19
Kathryn couldn’t ask any more questions. None of it seemed to matter, because it couldn’t possibly be true. It had to be a lie. They were all lying.
It took all her willpower to stay calm and bring the Sheikh out of his mild trance, and when she saw his eyelids flutter briefly as focus returned to those green eyes of his, she stood and gathered her white robes around her and walked away without saying a word.
“Kathryn,” he called after her. “You know it is true.”
She just swiped at the air without turning. Of course it was true. It was too damned ridiculous to be a lie. Mel was in her late fifties—certainly old enough to have a daughter who was about thirty years old now. Mel had never even hinted at having a child, but that meant nothing. Mel was the best secret-keeper in a world of professional secret-keepers.
Kathryn stormed into the roomy tent she’d been given by the Hashimi women. It was on the edge of a cluster of tents where all the unmarried Hashimi women lived. These tents weren’t as colorful as the others, and Hyder had explained that the Hashimi consider marriage to be a rebirth of sorts, which was why married couples and families wore colorful clothes and lived in tents made of the most vivid hues they could find.
She pulled the thick fabric of the tent shut, blocking out the moon and stars before throwing herself down on the soft camel-hide and wool blankets that covered the floor of the tent.
“God, I feel so alone right now,” she muttered, shaking her head as tears welled in her eyes. They weren’t tears of sadness, though. They were tears of rage. Anger at herself for daring to believe that she could trust people who were professional liars. Mel convinced her own daughter to marry a Russian target and live a life as a spy and asset for the CIA? What kind of a woman does that? What kind of a mother does that? And so what hope did Kathryn have? Mel would give her up or shut her out the moment it made strategic sense to do so.
“You signed up for this,” Kathryn told herself, breathing deep and forcing a smile to trick her body into calming down. “You’ve always known the kind of people who do this work. It’s ugly work, with no glory, no recognition, no awards. It’s never about you. The mission comes first. The cause comes first. The work comes first.”
By the time the Sheikh entered, Kathryn was calmly humming to herself while stroking the soft wool of the blanket beneath her. She didn’t stop the Sheikh from dropping to the floor beside her and drawing close, pulling her to him. Still, she couldn’t look at him, and she turned on her side and stared at the dark cloth of the tent walls.
“You said we,” Kathryn finally whispered.
“What?” said the Sheikh.
“When you told me about Operation Nightshade. You said, ‘What did we do!’, which means you were part of the plan to send your half-sister—Mel’s daughter—to Russia, to Yuri Gorka.”
The Sheikh nodded against her hair. “Yes. I was the one who suggested it.”
Kathryn blinked, but nothing was going to surprise or shock her anymore. “Why?”
Hyder paused before replying. A long pause. Too long. “Self-preservation. I told you that the CIA wanted my sister to become Sheikha of Sehaar, so I came up with a plan to send her away. Forever.”
“You’re lying,” Kathryn said without missing a beat. “I can tell without even looking at you. I felt it in the way your breath caught. I heard it in the hesitation followed by the quick statement. You’re lying.” She smiled as she felt the Sheikh’s heavy arms circle her waist and hold her close, and she touched his scarred and irreparably damaged fingers. “I don’t even understand why they needed to torture you. You’re such a terrible liar.”
The Sheikh grunted against her. “Why would I lie about doing something as horrible as that? If I were to lie, I’d have said it was Mel’s idea to begin with.”
“Actually, you did say it was Mel’s idea when I had you under hypnosis.”
“Incorrect,” snapped the Sheikh, his arm going tight around her waist. “I said that Mel convinced Nishaani to do it. But it was still my idea.”
Kathryn stayed silent, breathing slowly and carefully as she lay there, her body pressed against the Sheikh’s. “You’re still lying,” she said softly. “Why? What are you hiding?”
