the morning came and went in a vague cloud that barely registered in Miriam’s consciousness. She resolved to show no emotion. None at all.
The afternoon crawled by, bustling with activity, but distant—a nightmare to which she had resigned herself.
Because of the secretive nature of the marriage, the usual party of close relatives was absent. Instead, the sheik’s wife, Nadia, and her servants made Miriam’s preparations. They brought in an elaborate peach-colored silk gown, which Samir had purchased in Cairo, they told her. Miriam stood on numb legs while they pulled it over her head for a hasty fitting. The dress felt loose, and one of the wives ordered a maid to take it in at the waist. Miriam decided that peach was a ghastly color.
She lay obediently for the halawa ceremony, performed by the women. A sweet-smelling mixture of lemon juice, sugar, and rose water that had been boiled to form a glue was spread over her entire body and allowed to dry. When they peeled it away, her body hair came out with it. Under any other circumstances, she might have protested the pain, but it felt like no more than an abstract annoyance. The physical pain was easy to bear.
The women rinsed Miriam’s hair with henna to make it shine and painted her nails a rose red—preparing their whore for this ungodly union. Two weeks earlier she had watched Sita endure the same preparations, encouraged her friend to make the best of her new reality. Sita had glared at her with glassy-eyed dread. Her friend had sentenced herself to death, and now the notion grew on Miriam. She could not fathom the idea of Omar touching her. She would die first.
But Omar would not kill her. No, instead he would keep her in a living hell, bound and gagged in a dungeon, maybe. Whipped and bleeding for his own pleasure, perhaps. If she could only find a way to die without killing herself. God would not smile upon suicide.
As night approached and the prayer calls crooned from the minarets, Miriam whispered a helpless, hopeless prayer under her breath.
Unable to maintain her resolve, Miriam began to cry. The gnawing horror that she’d ignored all day rose over her like a black dragon. The stupidity of her leaving Seth showed its true colors now, and it was nothing less than the most sickening kind of foolishness. She had willingly left the one man who truly did love her. Her savior, her love, who would be stealing her away to fields of flowers now instead of turning her over to a slaughter at Omar’s hands.
She cried long and hard, alarming the two women who watched over her. She cried for Seth. She didn’t care that she distorted her picture of his love into more than it was. She needed someone to love her now, and now there was only Seth.
A religious sheik came at dusk and asked Miriam’s father for his consent to the marriage. They signed documents, and then the sheik left to repeat the process with Omar. Her father’s will was sealed. In exchange for his daughter, he would receive the agreed upon bride price, in this case loyalty and power rather than money.
Nadia gave her a pill to swallow—a drug to calm her nerves, she said. Miriam thought of Sita, drugged before the drowning, but she took the pill anyway. They led her into a limousine at dark. She sat in the back with her father. A train of cars followed.
For the first time since accepting her fate, Miriam felt the cords of fear wind around her heart. Her father remained deathly quiet as they rode for Omar’s palace. I am their sacrificial lamb. She thought of jumping from the moving vehicle. She eased her hand onto the handle. The doors were locked. She could feel the drug start to take hold. Sweat lined her palms.
“Father?” Her voice was high and squeaky.
The sheik turned his head, smiling as she imagined a proud father might smile before giving his daughter to the man she loved. “You are a beautiful bride, Miriam. You will make a wonderful wife.”
“I don’t want to do this.”
The sheik looked away. “Your fear will pass. You can’t always think only of yourself. You are a woman now, and you must begin to think of your husband.”
“I don’t think he will make a good husband.”
He faced her with warning eyes. “He is whom I have chosen! Do not question my authority!” And then, “Don’t worry, he will earn your love over time. I have demanded it of him.”
She sank into the seat, begging it to swallow her whole. Nausea swept through her stomach. She closed her eyes, but the swaying of the car made her dizzy, so she opened them again.
They came to a large palace and Miriam was led into a study with Nadia. Drums beat to laughter on the other side of the walls. She wondered how many guests had been summoned. Whether they knew of the events behind her marriage to Omar hardly mattered.
