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After he left the camel market, Liam took a quick run around Remada. He’d hoped that Ifoudan would say that the Tuareg tribe was on its way into town, but instead the camel herder had indicated they would have to travel several days with the caravan to meet at an oasis. Liam knew that he and Aidan were not prepared for such a long trip.
Because he had gone on many desert missions during his time with the SEALs, he knew they needed a compass, water, sun block, and food. He had a gun strapped to his leg, but he had no extra rounds for it, and that could present a problem if they were attacked.
Remada was too small to supply everything he needed, and any purchases he made would be sure to draw attention. His disguise was good enough when passing on the bike—but up close he was sure his American nationality would be noted. And then whoever came around asking would know what he was planning.
There was no choice but to make a quick run to Tataouine. By then, the roadblocks should have come down, and he’d be able to sneak into the town, buy what he needed, and get back on the road.
He looked up at the sun. It was already late; he’d have to hustle to return before it was too dark to travel. He thought about going back to the camel market to let Aidan know what he was doing, but didn’t want to waste the time. If everything worked out, he’d be back before Aidan had time to worry.
The trip north was quicker than the trip south, maybe because Liam pushed the bike harder, maybe because there was less weight on it. He reached Tataouine about an hour before sunset, and went to the market for the ammunition he needed. That was his most pressing concern; everything else would be easier to find.
He shopped quickly and efficiently, buying a battery-operated GPS unit, energy bars, and sun block. But no matter who he asked, there was no ammunition for sale.
He couldn’t head out into the desert to face unknown danger without extra rounds for his gun. And he worried that if he didn’t get out of Tataouine soon, he’d never make it back to Remada. As it was he was pushing his luck; the desert was a dangerous place after dark, with sudden sandstorms and little or no passing traffic. They’d been lucky once that day; he couldn’t count on the luck holding.
He remembered Nailah, the girl in the photo shop, and left the market, riding through the narrow streets to find the shop again. He got there just as she was pulling shades down on the front windows. “You have not left yet?” she asked. She took a quick look out at the empty street, then said, “Bring the bike around to the back. You never know who is watching out here.”
She closed and locked the door, and he rode down to the end of the street, rounding the buildings and traveling back up the alley. “Where is your friend?” Nailah asked in Arabic, when she opened the back door.
“He is in Remada,” Liam said. “I had to come back for supplies.”
“What do you need?” She looked at him, at the bags piled on the back of the bike. “Wheel the bike inside here.”
As soon as he had brought it inside, she closed and locked the back door as well. “You are in trouble, aren’t you? The police were all over town today, looking for two Americans.” She gave him an appraising glance. “Is it that they know you and your friend are lovers?”
Liam was surprised and uncomfortable. He had passed for straight for so long that he’d taken it for granted that no one knew he was gay. Was it Aidan? Was he too demonstrative? Had the clerk at the hotel written something in the note?
“Well?” Nailah asked, and Liam realized she was waiting for an answer.
He didn’t want to tell her about the Libyan agent, the Tuareg tribe, the million dollars. The more people who knew what he and Aidan were doing, the more chances there were that the wrong people would find out. But Nailah had given him an easy out; just admit that he and Aidan were lovers, that someone didn’t like them. “My friend is a little too... friendly,” he said. He struggled to remember the Arabic word for flirting, and couldn’t. “We were in a bar,” he said, trying to keep as close to the truth as possible.
He remembered meeting Aidan in the Bar Mamounia. He had resembled the photo Liam had of Charles Carlucci, fit the general body type. But there was something more, something that had drawn Liam to him, an almost electric connection that had sparked between them.
Nailah was waiting for more. He embroidered a bit. “Another man, he liked my friend. My friend said no. The man turned out to be an officer. He was angry, and he reported us to the police.”
Nailah nodded. “And now they are following you,” she said. “What do you need?”
He leaned down and unstrapped the pistol from around his ankle. “I need ammunition for this.”