The Sheikh didn’t reply, and Kathryn thought for a while before she understood. “Oh, shit, of course! It was your sister’s idea! Or at least the two of you together! Because the CIA would never have gone for it otherwise. You said it yourself: They wanted Nishaani to take the throne of Sehaar so they’d have an American in the position of ultimate power. Which means the only way Mel would have agreed to give up on that plan and instead send her on this crazy mission is if Nisha insisted on it!” Kathryn swallowed hard and frowned in the darkness of the tent before turning halfway. “She did it for you, didn’t she? To protect her older brother. She knew that if she refused to ascend to the throne of Sehaar, it would keep you safe from being double-crossed by the CIA. In fact, that’s what’s kept you alive all these years, hasn’t it, Hyder? The fact that the CIA isn’t certain that Nishaani will ever agree to become Sheikha of Sehaar! God, Hyder! Her whole life has been lived to protect you! Do you realize that?”
The Sheikh shifted uncomfortably against her, his heartbeat quickening, his breaths coming quick. All those changes were minor, subtle, almost imperceptible if not for the fact that he was pressed up against her and she wasn’t distracted by looking into his eyes. Sometimes it was easier to see when your eyes were closed, Kathryn thought with a smile.
“Of course you do,” she whispered softly into the dry desert air. “You know it, and you hate it. You don’t want to believe it. You want to believe that it was everyone else: Mel, the CIA, the Russians, whoever. You don’t know how to handle an act of selfless love like that.”
The Sheikh snorted, pulling his arm so tight around her waist she gasped as all the air left her lungs. Then he released her and turned on his back. “Selfless and love are not the two words anyone should use to describe my sister.”
“Do you even listen to yourself?” Kathryn snapped, not sure why she was defending a woman whose husband she’d herself murdered and who most likely had sent a swarm of Russian hitmen after her. “When you were under hypnosis, you clearly expressed guilt related to your sister. But even in that state your words still showed me you’re denying the truth. You said ‘What did we do,” when you talked about your sister. Yes, that implies you take responsibility and that you feel guilt. But you still refuse to face the deeper responsibility: To recognize that what your sister did was done not so much because she was manipulated by you or Mel or her own idealism, but because of the simple love of a sister for her brother.”
“That is ridiculous,” the Sheikh said, his words coming out sharp and quick. “Good thing you decided not to become a psychiatrist. You would have caused more madness than you cured.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Kathryn shot back.
“It means you overthink and overanalyze things.”
“Oh, I’m the one overthinking and overanalyzing things?! Hyder, you’re wrapped in so many layers of self-deception that it’s like trying to unwrap an onion!”
“Of course you are overthinking it. If my sister wanted to protect me from harm by refusing to ascend to the throne if I were to mysteriously die in an accident, then all she’d need to do is refuse. Just say no to the CIA. She didn’t need to come up with some elaborate plan to marry that monster Gorka!” roared the Sheikh.
“Aha! So you admit it was her idea!”
“Goddamn you, woman!” the Sheikh growled, slapping his arms down on the wool blankets beneath them as he gritted his teeth and glared at the ceiling. “Why did I allow you to hypnotize me!”
“Because you didn’t think it would work,” Kathryn said with a smile. “Being hypnotized isn’t like getting drunk and blacking out. Most people don’t even realize they’ve been hypnotized. It’s subtle, and you remember everything you’ve been talking about.”
The Sheikh rubbed his eyes and shook his head, sighing and then clenching his jaw. “All right, Kathryn. I admit it. It was Nishaani’s idea to approach Mel with the Gorka plan.” He sighed again, and Kathryn could almost see his pain and confusion in the heavy air inside their dark tent. “At the time I was working closely with John Benson. And though I had suspected it for years, I was not certain at the time that Mel was CIA. In the end all of it was a surprise. I was blindsided by those two women, and that is why I know I can never trust Mel. Neither can you, Kathryn. The woman is not human. She is a machine. Cold and calculating, bereft of emotion, immune to sympathy, incapable of compassion or love.”
Kathryn blinked and broke eye contact with the Sheikh as her mind raced. Was Hyder trying to drive a rift between Mel and her? Was he trying to isolate Kathryn? Make her think she was being played by her own handler?
