Page 52 of Veiled Fantasies

The spice souk.

Get word to Yuri in the spice souk!He remembered Jill shaking ever so slightly as she said it.

Sucking in a deep breath, he stepped under the arches and into a different world, a different time. A world of oil lamps and Bedouin robes. He was instantly swallowed up by the souk, consumed by the tight space and the heavy odor of a thousand exotic spices. They grappled in the air, each seeking to outdo the other, making his mouth burn and eyes water.

Concentrate!

A handful of visitors wandered the marketplace despite the late hour. He mimicked their slow meanders past vendors’ wares, trying to orient himself to the maze. Burlap sacks overflowing with colorful grains slumped against plush carpets and mahogany carvings. Gold, too. So many colors, so many textures. All of them shifting under the dim flicker of overhead lights. Even the ceiling seemed to press down on him, with limp, hanging garments and dusty flags. He strode along, every sense straining to trace Jill’s presence.

Young men hawked their wares, every one of them beckoning with a deal and a promise. They lurked like vultures, right down to the hunched shoulders and hooked beaks. Out for a profit in any venue that presented itself on either side of the law.

Erik faked a casual air, just another tourist looking for a souvenir. He wandered until he honed in on an old vendor. One who might still have some sense of right and wrong.

“Where is Yuri?”

Dark eyes peered at him from a gaunt frame hidden behind folds of cloth. The man’s eyes flashed. Suspicion? A warning?

A skeletal hand emerged from the robes, the skin leathery from decades of greedy desert heat. One bony finger extended, pointing the way.

Erik went down a side alley even narrower and dimmer than the central part of the souk. He let his eyes adjust, trying to make out forms hiding in the shadows. Boxes, more sacks. A bench. Something moving. A rat?

There was no outward sign of any wrongdoing, but his gut signaled an unmistakable warning. Something here was wrong. Deadly wrong. He’d felt this kind of warning before. The time he stepped into a Paris subway and sensed trouble just before a fight broke out. Or his narrow escape from a Hong Kong alley just as it erupted into a frenzied riot over who knows what petty crime. But the crime here was far from petty. It was close. Fresh. But where?

The alley branched into three directions. Which way?

A child sat hunched on a plump sack, so engrossed in whatever occupied his hands that he jolted in surprise when Erik stepped up. Eyes—huge, ebony saucers he might someday grow into—flickered in fear.

Erik put his hands up, showing no ill intentions.

“You know Yuri? Yuri?”

The boy shook his head and turned back to the thing in his hands. Something that glowed. Long and slender with a round disk. The boxy flicker of digital numbers. A watch.

Erik leaned in and felt his gut clench. Jill’s sports watch. There was no mistaking it. His hand whipped out to clamp over the boy’s wrist, and the saucers went extra wide. He was tempted to shake the boy violently, the way he wanted to shake the whole souk upside down until Jill came tumbling out, but he held back the emotion, channeling it. “Where is she?”

The boy’s eyes flickered briefly before a curtain dropped and they assumed a dull, innocent sheen. Erik tightened his grip. He was close to hurting the boy now, which he might feel bad about later, but not now. Not when this kid knew something.

“Where is she?” he half shouted, half hissed into the terrified face.

Still nothing. Erik fought for control as he lifted the boy right off the ground. “Where is she?”

The boy’s eyes were darting all over, looking for help. Any minute now, the kid would cry out and summon a band of angry Arabs, foiling everything. Erik decided on a different tactic and pulled out his wallet. The boy went quiet as he pulled out the biggest bill he had and waved it in front of him. The saucers sparkled with a grand sense of possibility.

“Where?” he dangled the bill before the boy’s eyes. The child reached out, but he snapped the bill away. ”Where?”

The boy instantly went from terrified waif to willing accomplice and pointed the way, pulling him deeper into the rabbit warren. Erik held the bill just out of his reach and kept a tight grip on the thin wrist. The boy slowed and pointed up at a high wall punctuated by a single, grate-covered slot, too high to look into. The boy mimed scaling an irregular wall in the opposite side of the alley and peeking in.

Jill was in there?

Erik scrutinized the child’s face. He may be greedy and selfish, but he wasn’t lying. Not at the moment, at least.

God, what had she gotten into? Erik sent out his first prayer in many years.Let her be all right.

“Where’s the door? The door?” He mimicked an opening motion.

The boy grabbed at the bill, but Erik jerked it away. Bold—or greedy—enough to glare, the boy pulled him on, creeping to a corner and carefully peering around. He motioned for Erik to do the same.

The alley beyond came to a dead end at what looked to be an intricately carved wooden door. A man sat outside. A sentry? Before Erik pulled his head back out of sight, the boy snatched the money and ran. Erik didn’t even turn at the faint footfalls. His mind was already racing through his limited options.

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