call that lets the base know there’s no real emergency, nothing necessary to divert the actions of the troops.

But only minutes into the flight back I feel a difference in the controls: they’re getting heavier.
This is not my fucking day
. The lack of response tells me the hydraulics must have been hit. As if that isn’t enough I feel a side wind suddenly come up and see the telltale signs of sand rising in the distance. A sudden desert storm; that’s just the icing on the fucking cake! Using the small amount of control I have left I manage a slight turn so that the wind is behind me, while accepting there’s no way of getting all the way back now. Making a safe landing is my priority. I reach for the radio only to hear static, and I’m not sure why I expected anything else – just one more fucked-up thing in a fucking long list. There’s nothing for it with the weather worsening; I have to land while I still have some control. I drop the lever and enter auto-rotation. An auto-rotation landing with no hydraulics is not going to be easy but I know it’s my best option. Like lightning, my mind processes my best chances for survival. As the ground comes up all too fast, I make sure I don’t flare too soon and lose all my momentum. I hold off until the last second, but when I attempt a flare the controls are impossible to use nimbly. The delay means my tail strikes the ground, destabilising the whole aircraft, which crashes into the sand with far too much forward speed and rolls over and over, still travelling in the same direction.

Cara

After the meeting with the emir I hoped Nijad would answer the summons to the palace as soon as he could and, now knowing the whole truth, we could have a sensible discussion about our future.
But would the truth be enough for him? Why hadn’t he returned before?

Biting my lip as I sit waiting in my room, I can’t help but wonder what is in his past that has such influence on our relationship today. I wish Jasim had told me more. Apparently he’s had a relationship before which hurt him badly, but that was different, surely. I’d never set out to hide things from him. Yes, I’d been stupid, but never deceitful.

It’s only a two-hour journey from the desert palace. Glancing at the clock hanging on the wall of my suite I see it’s late afternoon. With luck, Nijad should be here later this evening. Glancing across the comfortable sitting room, my gaze lands on the doorway to my bedroom and my stomach rolls in anticipation.
Will he be sharing my bed tonight?
Leaning forward on the couch, my elbows on my knees, I put my head in my hands. Jasim had told him I’d been exonerated a few days ago, so if he was ready to forgive, shouldn’t he have already come back for me? Am I just holding on to a foolish hope? What will I do if the influence of his past is too deep-seated for him to trust anyone again? Will I have to return to England? To my cold, lonely existence in command central? Waiting for my only friend Hunter to turn up every few months for a visit? That’s not a life.

Getting to my feet I start to pace the room, and I glance again at the clock, wishing the hands would move faster. Could I stay here in Amahad without him? The job Kadar’s offered me is a chance in a lifetime, basically free rein to reorganise their finance department and get everything back on track. My own office, staff reporting to me. A tremendous responsibility, but one I’d relish; under other circumstances. How could I remain in a country where I would see the man I had loved and lost, where his name would most definitely come up in conversation. In reality, we’d had such a short time together, but it was enough to know there’d could never be anyone else for me. No one could come close to matching up to him, and it wouldn’t be fair to try to be with another man when my heart remained with my desert sheikh. Even while the thoughts are going round in my head I realise I can’t make any decisions now; it all hinges on what Nijad has to say when he gets here. So I wait impatiently for news: the hours, the minutes, the seconds ticking by so slowly.

But he doesn’t arrive that evening or that night. Jasim hasn’t been able to make further contact with him. They tell me that’s not unusual, particularly as there's been a sandstorm. But that doesn’t stop me worrying.

After a sleepless night, Kadar sends a guard to collect me as I still get lost trying to find my way round the palace, and I’m taken to the relatively modern business section of the palace where they’ve allocated me a magnificent office. This wing has been completely modernised, with more than adequate cabling for my computer and the multiple screens I prefer to work with. Kadar’s waiting for me. He’s working on the assumption that I’ll be staying, at least long enough to start putting a reorganisation under way and, as he put it, to use my more nefarious skills to shut the back door in the Amahadian finance systems.

At least being buried in work will keep the worries from my mind for a while, so when the crown prince leaves my office, I reach for some of the folders he’s left and start flicking through them, trying to concentrate on what I’ve been asked to do. But it’s difficult to focus my mind. Halfway through the long morning, I glance out of the window and see Kadar outside in the gardens, taking a break. I decide to join him, grabbing a cup of coffee from a convenient machine on my way.

“Cara.” He greets me with a slight turn-up of the corners of his mouth, which for him is a smile. “How are you getting on? Have you managed to start looking through the employee files yet?”

I focus on his question about work.

“I’ve had an initial sift through; there are a couple I want to look into more closely, but nothing obvious as yet.”

He’s tasked me with looking at the background of all senior government employees, anxious to make sure there are no more rotten apples in the barrel.

“I thought I saw you come out.”

Jasim joins us, his welcoming expression broad and endearing, a stark contrast to Kadar’s more guarded look. But then his face grows serious.

“What is it, brother?” Kadar has picked up there’s something wrong.

Jasim exchanges looks with his brother. Something tells me there’s been a development. Putting down my coffee, I sit straighter.

“What is it? Is it about Nijad?”

Jasim runs his hands through his hair, and then sits down on the stone bench beside me.

“Communications have been restored with the palace in Z̧almā. Nijad’s not there. He left for the military base a couple of days ago.”

I don’t quite understand what he’s saying, but it doesn’t sound good. “Why’s he at the base?”

He’s reluctant to tell me, but Kadar opens his hands in a gesture that he, at least, wants to hear everything. Immediately, I feel on guard; this isn’t going to be good. Jasim clears his throat.

“What we know from the palace is this: there was an organised attack on the border a couple of days ago. Not just the usual skirmish, but a small army attempting to cross. They divided their units to hit several crossing points, hoping to catch our military on the hop, and spread them too thin to prevent them entering. They didn’t expect all groups to succeed but obviously hoped some would get across. It was a suicidal mission but, then, that’s the type of people we’re up against.”

I close my eyes, wondering what part Nijad had to play in this. I already know he’s a warrior and surely wouldn’t have been far from the fighting.
Was he injured, or worse? Taken captive?
I stare at Jasim, willing him to continue and give me answers.

“They didn’t succeed, of course. Our troops are far too organised for that, but there was fierce fighting. The jihadists suffered significant losses and were beaten back.”

“What about our side?”

I feel sick. Is he going to tell me Nijad was a casualty?

“We lost ten good men, and a large number were injured.”

“Jasim, just tell me, please. Is Nijad OK?”

He moves closer and puts his arm around me. Kadar’s eyes flare, and then he relaxes, allowing the intimacy.

“Nijad should have been at command base to spearhead our response to the invasion.” He pauses and inhales deeply. “Instead of staying in the centre, when it became apparent there was a lack of surveillance information, he decided to get in the thick of it. He took off in a helicopter two days ago. There’s been no contact with him since.”