“How well do you know Mel?” she asked quietly, looking back into his eyes.
The Sheikh shrugged. “Not well. She visited a few times over the years when Nishaani was a child. Just a few days here and there.” He laughed and shook his head. “Ya Allah, you would think she was on a business trip if you’d seen her: black skirt-suit, hair pulled back without a strand out of place, that thin, business-like smile. I do not think I have seen her even hug Nishaani. Her own daughter, Kathryn! No love! No affection! No wonder Nishaani turned out to be a machine herself!”
Kathryn took a breath and looked upon the Sheikh’s strained features. No love. No affection. Was he talking about Nishaani or himself?
Then she smiled when it hit her that he could be talking about Kathryn too, for that matter.
“What about your mother?” Kathryn asked. “Tell me about her.”
The Sheikh grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Are we doing a full Freudian analysis of your target now, Miss Krane?”
Kathryn laughed. “I don’t need to do any more analysis. I’ve already got you figured out, Sheikh Hyder.”
“Ah, really?” the Sheikh said, his eyes lighting up with mischief, the change seeming all too sudden from the somber tone he’d been using so far. “And what exactly have you figured out?”
“That you’re not such a terrible liar after all. You’re a great liar. The greatest ever.”
“Why, thank you. The greatest ever? That is quite the statement.”
Kathryn’s voice went low. “Yes. Because it’s true. The greatest liar manipulates the conversation to make sure he doesn’t actually have to lie. He confuses and obscures, throws in distractions, plants decoys. All this back and forth, these twists and turns, the conspiracies with Mel and Nishaani, Gorka and Benson, the CIA and God-knows-what-else . . . all of it is just distraction.”
“And what am I trying to distract you from? Do tell,” the Sheikh said, keeping his tone playful but in a way that Kathryn could tell required some effort on his part.
She took his hand in hers again, running her fingers along the rough scars and twisted fingernails of the Sheikh’s right hand. “From this. Who did this to you? That’s the key, and you damned well know it. That’s the key that’s going to unlock this madness, show us the way out. Or at least show me the way out.”
The Sheikh’s dark face went as pale as it could get, and Kathryn knew she’d hit home. Now she wished that had been the first question she’d asked when he was hypnotized. Who knew if he’d agree to it again? Dammit!
“Who?” she whispered. “Hyder, who was it? Sheikhs and Imams that fund terrorism? The Saudi Secret Service? Iranian groups? Western agents?”
The Sheikh finally exhaled, and Kathryn realized he’d been holding his breath all this while, ever since she’d asked the question. He turned to her, his eyes narrowed but vulnerable. “Ya Allah,” he muttered. “Do you think they gave me their business cards when they took me? Do you think they told me their names? Showed me their faces? I never saw anyone except some hired guns who knew how to handle pliers. There was a camera filming everything, transmitting it somewhere via live feed.”
“But who was interrogating you? What did they ask? What did they want?”
The Sheikh laughed and shook his head. “Ya Allah, you know the answer. They wanted nothing. It was not an interrogation. It was a punishment. All they wanted was to see me suffer, to hear me scream, to watch me bleed.”
He held his hands up as she stared at him. She wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t.
“Punishment for ratting out those financiers and supporters of terrorism? But why did they let you go? And why stop at just the fingernails? Why leave you in one piece, still alive? Just like those half-hearted attempts at your life with the bomb under your seldom-driven sportscar and the poison that didn’t kill you.” She shook her head firmly, pulling her arms close to her body as she reminded herself how little she knew about this man, this man who’d somehow managed to balance himself between Saudi Arabia and the United States, perhaps even Russia, who’d lived for years under the threat of death but seemed to be doing just fine in his silk trousers and linen shirts. “You said those assassination attempts were your sister’s work, but it seems to fit the pattern of the fingernails. Brutal and life-threatening certainly, but more like a message than a serious attempt to destroy you. Either that, or a façade. An act. A mirage. It doesn’t add up, Hyder. None of it does. Not Nishaani and Mel, not your stories and explanations, not the attempts on our lives. You’ve contradicted yourself about fifty times in the two days I’ve known you, and it almost seems like you know you’re contradicting yourself! I can’t tell if you’re lying, insane, or really in the dark, just like I am.”
