Strong, Hot Winds

One

"Did you find her?" Selim asked as Damon was stepping out of the jeep. Then, as Damon took off his hat to wipe his brow, Selim had his answer; it was in the bleakness of Damon's expression, the emptiness of his eyes.

"Too late," Damon said wearily. He snapped his fingers. The driver of the jeep pressed on the accelerator and the vehicle took off toward the garage across the courtyard. "She was already dead," he muttered, closing his eyes. "So small. Dear God, she was so tiny lying there in the sand. I never want to see anything like that again."

"Perhaps you won't have to," Selim said gently. "Perhaps it won't happen again."

Damon's lids lifted to reveal eyes that glittered with moist brilliance. "And perhaps it will, if I take no action. Perhaps there will be another life thrown away as if it had no value."

Selim hesitated, wanting to give comfort and yet knowing there was none he could give. What Damon said was true. He was the only one who could prevent another death, but the effort to do so might cause him even more pain than he was experiencing now. "Did you render judgment?"

"No." Damon gazed out at the shifting dunes of the Sedikhan desert that were now painted blood-red by the rays of the setting sun. The sky was blood-red too. It was as if the entire world were covered in blood, Damon thought numbly.

"Damon, you have to render judgment."

Damon whirled to face him. "Do you think I don't know that?" he asked harshly. "But not now, dammit. I keep seeing--" He turned abruptly and climbed the steps leading to the palace. "I'll wait. Raban isn't going anyplace. Marain says the tribe will be content to stay put right now. I need to get away and try to get some perspective."

"But you know even now what your judgment will be."

"True. However, I don't have to give it. Not yet." An edge of desperation mixed with the weariness and pain in Damon's voice. "Not yet."

Selim caught up with Damon as he reached the front door. "Not yet," he agreed quietly. "But soon."

Damon paused before the twelve-foot double doors, the crimson light illuminating the strong, almost brutal planes of his face. "Soon."

A servant threw open the brass-studded mahogany doors and they entered the mosaic-tiled foyer.

Damon rubbed the back of his neck to ease the tension constricting the muscles. "Dear Lord, I'm tired. I feel as if part of me drained out and into the sand back there."

"Go to bed. There's nothing important you have to attend to before . . ." Selim's words trailed off. "Damn! I forgot about Updike. He arrived this morning and has been waiting to see you. Do you want me to put him off?"

"What's it about?"

"He wouldn't tell me." Selim shrugged. "But he says it's important enough to warrant the bonus you pay for special information."

Damon grimaced. "Then I guess I'd better see him."

"Now?"

"There's no need to make myself particularly presentable," Damon said sardonically. "Updike's not very good at hiding his belief that I'm something of a barbarian. Give me ten minutes to splash some water in my face and fix myself a cool drink. Then bring him to the library."

Selim nodded and started to turn away.

"Thanks, Selim."

Selim glanced back over his shoulder. "For what?"

"For not reminding me of my duty."

"Why should I rake you over the coals when you do such a good job yourself?" Selim asked lightly. "I just give thanks every day that I'm not the sheikh of the El Zabor." He started down the long hallway.

"The sheikh will see you now." Selim Abol made a face. "But there had better be something damn interesting in that briefcase you're carrying. He's not in a very good mood at the moment and might prove difficult."

"When isn't he difficult?" Updike asked sourly as he followed the slim young assistant down the gleaming corridor. "I've gotten used to him."

"Have you indeed?" Selim murmured, glancing back over his shoulder with distinctly skeptical eyes. "But then, you've never seen him in a really bad mood. As I recall, he's been very patient in his dealings with you, Updike."

"Patient?" Raymond Updike's tone was incredulous. "If you call it patient to demand we gather information in one day that generally takes weeks . . ."

"The sheikh pays you exorbitant amounts to get the information he needs." There was a hint of steel in Selim's tone. "Your detective agency has profited enormously in the last few years and he's asked relatively little of you--only that you keep an eye on certain unstable personnel in his companies and occasionally investigate some of the sleight of hand going on in the stock market. He just doesn't like to wait."

"I know that." Updike was suddenly conciliatory. "I didn't mean to be critical of Sheikh El Karim. It was a long flight from New York, and I guess I'm tired."

"So is the sheikh. He just drove in from one of the El Zabor encampments and hasn't slept for forty-eight hours." Selim again glanced down at Updike's briefcase. "As I said, it had better be interesting."

"It will be," Updike said confidently. "Do you think I would have flown halfway around the world if I hadn't believed it would be worth my while?"

"No, which is the reason I'm letting you see him before he rests." Selim paused before an elaborately carved door and smiled faintly. "But if I find you've had me disturb him for nothing, you're going to wish you'd never heard of Kasmara."

Silky menace shimmered beneath the softness of Selim's voice and caused Updike to shudder. Lord, he thought, for an instant he had actually been afraid of this handsome kid who looked more like an elegant male model than an executive assistant. He had met Abol only twice before and both times had been in the presence of the sheikh, a very commanding man. He should have paid more attention to Selim. Now that he could judge Selim on his own merits, he wasn't sure he liked what he saw. The young man's easy charm and good humor appeared to be a mere front to hide an underlying hardness and his smile held an element of ferocity. He had seen that same fierce protectiveness in the other servants and followers of the sheikh, but he had assumed Abol was too westernized to be fanatically devoted to El Karim. It seemed he had been mistaken. Selim was obviously ready to tear him apart if he wasted the time of his precious employer.

"He won't be disappointed," Updike said before frowning impatiently. "Now, can I see him?"

Selim opened the door and entered the library ahead of him. "Updike. Will you need me, or shall I go make those calls to Marasef?"

"Stay. This won't take long." Damon leaned back in the big executive chair and propped his dusty brown boots on the mahogany desk, crossing his legs at the ankle. His cool green gaze fastened on the detective. "Will it, Updike?"

"Not long at all," Updike assured him quickly as he came into the room and shut the door. "I understand you're tired and I'll make this as brief as possible." He came forward and laid his briefcase on the desk. He noticed with distaste that the sheikh looked even more like a brigand than usual. His khaki shirt was sweat-stained in places, his dark curly hair rumpled, and he smelled of brandy. He'd probably been out carousing for the two days that Updike had been forced to cool his heels here at the palace waiting for him. "You did say there would be a bonus for any information you found of real interest."

"You could have phoned it in," Damon said dryly. "I suppose you're planning on billing me for the flight from New York?"

"Only if you find the information is worth it." Updike's tone was smooth. "But I'm not worried."

Damon gazed at him with narrowed eyes. "What's this all about? The IBM stock purchase?"

Updike shook his head. "It's in regard to the Brandel surveillance."

Unreadable emotion flicked across Damon's face and was gone almost before Updike registered it. "I doubt if any news regarding that particular matter would warrant a bonus. I ordered a very casual surveillance of Cory Brandel."