CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THREE HOURS’ WALK INTO the heart of the Rub’ al Khali, the procession came to a sudden stop. Simultaneously, a loud wailing racked the desert air. Every married woman in the group, some four dozen, released her stored-up grief. Beneath the isolating curtain of sand, each wail rose and fell like spirits emerging from the desert itself.

Adel had thought me joking when I first shared my modified plan. Then she’d been irate. Within the span of thirty seconds, she reached a level of determined assent. I couldn’t be sure whether she had agreed so quickly due to the cunning of the strategy or simply due to her frustration with the whole predicament.

But when the moment came, she didn’t hesitate.

As the majority of the procession rushed forward to prepare the pyres, the man guarding the water remained isolated near the back. I slipped behind the three camels carrying water, one of them clanking with an extra bundle sounding of metal. Withdrawing a single scimitar, I strode toward the head of the lead animal.

Coming suddenly upon the man charged with protecting the water, I discovered Adel had enacted her end of the plan with smashing success. Mesmerized and completely unaware of my presence, the man stood with his back to me.

Suppressing a chuckle, I slapped him upside the head with the broad side of the sword, dropping him instantly. Just as quickly, Adel tucked her gleaming, white assets back into her abaya. I handed her the reins of the lead camel, a blank expression on my face.

“Men. Idiots in every culture.”

“We know what we like.”

She shook her head.

“Here.” I handed her the sword. “After you ditch the camels to the north, work your way around due south. I’ll find you.” I removed the remaining swords, dashing ahead before Adel could argue.

I reached the gathering site of the ceremony as the members of the unit were being shoved toward the front. With little chance for a quiet exit, I hoped the prospect of fighting six armed men, five of them professional warriors, would encourage Hassan’s kinsmen to back down. Weaving quickly through the mourners, I scanned my psychic grid for Evie, who appeared as a bright star the moment I drew within range.

I gripped the hilt of a scimitar still rolled in camel’s hide. The wailing intensified, joined now by chanting men. The unit had been kicked forward and surrounded. Evie stood to the side, ten meters farther. I had to reach her first.

A leg jutted in front of me, a fist catching me across the back. Instinctively, I spun into the attacker, transferring my momentum into him. Dropping the bundle of swords, I slung the man into the sand and landed with my arm barred across his throat. “Petrosian, dammit.”

He grunted, pushing me off. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Anywhere but here, and you?” I snatched the camel hide and checked on Evie, who was heading in our direction.

“Now hold your water, son. We’ll be shoving off soon enough.”

“Soon enough for who?” I gestured toward the unit as Evie offered me a hand up.

Petrosian leaned in close enough to be heard by me alone. “Just how well do you understand the adkhala abadan?”

“What part of blood sacrifice are you suggesting I reinterpret?”

“The whole damn thing, apparently, dumb ass.”

“That’s Doctor Dumb Ass.” Forced by the rest of the village, the three of us huddled forward, carried on a crest of chanting and wailing that set my teeth on edge. “Explain.”

Nearly yelling, Petrosian continued, “It’s haraam to spill foreigner’s blood in the Rub’ al Khali. They’ll let the desert do the deed for them. Wait a few more minutes, and we’ll round up your friends without a fuss.”

“And if they—”

“Shut up and watch, professor. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

For the time being, the focus shifted from the unit to the small pyres of dung and coagulated bituminous sands. I ground my teeth. Grish might want to be rid of the unit, but doing so like this would reveal his hand too early. Reluctantly, I decided to play along. This was, after all, his area of expertise. Hopefully no one would notice the missing camels.

The three young men emerged from the rest of the crowd, stripped bare except for a cloth wrapped about their loins. Ruddy and trembling, they were on the verge of succumbing to the twitch. Evie shuddered and squeezed my hand.

Even as the village crowded closer together, a small buffer grew around the boys and their corresponding pyres at the center of the ceremony. The unit huddled opposite our position, on the other side of the pyres.

Suddenly the wailing and chanting stopped, the growl of the desert seeming a whisper. For several seconds everyone fixated on the three boys. Finally, the village chief stepped forward. Raising his tenor voice above the terrible wind, he sang the liturgy of the adkhala abadan for everyone to hear.

He opened with a prayer of protection on the village and the boys. He praised Jinn Hariq, asking that the young warriors be received with honor. The prayers were succinct, efficient, and not flowery.

Quickly the village chief transitioned into a threat and a curse. My stomach lurched as he swung his arms out, ushering a dozen armed men forward.

“Hold.” Petrosian growled.

I stood on tiptoes, wondering why I continued to trust a man who had lied to me at every turn. But moving quickly at this point would require telekinetic abilities.

The armed men created a cramped buffer between the crowd and the unit. The villagers behind us continued to crush forward, creating a humming ball of humanity. The pungent stink of human sweat intensified, overwhelming the salt of the desert.

The chief barked a command in Arabic. “Go! Welcome death with honor!”

The armed entourage slapped the broad side of their scimitars on their palms and repeated the order.

Eyes spoke Arabic more fluently than I did. He understood the command. With a nod of his head, the five of them backed away from the chief and from the center of the circle. An opening formed behind them as the tribe parted. With a few last slaps and parting curses, all five members of the team where coughed into the desert, their signatures disappearing off the fringes of my psychic grid. The huddle closed.

Petrosian nodded.

I squeezed Evie’s hand and began forcing my way slowly through the mass of people. With only a few more words, the pyres were lit. The families placed the boys’ possessions atop the flames, the entirety of their personal effects amounting to a dozen small items. Thick, black smoke whisked away with the wind and sand.

We reached the edge of the huddle. With a few quick strides, we pushed far enough into the veil of sand to be invisible. I clutched Evie tight, checking the grid with my mind’s eye. No one noted our departure. “What about Hassan?”

“He’s closing in from the other direction.” Petrosian started jogging. “Come on. We need to find your team before the ceremony climaxes. Hopefully they’ve got enough sense to stay put.”

Straining air through the rebreather made strenuous activity ten times more difficult. I steadied my body and mind by focusing on the nearness of my goal of killing Oleg. Lightheaded after only a minute, I spotted five signatures thirty meters in front of us. “There,” I directed Petrosian.

Seconds later, a brief yet startling shriek rose all around us. The voices of the villagers reverberated from the grains of sand in the air. “What the hell?”

Petrosian accelerated his pace. “The boys are being driven into the realm of the jinn. We gotta hurry if this is gonna work.”