“Then you should have asked the right questions,” said the Sheikh, his eyes flashing in a way that made Kathryn even more confused. “You should have asked the right questions.”
“I’m asking now,” she said desperately. “Tell me, Hyder. Please tell me.”
The Sheikh grinned, putting his hands behind his head and stretching on the soft wool blankets. “Please tell me? Ya Allah, they should send you to do all their interrogations.”
Kathryn looked him up and down. He was in a white tunic with a deep v-neck that was stretched wide open, revealing his chiseled chest, those brown ridges of muscle lining his flat stomach and hard abdomen. She took a breath and nodded. “All right. Suit yourself. Make fun of me if you like. But remember,” she whispered as she ran her index finger down the center line of his chest, tracing farther down until she saw the unmistakable movement beneath his white robe. “Yes, remember that I’m not an interrogator, and I’m not a negotiator. If you continue to put me in this position, I might have no choice but to . . .”
She went silent when she saw how the Sheikh drew in his breath and closed his eyes as he went to full hardness, his robe peaking at the crotch in the most erotic, obscene way. Instantly Kathryn felt her wetness flow. She wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath her white-black-and-gold robes, and she could feel her discharge between her thighs already.
“And you should remember . . .” the Sheikh said, groaning as he pushed his hips up involuntarily, the outline of his erection casting a long shadow on the tent floor.
“Remember what?” she whispered, bringing her dancing fingers closer to his peak, teasing him, taunting him, tempting him.
“Remember that the body does not lie,” the Sheikh finally said through gritted teeth, and as he said it he grabbed her hand and placed it on his cock, groaning out loud as she relented and gripped his shaft firmly. “Ya Allah, that feels so damned good! I am so bloody hard for you, Kathryn. Finish me, please. Finish me, and then I will take you the way you need. But I cannot wait. I need it now. Now, goddammit!”
Kathryn smiled as she tightened her grip on his enormous cock. Its massive head was pressed against the sheer white cloth, the wetness soaking through already. She’d like nothing better than to pull up his tunic, release that beast of a cock, jerk him off hard and fast, watch him spurt his thick semen up into air and all over. But she restrained herself even though her pussy was aching to take him, to get what she needed from him, what she wanted with that same desperation she saw in his green eyes.
What had he said to her, again and again? “Ask the right questions.” “The body does not lie.” He wanted to tell her something, didn’t he? Or did he want her to figure it out for herself?
She frowned when she thought back to that lineup of women, those playful riddles of his, the way he’d been impressed at how Kathryn had read between the lines, seen the meaning behind the meaning, the pattern behind the madness, the hidden order within the external chaos.
And then she decided she wasn’t going to ask any more questions. She was going to watch, and she was going to listen. She was going to read between the lines, see what he wanted her to see, what he wanted to show her.
Suddenly she felt a tremendous relief, and she felt a smile break on her face. Something about her decision had calmed her down, made it unimportant that they were surrounded by chaos, that she had no idea whom to trust.
Because she knew what to trust.
This. The two of them. That urgency with which they made love. That desperation they felt when their bodies touched. For two people whose lives were defined by secrets and lies, deception and conspiracy, this was so pure, so clear, so unambiguously real, that when they were together it felt like nothing else mattered.
Kathryn almost burst into tears as she felt a wave of the most overwhelming joy wash through her, and she smiled and looked into his eyes, leaned over and kissed his lips. She shuddered when she felt his body tighten as she slowly pulled on his shaft. She gasped when she felt his strong right hand pull up her robe and slide between her bottoms and thighs from behind as they kissed.
