Page 15 of Sands of Sirocco
What the hell is Stephen playing at?Surrender was the last thing Noah expected Stephen would do.
Noah’s eyes narrowed at him.“And what makes you so sure I’ll take you all the way to Cairo?I might take advantage of your offer and then shoot you as soon as we’re free.You know I wouldn’t hesitate.”
Stephen offered a practiced and patronizing smile.“Because I’ve already wired Lord Helton and informed him I’m surrendering myself to you.That you’ve promised to deliver me to him free from harm.So, really, you only have two options.Believe me or face the Turks.I can guarantee they won’t be so merciful.”
Was it possible?Stephen was such a skillful liar, his tells were difficult to distinguish.And he had everything in his favor.Noah had no way of asking Lord Helton.
Jack shifted beside Noah.“What’s option three?”
Stephen rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh.“Option three is that I shoot you and deal only with Noah, just to spare me the stupidity of your commentary on the trip to Cairo.Now, will you or won’t you accept my surrender?”
The sound of approaching footsteps made Noah lift his head.The Turks on patrol were approaching, though they were still thirty yards away.
Noah had to decide now.If they saw Stephen pointing a gun at them, there wouldn’t be a choice.Gritting his teeth, he fought the temptation to punch the wall beside him.Whatever Stephen was planning, working with him would only put them further into his control.But they didn’t have a choice.The Turks would execute them both.
He inhaled sharply through his nose.“We’ll accept your surrender.”
Stephen put his gun away, a satisfied gleam in his eye.“Good.Now let me escort you to the gate.”
ChapterFive
Peeling back a dressing on her patient, Ginger paused, blinking rapidly as she tried to focus.This was mindless work.Peel the dressing, clean the wound, redress.Over and over, day in, and day out.But the mundaneness gave her too much time to think.And she was more unnerved than ever since she’d returned to the hospital from her family’s home the previous night.
For what seemed like the hundredth time, she wondered what Sir Reginald Wingate could want with her.
The sharp sting of antiseptic burned her nostrils as she poured it onto a fresh cloth strip.
She couldn’t ignore the voice in her head.Be alert.Noah had told her not to ignore her instincts.She’d learned the hard way that her “feelings” about people could often be more accurate than she gave herself credit for.She’d loathed Stephen for years before he’d shown his true nature.No one else had agreed with her assessment of him, save for Noah.
If only she could send a message to Noah.Speak to him when she felt worried.But her promise to Lord Helton didn’t expire until the war’s end.Lord Helton had offered his protection for her family, but only if she stayed away from Noah.That wasn’t something she took lightly.Stephen was still out there.Her father’s role and position had accustomed her to a certain sense of security and connection, something that no longer existed here in Egypt without Lord Helton’s help.
She tied off another strip of cloth.The patient beside her coughed.Elsewhere in the room, the sounds of murmurs, groans, and bed frames creaking echoed through the high ceilings.Her good friend Beatrice had once said she could set a clock to the rhythm of the noise in a hospital ward.
As she finished her dressing, the young private she’d been working on stirred.“Hello, Sister,” he said, blinking bleary eyes.
“Good morning.”She leaned down to inspect the wound.“How’s your leg feeling this morning?”
“Much better now that you’re tending to me.”He grinned.“Let’s say we leave this place and go and get married.”
She laughed as she collected her supplies.“Tempting as it may be, I wouldn’t be able to keep working here if I did.No married women in the Queen Alexandra’s.That wouldn’t be fair to all the other soldiers, would it?”
He grimaced.“To hell with fair.Fair went out the window when this war started.”
Well, that had gone sour.It took little to remind the war-weary wounded of their troubles.
The soft tinkling of a bell broke into her thoughts.Tea time.Miss Fitzgibbon insisted on such things.Ginger sighed and finished with her patient.As she made her way toward the tea cart in the ’corner of the room, she caught sight of a fresh crop of wounded men being brought in by orderlies.She wiped her hands on her starched apron and stopped where Sister Helen Wagner stood watching, teacup in hand.
“Poor lad,” Sister Wagner said, shaking her head at one man, whose stump of a leg was bandaged above the knee.The orderlies lifted him from the stretcher and moved him to the bed.
“Any idea what happened to him?”Ginger asked.A Voluntary Aid Detachment nurse handed her a teacup, and Ginger accepted it with a tight-lipped smile.
“Railcar accident.He was going between two cars when they bumped together.Leg got caught between them and sliced it clear off.”
Ginger gasped.The Australian from the train?The chance that he’d ended up in the same hospital as her seemed so remote.He wouldn’t be here too long.Most likely they’d brought him to rest for a few days before voyaging back to Australia, his service ended.“That’s awful.”
Sister Wagner sighed.“He’s got a rough road ahead.There won’t be any pension waiting for him at home.The army only awards pensions to soldiers whose wound came from the enemy.”
How horrible—and unfair.
