Page 20 of Sands of Sirocco
Jack laughed contemptuously.“I’m never letting you tie me up again, Fisher.”Then he pointed toward the distant village.“I think we’ll find help in the Ta’amira tribe.Even camels.No way in hell I’m heading straight from the frying pan to the flames with your hands free to throw logs on the fire.”
Stephen’s expression was remarkably void of contempt.He turned toward Noah.“And you?”
His implication was Jack and Noah were not of one mind.Stephen knew how to use division to manipulate.Noah tilted his chin, then offered an unflappable answer.“Jack’s more of an expert in the tribes than I am.I trust him implicitly.”
Stephen started toward the village.“My intention is to cooperate.You do as you choose.”
As a Bedouin tribesmanhelped outfit the camels they’d purchased, Noah searched the surrounding area for Jack.He’d gone to fill the canteens at the well, toward the center of the hill bearing tented dwellings.A few scraggly olive trees stood out from the brush.Camels lazed near a crumbling wall beside Noah.The tribesman watched Noah with a wary eye, hands resting on his rifle.
Nearby, Stephen sat on the ground, his legs in front of him, his uniform hat now in his bound hands.He thumbed the brim, gripping it.
“Noah—run!”Jack’s shout came from the distance, followed by an unexpected crack of gunfire.Noah whirled around, looking for the source, and the Bedouin man crouched down by the camel nearest to him.
The silence that followed was even more deafening.Noah’s pulse raced, his breath hard against the dust-covered stone.He pressed his forehead down, pulling his gun out.The cool metal rested against his cheek as he lifted it, looking once more over the ridge.
“Jack?”he called out.
A shot cracked right past him, ricocheting off the stone and sending a spray of pebbles and sand on his head and into his eyes.He blinked it out rapidly, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.Jack didn’t answer.
Stephen was gone.
Swearing in a low growl, Noah attempted to move further back against the wall, but the slightest movement prompted another shot in his direction and more dust.His eardrums screamed as though a shrill bell was inside them.The earthy scents of the nearby camels and their dung seemed heightened.
Where the hell was Jack?
The Bedouin man was still hiding behind the camel.“Where did the German go?”Noah asked in Arabic.
The man didn’t respond.
God damn it all.He never should have given Stephen even the slightest sense of his lack of command.Who was helping him?
Noah dropped to his stomach and crawled low to the ground.The earth was rough against his face, and the robe he wore cumbersome.
The soft creak of a leather boot sounded behind him, then a footstep.
Noah stiffened.
An intense ache, quick and blunt, jolted the back of his head.Then blackness enclosed him.
ChapterSeven
Despite her shift being over, Ginger made her way to the patient ward at bedtime.She couldn’t sleep.She had to give Mr.Osborne an answer by tomorrow, and she still didn’t have one.
The ward’s familiar calm at night was comforting.No matter how weary or troubled she felt, being surrounded by the wounded helped her see her worries from a different perspective.
She approached Private Emerson’s bed.“I came to read to you.”She sat beside him.“Would that be all right?”
He tore his gaze from the darkness outside the window.“I thought there might be a sea view from here.I heard rumors you could see it.”
She smiled and dug in her bag.“You’re in the wrong hospital for that.The San Stefano is right on the waterfront.We’re a few miles from the Eastern Harbor.But the rooftop is quite nice.There’s a lovely view.”
“And how am I supposed to get up there, Sister?”Private Emerson glanced at the stump of his leg.
Ginger cringed.Her comment had been needlessly insensitive.She didn’t respond, knowing the route up three flights of steps would never be possible for him during his time here.She set the book on her lap.“As for a book, will Homer do?”
Private Emerson shrugged apathetically.Sometimes, with the more emotionally distant patients like him, Ginger wondered if her efforts were more of an attempt to make herself feel better.
She read to him until Private Emerson put a hand out to stop her.