Nailah stepped back, surprised at the gun. But she regained her poise, pursed her lips and thinking, as she hurried to the front of the store, turning out all the lights. When she returned to Liam, she said, “You must come with me.” He felt awkward following her out into the alley; she was so much smaller than he was it was like walking with a child.
She led him through a maze of darkening streets, and he began to worry. What if she intended to betray him? After all, he didn’t know anything about her, other than that her cousin had been helpful to him and Aidan in Matmata. But then he remembered her willingness to lend them the motorcycle, based only on a note from her cousin. Even so, he remained on alert as they stopped at a single-story house, where Nailah rapped on the door.
An Arab man opened it a moment later, wearing only boxer shorts, yawning and scratching his head. “Nailah, my little desert flower,” he said in lazy Arabic. “I was just getting out of bed. But I will get back in for you.”
She put her hand flat against his belly and pushed past him, motioning for Liam to follow. “This is Momo,” Nailah said, introducing Liam. “If you want something illegal in Tataouine, you come to Momo.”
“You flatter me, Nailah.” Momo turned to Liam. “Who are you?” he asked in English.
“Lee Morris,” Liam said, reaching out his hand to shake, adopting a hearty American personality. “Nailah here says you can get me some ammunition for this.” He pulled the gun out of his pocket and laid it in his palm.
“Whoa,” Momo said, backing away. After a moment, though, he stepped back toward Liam, looking at the gun. “May I?”
Liam never liked to hand over a gun to a stranger, but he had removed the bullets and had them in a side pocket. “Sure.”
Momo took the Glock, and examined it. “Nine millimeter?” he asked, and Liam nodded.
“I know a man. But it will cost you.”
Liam shrugged. “What’s money?”
Momo named a figure, which was less than Liam had expected, and Liam pulled out a wad of dinars from his pocket. He counted out the bills and handed them to Momo. Liam experienced a slight frisson as their hands touched; despite his growing feelings for Aidan, he was only human, and the Arab was a fine specimen, especially wearing only a pair of tight boxers that belied a growing dick.
Liam wasn’t sure if the growth was due to him, or to Nailah, but the only thing that mattered was the ammunition. As soon as Momo had the money in his hand he turned and walked over to a sagging armchair, grabbing the baggy pants that lay on top of it. He pulled them on, then a white T-shirt with stains under the arms. His dark hair was tousled, his beard grown in for a day or so. Liam was pleased that once the man had his clothes back on, he was no longer that attractive.
“I’ll be back,” Momo said, walking to the door.
“I’ll come with you,” Liam said.
“No you won’t.” Momo turned back to him.
“You have my money.”
“Nailah, tell him.”
“Momo works alone,” Nailah said. “You can trust him.”
Liam looked from Momo to Nailah, then back. He shrugged. “How long?”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He leaned down and kissed Nailah on the lips. Liam didn’t think she liked it much. Then Momo walked out.
“We might as well be comfortable,” Nailah said, taking some dirty clothes from another chair and throwing them on the floor, then motioning Liam toward it. “Do you want some tea?”
“Is Momo your boyfriend?” he asked.
She pursed her lips together. “Momo is a slob. He’s rude, he has no job, and he treats women like they are animals.”
Liam laughed. “So it’s a yes?”
Nailah laughed too, showing a row of tiny white teeth. “He is good for some fun sometimes.”
“And you trust him?”
She nodded. “He has a feeling for people. He knows you are not the kind of man he can cheat.”
Liam said, “I’ll take your word for it. And yes, I’ll have some tea, if there’s a clean glass.”
Momo’s kitchen was filthy, but Nailah began to clean as she waited for the water to boil. Liam helped, scrubbing the table top as she washed the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. By the time the water had boiled and the tea had cooled enough to drink, the kitchen was much cleaner, though it was far from sparkling.
As he sat down, Liam was struck by the resemblance between Nailah and Aidan. It wasn’t physical; Aidan was quite a bit taller than Nailah, and though he had a Mediterranean complexion, hers was darker. But it was about attitude. He could see Aidan behaving in much the same manner—coming in and taking charge, cleaning up, looking after his man.