A knock sounded on the door and Nadia stood. She smiled sympathetically. “Be strong, Miriam. For your father’s sake, be strong. There is nothing we can do.”
Miriam just looked at her.
“Come.”
She held out her hand and Miriam stood. The woman lowered Miriam’s veil and led her out to a large hall with towering pillars. Several dozen women watched them walk to the front of the assembly. Miriam heard her shoes echoing on the marble floor. There was no sign of Omar.
She was left at the front and stood alone, facing the women. She couldn’t bear to look at them, now standing without veils and colorfully dressed, as was customary at weddings. The ceremony intended to show the true woman in all her splendor, but to Miriam it was only a farce, a mockery that made them foolish for believing—
A door sprang open to her right. Her father stepped out. Behind him walked another man she recognized as Khalid bin Mishal. And then another man, dressed in black, smug. Omar.
A tremble shook Miriam’s body. It was the first time she’d seen Omar. His hard shoes beat the marble.
She looked away, terrified to catch his eyes. Their walk seemed to stretch forever, their clacking in the hollow hall. From her left the religious man who’d met with her father earlier stepped through another door and approached. The drug she’d taken an hour earlier seemed to slow everything down. Perhaps it really was just a nightmare after all.
The footsteps stopped. She could hear breathing. Omar’s breathing. Her face flushed. The religious man stepped out in front of them and began to talk, to her father and then to the others. He did not address her. The transaction was between men, between her father and Omar.
A low, gravelly voice spoke, and she knew it belonged to Omar. She didn’t dare turn to face . . .
He was there, in front of her, lifting her veil. She held her breath. The face she saw through water was bearded black with dark eyes. A knowing smirk bent his wet lips. His eyes drifted down her body and then returned to her eyes. He grinned and winked at her.
If not for the effects of the drug, she might have run. Instead, she wept. They ignored her and said a few more words to complete the ceremony.
Omar walked past her and headed for a side door. The room broke out in the ululating cries of the women, like a flock of crows warning her.
The religious man stepped forward and told her to follow Omar. She turned and walked, hardly aware that she was moving. Omar entered the same study in which she had waited, held the door for her, and then closed it behind them. She stood with her back to him, terrified.
His hand touched the top of her veil. He ripped it off and slowly stepped around her. “You are more beautiful than I imagined,” he said.
She would not look at him. She would never give him the satisfaction of holding her eyes.
“Are you afraid of me?”
She didn’t answer.
Omar lifted a flask from the desk and poured himself a drink. The clinking of the glass hurt her ears. He took a drink and set the glass down.
“I think you are. And I want you to know I prefer that. Fear has a way of transforming a woman into a thing of terrible beauty. Did you know that? There is nothing worse than a submissive woman.”
Miriam stared across the room. He would reduce her to the status of a maggot before he finished.
He walked around her, drawing his finger over her shoulders. He leaned in close and she could smell his liquored breath kissing her cheek.
“But you aren’t only afraid; you are angry, yes? I’m not sure I’ve ever had a woman who is both afraid and angry. I think it will be a great pleasure.”
“I will never—” Miriam stopped, surprised that she had spoken.
“Yes? Go on.”
Her voice was hoarse. “I will never give you pleasure.”
He laughed, a deep, throaty laugh. “Yes, I think you actually believe that. That’s very nice. There will be consequences, of course, but this, too, could be part of our game.”
He squeezed her cheeks with a powerful hand and wrenched her head to face him. She kept her eyes low. Her lips were squeezed like a fish’s.
“You are my wife now, Miriam. That is what you are. Nothing more, nothing less. You will please me, and if you are fortunate, you will bear me a son. That is all you will do. Do you understand?”
The room swam through fresh tears. She closed her eyes.
“I have something special planned for you, Miriam. A special chamber. Something so delicious must not be rushed. You will take a night to prepare yourself for me. Fear is good, my sweet. Let the drugs wear off and let your fear take hold. Then I will take you. It will be delightful, you will see.”
Omar leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. She felt as though she might throw up before he pulled away.
Then he released her. She swayed on her feet, nauseated again. When she opened her eyes, he no longer stood in front of her. After a moment she looked around cautiously. The room was empty.