“I love you,” she muttered as she tasted him enter her mouth, his clean tongue swirling against hers as his right hand massaged her buttocks and thighs, his left hand caressing her thick brown hair. “I know it’s not true. I know I can’t actually love you. But I love you.”
“I love you too, Kathryn Krane,” he whispered, breaking from the kiss long enough to say the words, then crushing their lips together again, sending sparks through her shaking body. “I know I am lying. I am just saying the words. But I love you too.”
Kathryn giggled, drawing back and touching his face as she looked into his eyes. She thought back to that photograph she’d seen of him, standing alone on an ornate balcony, gazing into the distance, a lonely king with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Who was he? And who was she when she was with him?
“Well, so long as we both know we’re lying,” she whispered, the words coming out with her warm breath as she felt his strong fingers spread her from behind and begin to tease her wet slit as she slowly jerked his cock through that tunic.
“Of course we are lying,” the Sheikh groaned as Kathryn jerked him harder and then released her grip so she could pull his tunic up over his erection.
“Of course,” she gasped when she glanced down at his pillar of a cock, long and hard, ramrod straight, its thick brown shaft glistening as his own pre-cum coated it all the way down to the base, the head full and massive, gleaming like a beacon in the light of the nomad tent. “Of course we’re lying.”
Then without another word she moved down along his body and squatted on her knees, lowering her head and gently licking him along his shaft. She felt the Sheikh’s entire body seize up with desperate arousal as his cock flexed, and she smiled as she licked him again, long strokes of her tongue from base to tip and back again, down along his massive balls, coating him with her saliva until he shone in the darkness.
It doesn’t matter what we say, does it, she thought as she breathed deep of his clean, earthy musk, licked her lips and ran her tongue along his shaft and balls once more. No, it doesn’t matter what words we use, what lies we tell each other or ourselves. Because this isn’t a lie. This can’t be a lie. We will always find each other’s truth here, in the darkness, where words mean nothing and touch means everything.
“Ya Allah,” he groaned, his right hand slowly rubbing her shoulders and then sliding into her hair from behind, his grip tightening on her roots and pushing her towards his pulsating cockhead. “Suck me. Bloody hell, you tease. Suck me!”
Kathryn smiled as she drew back and looked down on his cock. “I’m not your whore,” she whispered playfully, licking her lips and tasting him on her tongue. “I’m not your damned whore.”
Then her smile faded, and she lowered her head and took him into her mouth, opening as wide as she could to handle his girth. She paused for a moment, blinking when she realized he was so big, so thick, so goddamn hard she wasn’t sure if she could take it. His hand was on her head, pushing her down onto his erection as he groaned and moved his hips up. Kathryn gagged as the head of his cock struck the back of her throat, and she pulled away and gasped, a long trail of her saliva pouring down past her lips.
“I’m not your whore,” she said again, panting to regain her breath as she glanced at his cock, which was throbbing back and forth like a mighty mast of a ship in a storm.
“Ya Allah,” he groaned, tightening his grip on her hair and pulling her down towards his cock again. “What do I have to do to get you to finish what you have started, you witch?! By God, this is worse than any torture I have endured! Please, Kathryn. Take me into your mouth. Suck me hard and deep. I need to come. I need it. Finish me and my kingdom is yours if you want it!”
Kathryn giggled as she finally allowed him to pull her head closer to his cock. But before she took him back into her warm mouth, she glanced up at him and whispered: “You’ll give me your kingdom?”
“Yes,” he groaned, angling his hips up as he desperately tried to push his cock into her mouth. “Yes. It is yours. Just suck me. Take me into your mouth. I want to feel your lips on my shaft. Suck me, and my kingdom is yours. I swear it.”
“No deal,” she whispered, still glancing up at him as she licked his cock with those long, loving strokes again, making him stiffen to the point where she could tell he was about to come all over both of them. “Because, like I said, I’m not your whore.”
And then finally she relaxed and let him push her down onto his cock, opening wide and taking him all the way in, all the damned way.