He turned off the phone and threw it away, not bothering to see where it landed. All that mattered now was getting into the desert.
CHAPTER 23
Two circular images of the Bedouin camp blurred, then merged into one clear picture. The desert folk went about their business, having not yet spotted the lone observer in the distance.
He lowered his binoculars, and rubbed dusty fingers over his rough chin as he contemplated his next step. Leila Sterling had said she would go to Saint Catherine, but gave no indication of when or how. After a day of discreet questions among the different Bedouin tribes near Cairo, he began to hear rumors. Rumors that led him farther into the desert, and finally, to this camp.
He propped one foot on a rock and leaned forward, resting a forearm on his leg. Even if she wasn’t here, he could at least find out which route she had taken. If he was lucky, he would be able to catch up before she reached Saint Catherine. It would save him the trouble of getting in and out of the city undetected.
And it would be easier to hide a murder in the desert.
Now all he needed to do was convince these Bedouin to talk to him, too. It hadn’t been difficult so far. The other Bedouin he’d spoken to had all seemed curious, friendly, and happy to help. He ran the back of his hand across his perspiring brow as he mulled over the story in his mind once more. It would only fall through if the girl had shown them pictures. It was unlikely she had any with her, but he would take the risk and improvise if he had to. With a push, he straightened and walked to his SUV, his steps confident. He would give them no reason to suspect him.
The binoculars returned to their place on the passenger seat and he climbed back into the vehicle. It took a heavy foot to coax the SUV into moving forward in the sand, but once he was rolling he kept the speed slow. He didn’t want to cause any alarm in the camp.
After parking a short walking distance from the nearest tent, he continued on foot. The Bedouin slowed their steps and turned their heads toward him. He gave the onlookers a friendly wave and took off his sunglasses, hanging them in the neck of his shirt.
“Good evening,” he called, hoping one of them spoke English. He only knew a few words in Arabic a friend had taught him when he was younger, most of them swear words he did not intend to use for this encounter. One weakness in this endeavor. His other was the fact he had never fired a gun before. That had been the whole point in hiring a hitman.
A boy in dusty jeans and an oversized T-shirt had stopped and watched him as he approached. The youth’s mouth hung open slightly.
He stopped a few yards in front of him, keeping a polite distance. An older woman joined the young Bedouin, keeping her hands folded in front of her long, loose dress—the boy’s mother, he supposed. Her wide stare was inquisitive.
“I’ve come for Miss Sterling. Leila.”
A few more Bedouin joined them, locking their keen gazes on him.
He continued, “She contacted me a few days ago via satellite phone and said that she was here under your care.”
The Bedouin whispered among themselves. All he could understand was the occasional utterance of her name, Leila. They knew her. He was in the right place. An elderly man stepped forward, arms spread, speaking a welcome in Arabic.
“And who are you?” he added in English.
“Pardon me. I’m Leila’s boyfriend, Alexander Harrison. She might have referred to me as Xander.”
The Bedouin man remained silent, his gaze dropping contemplatively.
“I have a photo,” he declared, reaching into his back pocket for his phone. The picture was photoshopped, but would fool anyone who had a quick glance of it on a phone’s screen. “If you need proof—”
The senior raised a hand to stop him. “No. I not need to see.”
He shifted his weight, contemplating his next words. Did the old man believe him or not?
“So, she’s here?”
“No. Not here. She left. Two others on camels. To Saint Catherine.”
Now he was getting somewhere. All he needed to hear was the exact route. This was going to be easy. He slathered on the kindest smile he could muster and waved at his SUV.
“Could you tell me which way they’ve gone? Perhaps I can catch up. Maybe they would prefer a ride to Saint Catherine in my car.”
“Perhaps you can catch up,” the man repeated slowly.
He licked his hard, parched lips and forced a smile. “As compensation for your troubles, I have brought along water and food.”
The senior’s eyes brightened at this. “You have map? I show you the way.”
“In the SUV.”
The two of them walked toward it.
“Leila will be happy,” the elder commented and grinned up at him, showing his yellowed, cracked teeth.
“Yes.” He couldn’t help but agree as a smile glued itself onto his own face. “She will be very glad indeed.”
• • •
The jeep bumped and rumbled down what Xander thought was the road. It was more like two tire tracks carved into the flat, rocky ground. They had left the asphalt highway half-an-hour ago and Xander missed it terribly. According to the last time stamp on the GPS, they still had another three hours until they arrived at the first Bedouin camp on the list. A loud pop came from the passenger seat.
“Are we going north or south?” Emma asked as she sucked her bubble gum back into her mouth. She turned the map in her hands left and right. Tilted her head to the side.
“East,” Xander grunted as a wheel banged against a rock. He gritted his teeth. Hopefully the tires would survive the drive.
“Oh.” She popped another bubble, then pushed the rest of her gum out with her tongue and pinched the chewed-up wad between two fingers. “This lost its flavor thirty miles back.”
“Emma. That’s gross.”
“Did you pack napkins?”