Miriam allowed herself to sink to the solid floor and began to weep.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Peter Smaley said. “Running from a manhunt in California is one thing. Waltzing into Saudi Arabia on a half-brained rescue attempt isn’t remotely similar. What were you thinking?”
“You don’t exactly control a guy like Seth,” Clive said. “When he’s on, he’s unstoppable.”
“When he’s on.”
They sat in the same conference room they had planned on using to debrief Seth: the two generals, a colonel, the secretary of state, and the deputy, Smaley. Clive had told them about Seth’s ultimatum and departure; he was holding back the disk as his ace.
“Either way, you allowed him to leave,” General Smites said. “That’s not unlike giving them the keys to this mountain.”
“Overstated,” Clive said. “It’s a mistake to assume that he intends to do anything in Saudi Arabia but help Miriam. His actions will benefit our interests as much as Abdullah’s. And like I said, he was going, whether we agreed or not. I couldn’t have stopped him.”
“You put a guy in a locked cell and he’s not going anywhere; I don’t care what he can see.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Clive said. “And he wasn’t here as a prisoner.” It wasn’t altogether true, but it was the best he could come up with at the moment. Honestly he wasn’t sure if they would end up giving him a medal or a death sentence.
“I realize how significant a man with Seth’s abilities is to the military,” Secretary Gray said after a long silence. “But frankly I’m more concerned with the stability of Saudi Arabia. I don’t need to educate you on the pains we’ve taken to keep militants from seizing power in the Middle East. If what you’re saying about this marriage is true, we could have a real problem on our hands.”
Clive cleared his throat. “Then you may want to take a look at something Seth left with us.” He rolled his chair over to a computer and slid the disk into the drive. “This is the scenario he ran yesterday afternoon while we were occupied. It starts with a future in which Khalid succeeds in toppling Abdullah, then extends out three months.”
“How’s that possible?” Smaley asked. “I wasn’t aware he could extend beyond three hours.”
“Neither was I. He found a way to string consecutive episodes together. I showed this to Garton; he checked Seth’s algorithms. He’s convinced it works.”
Clive tapped a few keys. The monitor blinked and then filled with numbers. Streams of text rolled up the frame too fast to read. Several hundred lines passed by in a blur, and then a single page popped up. Key Indicators of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and Region—Plus Three Months.
Clive rolled the monitor stand toward them. “Not a pretty sight.”
They read Seth’s conclusions.
The secretary looked at Clive. “What are the chances that this might be accurate?”
“If Khalid takes control, pretty good. Short of having another scenario contrary to this, we’d better assume that what Seth provided is at least probable.”
For a moment no one spoke. Gray pushed his chair back. “Where is Seth now?”
“If he makes all the flights, he’ll be in Riyadh”—he glanced at his watch—“in seven hours.”
“Do you have any confidence that he might upset this wedding?”
Clive shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine. When he left, his clairvoyance was cycling, a few hours on, a few hours off. Without it, he’s a sitting duck over there. He can read Arabic, maybe even speak a bit, but there’s no way he’ll pass for an Arab. And there’s the distinct possibility that his periods of remission might lengthen. It’s a crapshoot at best.”
“The king doesn’t know?”
“No, sir,” Smaley said. “We don’t have any corroborating intel—”
“This is good enough for me,” the secretary said. “We tell him that we suspect Miriam has been returned to Saudi Arabia and is being given in marriage to Omar bin Khalid in an agreement with Sheik AlAsamm. We urge him to arrest Khalid bin Mishal immediately.”
“He won’t have the political will to arrest Khalid without concrete evidence,” Smaley said.
“That’s his choice.” The secretary stood. “I’ll make the call myself.” He looked at Clive. “No offense, but I pray you’re wrong. God help them if you’re not.”
“No offense taken. And you might find this interesting: One of the conclusions Seth came to in his state of heightened awareness was that prayer works.”
Smaley’s mouth fell open, as if wondering anew why Clive had let Seth go.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” the secretary said. He turned and walked from the room.