Page 7 of Sands of Sirocco
A pleased smile settled on Jack’s features.“When?”
“In Gaza.She was at the clearing station.About two weeks ago.”
“Good.Now—don’t you feel better?”
“Not much.”
Jack leaned back in the chair, and it gave a tremulous groan.Noah braced himself, waiting for the chair to snap, but it held steady.
Of course Jack was interested.Jack had been there when Ginger had saved Noah’s life.He’d seen them together.He knew how Ginger had changed Noah, even in the brief span they’d been together.And what Ginger had sacrificed in the end: she’d promised Lord Helton to stay away from Noah, something Victoria had neglected to relay to Noah during the months he’d been recuperating.
Noah had been sure she’d stayed away out of hate.Why wouldn’t she hate him?
Jack had been the one to tell him differently.
Noah rested his shoulder against the wall, his skin feeling unnaturally hot from the fire.“If I’d left well enough alone, she might have found someone who suited her better.Someone equipped to give her a life.”
Jack stood and rolled his eyes.“Right.Because you’d be able to live with yourself if she ever married anyone else.”He picked up a canvas bag by the bed and slung it over his shoulder.“Well, since you’ve learned nothing, there’s nothing more to say.Except you might want to keep an eye out.I intercepted a message from Sir Reginald Wingate to Lord Helton asking about details regarding what happened with her father.”
Noah stiffened.He’d dreaded that possibility for months now—that someone with a higher level of authority than Lord Helton would want to know more about the matter.Sir Reginald Wingate was one of the worst possibilities as he’d recently been named high commissioner to Egypt.“When did you intercept it?”
“About a week ago.”Jack drummed his fingers on the tabletop.“Which is why I brought the whole thing up.She may need your help with it if they dig too deep.”
“I worry about what other secrets Lord Braddock hid that may come back to haunt his family.”Noah had unraveled much of the man’s underhanded dealings, and yet it felt as though he’d barely scraped the surface.The ring of smuggling Lord Braddock had operated was deeply underground.Without Stephen Fisher, their hopes of discovering the key players remained stalled.
His gut clenched at the thought of Fisher out there.Lord Helton’s refusal to let Noah hunt for him still infuriated him.
The conversation was doing little to bring Noah the calm he’d craved before his meeting this evening.“Shall we move on?I’m not sure this mental exercise is doing me any good.”
Jack seemed to understand he’d struck a nerve.“You got it.”He stood.“Ready for this?”
Noah smirked at him.“Do I ever have the choice?”
They left and headed back into the rain.They were matched in height, which had never worked to their advantage when they were undercover—both were several inches taller than the average Arab or Egyptian.Noah ducked under an archway, the dark enveloping them.With the rain, the baked ancient dust of the limestone buildings had settled, giving way to an earthy smell.He exited the covered arched passageway, following Jack into a narrow, curved side street.
He’d never dreamed his aptitude for languages would lead him to years of this.
Jack stopped.Noah crouched beside him.Jack pointed to a building across the way, where a candle shone in a second-story window.“Abdullah is in there.If there’s trouble, knock the candle over.”
“And if I can’t?”
Jack shrugged.“Then improvise.I’ll do my best to help.He should only have one or two men with him tonight, at most.At least, based on my sources.But hopefully it won’t come to that.”
Noah crossed the street and knocked on the door.The door opened, and he nodded to the petite man who stood there.“As-salaam alykum,”he said.Then he continued in flawless Arabic, “Karim Sayed.Abdullah is expecting me.”
The man stood on his toes to look past Noah, toward the street.Then he ushered Noah through.He directed him up the staircase and then down the hall to a doorway.He opened the door, folding his hands in front of him.
Abdullah, a large, solid man with bushy brows so thick they nearly joined above his nose, stood from a desk in the back of the room.He wore a fine gold-embroidered maroon caftan with gold tassels.Spreading his hands, he gave Noah a toothy smile, greeting him in Arabic.“Karim, my friend.It’s been too long.I’m surprised to see you out of Aleppo.All your friends seem to flee the city, and here you are.”
Noah embraced him like an old friend.Most of the times he’d met with Abdullah, it had been safely within firmly held Ottoman territory.He’d only visited him in Jerusalem once—in the house of a Turkish diplomat.“And you?Don’t you fear the regime change?Yet you stay.”
Abdullah pursed his meaty lips.“They profane our gates.But they have showed their true face now, with their promises to the Jews.They will not chase me out of my homeland.”
Abdullah’s Ottoman loyalties were no great secret—more than many, he’d profited from rubbing elbows with the Turks and Germans in Jerusalem.
“Do you have the papers?”Noah asked.His gaze flickered to the candle at the window.He’d have to take a few steps to make it there if necessary.Knowing Abdullah, he and the man at the door were both heavily armed.He produced from his tunic the bag he’d strapped to his torso during the sea voyage.The one thing he couldn’t afford to lose—the money they had given him for this exchange.
Snapping his fingers at the man who’d shown Noah in, Abdullah rubbed the well-groomed beard along his jawline.The man came forward and Abdullah whispered in his ear.The man left the room, closing the door behind him.
