Sandstorm

Safia crossed to the jet. “Am I the last one here?”

“Everyone’s aboard.” Kara reached toward her luggage.

Safia snapped down the tote’s handle and lifted it herself. “I have it.”

Kara didn’t argue. She knew what the luggage contained. The iron heart, nestled in a molded, rubberized cocoon. Safia refused to let anyone near it-not to protect it, but as if it was a burden she must bear. Its blood debt was hers alone. Her discovery, her responsibility.

Guilt shadowed her friend like a mourning shroud. Ryan Fleming had been her friend. Murdered before her eyes. All for a chunk of iron, something Safia had unearthed.

Kara sighed as she followed Safia up the stairs.

It was Tel Aviv all over again.

No one could console Safia then…and now was no different.

Kara stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced one last time over toward the misty heights of London in the distance as the sun crested the Thames. She searched her heart for some sense of loss. But all she found was sand. This was not her true home. It never had been.

She turned her back on London and climbed inside the jet.

A man in uniform leaned out the cockpit door. “Ma’am, we have clearance from the tower. Ready when you are.”

She nodded. “Very good, Benjamin.”

She stepped into the main cabin as the door was secured behind her. The Lear had been customized to suit her needs. The cabin’s interior was furnished in leather and burled walnut, describing four intimate seating groups. Fresh flowers sprouted from Waterford crystal vases secured to seatside tables. A long mahogany bar, an antique out of Liverpool, stood stocked near the rear of the cabin. Beyond the bar, a set of folding doors marked the entry to Kara’s private study and bedroom.

She allowed herself a self-satisfied smile upon seeing Painter Crowe’s cocked eyebrow as he surveyed the space. Clearly he was not accustomed to such luxuries on a physicist’s salary, even one supplemented by government work. The plane’s butler handed him a drink. Soda water and ice, it appeared. His glass clinked as he turned.

“What…no honey-roasted peanuts?” he mumbled as he passed. “I thought we were traveling first class.”

Her smile grew stale as he crossed and took a seat beside Dr. Novak. Flippant bastard…

Everyone else began to find their seats as the pilot a

With all in readiness, Kara crossed to the bar. Her usual was waiting for her: a chilled glass of Chardo

So close now…after so very long…

She sipped slowly, drowning the nagging dryness in her mouth. Her head buzzed with the sharpness of the two pills she had taken upon waking two hours earlier. Through her lips, she felt the minor tremor in her fingertips as they held up the glass. One wasn’t supposed to mix alcohol with prescription drugs. But it was only the one glass of Chardo

She lowered the glass and found Safia studying her. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes glowed with concern. Kara met her gaze, un-flinching, holding it steady. Safia finally broke away to stare out the window.

Neither had the words to comfort the other. Not any longer…

The desert had stolen a part of their lives, a part of their hearts. And only out in the sands could it be recovered.

11:42 A.M.

MUSCAT, OMAN

OMAHA SLAMMEDthrough the door to the Ministry of National Heritage.

The door swinging back almost struck his brother, Da

“Damn bureaucrats…” He continued his tirade out in the street. “You need a friggin’ permit to wipe your ass here.”

“You got what you wanted,” Da

“It took all goddamn morning. And the only reason we finally got the permit to carry gasoline aboard the Rovers-to carry friggin gasoline!-was because Adolf bin Asshole wanted his damn lunch.”

“Calm down.” Da

“And Safia…Kara’s plane is landing in”-Omaha checked his watch. “In just over an hour.”

Da

The cool interior washed the edge from his irritation. He leaned and tapped at the Plexiglas between the backseat and the front. “Seeb Airport.”

The driver nodded and cut into traffic without signaling, simply barging his way into the lunchtime flow.

Omaha fell back into his seat beside his brother.

“I’ve never seen you this nervous,” Da

“What are you talking about? Nervous? I’m pissed.”

Da

“Safia has nothing to do with this.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I have no reason to be nervous.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, Omaha.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

Omaha shook his head. Both of them had had too little sleep since arriving two weeks ago. There were a thousand and one details to attend to when putting together an expedition in such a short time: permits; paperwork; hiring guards, manual labor, and trucks; clearing access from Thumrait Air Base; buying potable water, petrol, guns, salt, dry chemical toilets; organizing perso

The trouble back in London had delayed Kara’s arrival. If Kara had been here as pla

But after the museum incident, Kara had asked the brothers to maintain a low profile, keep her involvement on a need-to-know basis only.

So Omaha chewed a lot of aspirin.

The taxi crossed out of the business district of Muscat and wended through the narrow streets that bordered the stone walls of the old city. They followed a truck loaded with pines, weeping a path of dry needles behind it.

Christmas trees. In Oman.

Such was the country’s ope

The taxi driver turned on the radio. Strains of Bach floated through the Bose speakers. The sultan’s favorite. By royal decree, only classical music could be played at noon. Omaha checked his watch. High noon.

He stared out the window. It must be good to be king.