CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ADEL SHOT ME THE evil eye.

I shook my head. “I didn’t tell him.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Love. I found out about your guardian status only when Oleg did. Now, why don’t you introduce me to what’s left of Texicas’s great twitcher slayers so we can get the hell out of the open?”

Adel started the introductions with the captain of the unit, Ruben Reyes, known as Eyes. Next she introduced Fatima “Fatty” Soto, technology and communications expert and the only remaining woman after the death of their former captain, Marisol Cruz.

Marco “Dirk” Dirksen was a mechanic and machinist whose primary hobby entailed blowing up things. Phil Philemon, or Double Phil, known most often as DP, was the pilot and philosopher of the bunch. He looked away from the mono tiltrotor long enough to shake Petrosian’s hand. Lastly, Adel introduced Joseph Ransom, the sniper, marksman, and general weapons expert.

The whole affair took twelve seconds. Eyes, Fatty, Dirk, DP, and Ransom seemed as eager to get out of the triple-digit heat as Petrosian was to steal away from watchful satellites. Heading directly into the slight shadow of a hangar, Petrosian proceeded toward a door at the far end. “I’m encouraged you all had the sense to wear street clothes.” He knocked on the door.

“Sir,” Eyes spoke formally, “we’ve been to Riyadh before.”

“Excellent. Because we’ll be leaving Riyadh within the hour.” Buzzing, the door clicked open. Petrosian stepped inside, failing to indicate if we should follow.

“Grish! My friend, I didn’t know you were planning a visit. As-salamu alaykum.”

“As-salamu alaykum indeed.” Petrosian greeted someone inside. “But I’m sorry to say I didn’t plan this trip.”

I pushed past the others and entered the hangar. After the brilliance outside, it took a few seconds to visibly make out anything more than shadows. Finally I realized the man greeting Petrosian had a frown peeking out from under the bushy mustache occupying half his face.

“And who are these?”

“In a little bit, my friends. But first, could you tow my bird inside?” Petrosian elbowed the man. “I have a feeling it might rain.”

“Rain?” The man’s expression suddenly changed. “Oh, of course. I’ll make her right at home.” He hurried toward the hangar doors.

Petrosian called after him. “If you don’t mind, I’ll start the coffee.”

“Oh, sure, sure.”

“Same place?”

“As long as Allah wills it, my friend.” The man slapped a button to open the huge doors.

Petrosian had already begun preparing Arabic coffee for everyone. Of course, sitting down to drink coffee before getting to work in Arabia didn’t surprise any of us. But it gave us all the more reason to puzzle over Petrosian’s earlier claim of leaving the city within the hour. Dutifully, we headed toward a rug, a low table, and some pillows situated in a corner of the hangar.

Adel sat next to me. “Who’s in charge of this mission anyway? And how the hell does he know who I am?”

Evie sat across from me, her anger thinly disguised as she chatted with Fatty.

I turned to Adel. “Petrosian’s in charge of getting me to Oleg. I’m in charge of killing Oleg. I haven’t the slightest idea how the hell the old man seems to know everything.”

Adel eyed me a moment longer, calculating my tolerance level for argument.

I shot her what I considered my cutest grumpy expression.

“Fair enough.”

Pushing my advantage, I leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “And you are in charge of Evie.”

“Wait a second—”

Petrosian placed a tray of traditional fig cakes on the low table and began pouring a round of coffee into small, stained cups.

“No argument,” I continued in a whisper. “I need you to disappear into the city first chance you get. See some sights. Head to the diplomatic quarter. Unescorted Western women won’t even warrant a second look there.”

She smiled at Petrosian as he poured her coffee into a cup ornately detailed with gold enamel. After he moved on, she brushed my ear with her lips. “So not only am I your babysitter, but I’m also not even attractive enough to warrant a second look?”

“Knock it off.”

“I won’t do it,” she continued in a hushed tone.

“She can’t go with us.” I closed my eyes, struggling to contain my anger.

“She’s not afraid to die, Buck.”

“I didn’t—”

“She’s afraid you’ll leave her.”

“I won’t.”

“Just as your father promised not to leave you?”

I squeezed Adel’s hand, trembling with anger.

“Buck.” She nudged me.

“I’m not my father.” I opened my eyes to plead with her.

She nodded toward the table in front of us, a worried expression on her face.

The table was floating a few inches above the ground. Everyone had frozen in place, staring at me. “Sorry.” I put the table down without spilling a drop of coffee.

Evie rolled her eyes. The members of the unit scrutinized me, attempting to evaluate the stability of the man about to lead them into hell’s outhouse.

I rested my head in my hand.

“Sorry, Buck.” Adel used her most gentle tone. “You do your own dirty work.”

Before I could push the matter further, a sturdy, four-wheeled tug towed the tiltrotor into the hangar. The operator leapt out, jogging our way as the doors closed automatically. “Allah willing, it won’t reach 120 of your Fahrenheit degrees again today.” He stopped to catch his breath. “Ah, you’ve poured the coffee. Good, good. Let us have a sit.”

For twenty minutes we chatted off and on around the circle, occasionally fielding polite questions from our host or listening to a harmless anecdote. The coffee was good, but not to the same standard as Petrosian’s private stash. Or perhaps the fig cakes were leaving a bad taste in my mouth. Then again, maybe it was a combination of the heat and jet lag.

Whichever the cause, I had an upset stomach and eyelids I couldn’t keep open. “Think I could get away with a nap?”

Adel had laid her head on my shoulder. I shook her lightly when she didn’t respond. Her head tipped back, her mouth wide open.

“Adel?”

She was asleep.

Through foggy eyes, I scanned the rest of the circle. Evie was out. She and Fatty were asleep on each other.

Only Dirk was awake enough to acknowledge me. He shook his head, tipping his hand back to indicate the coffee we’d drunk.

Shocked and confused, I searched the spinning hangar for Petrosian. I had to warn him.

“Sorry, Little Buck.” The old man stepped over Adel, picking her cup up from the floor and placing it on the table. “But as they say in the Rub’ al Khali, it’s my way, or go to hell.”

“Bast—” I tried to retaliate, to lash out with my mind, but the current dissolved into darkness the same as the rest of the hangar. Listing, I fell into the infinite hush of wind and sand.