This must have been what Aidan’s life was like in Philadelphia, taking care of Blake, feeling attraction and at the same time an almost palpable sense of being unappreciated. He considered the possibility that Aidan would stay in Tunis after their adventure in the desert was over. That Aidan would stay with him, looking after him, making love with him in his bed.
Liam had never been one for domesticity. He’d preferred the adventure of the Navy, the chance to see the world, to explore everything it had to offer. Since coming out of the closet and leaving the SEALs, he had experimented sexually with men. First back in Jersey, in furtive encounters at X-rated bookstores, then even venturing into a couple of clubs in New York.
Once in Tunis, he’d found men more available than he’d expected, both Tunisians like Abdullah, and the occasional visiting foreigner, sometimes tourists, sometimes businessmen. There was one oil executive he’d seen on several visits, until the man mentioned a wife back in Houston. That was a mood-killer for Liam.
Nailah started asking questions about the US, and Liam told her where he was from, described New York and San Francisco. Then they talked about music. Liam kept looking at his watch as time passed. When Momo had been gone for an hour, he said, “How long do you think he’ll be?”
Nailah shrugged. “Momo lives on his own schedule. But don’t worry, he will be back.”
Liam looked out the tiny window in Momo’s kitchen. Night had fallen with its customary suddenness; there was no way now that he would be able to get back to Remada that night. If he rose at first light and sped down the desert road, would he be able to catch Ifoudan before the caravan left? What would Aidan be thinking when Liam failed to return?
Another hour passed, and Liam could not contain his restlessness. It was strange; through dozens of missions with the SEALs, he had been able to put aside his fears, relax, wait for the action to start. But he could not help thinking of Aidan, concerned about him alone with the camel driver, knowing that Aidan would be worrying about him.
The erotic tension of thinking about Aidan, combined with the fear that Momo might have decamped with his cash, with no intention of returning, made him jittery. He found some oil and a cloth in Momo’s kitchen, and he took apart the Glock, cleaned it, and loaded it with the ammunition he had. When the door opened another hour later, he reflexively pulled the gun out and pointed it.
“Hey, don’t shoot,” Momo said, holding up his hands. In one hand he carried four boxes of bullets for the Glock.
The relief washed over Liam. He was so happy he wanted to kiss someone—but the person he wanted to kiss was Aidan, and he was in Remada.
“You can’t go back out on the desert road at night,” Nailah said, as if she was reading his mind. “It will be too dangerous. You will have to stay overnight.”
“I’ll go back to your shop,” he said. “Then I can leave at first light.”
“Momo will walk you back there,” she said, handing the Tunisian man her key ring. “And then he’ll come right back here.” She smiled at him, and he kissed her.
“Can’t he just stay here?” Momo asked. “I have a sleeping bag. And we’ll be quiet, I promise.”
“We won’t be quiet.” Nailah ran her hand along his side, up under the dirty t-shirt. “But we can’t get started until you get back.”
“Come on,” Momo said.
The man slipped through the shadows like a ghost, and Liam had to move quickly to keep up with him. It seemed to take only minutes to return to the photo shop, which Momo unlocked with a flourish. “There are some cushions in the front,” he said. “When you leave in the morning, just close this door, and it will lock.”
As Liam was looking around the back room, relieved to see that the motorcycle and its cargo were still there, Momo slipped away down the alley.
Was he going back to Nailah? Liam hoped so, hoped that the man would not make a detour past the police station, for example, to report that the American the police were searching for could be found at the back of the photo shop.
Liam knew Momo’s type, though. He wouldn’t go to the police without something definite; otherwise the police would arrest him for a handful of petty crimes.
Still, it wouldn’t be good to let his guard down. He found the cushions and set himself up in the front of the store, where he could keep an eye on the street through a gap in the shades. He knew he could not afford to sleep.
