Sandstorm

12:45 P.M.

PAINTER WOKEwith a start, gasping, choking, eyes burning.

He attempted to sit up but was shoved back down. His head rang like a struck bell. Light burned icily. The room shuddered. He rolled to the side and vomited over the edge of a cot. His stomach clenched again and again.

“Awake, I see.”

The voice chilled the feverish pain from his body. Despite the glare and pain of the sharp lights, he faced the woman at the foot of his bed. “Cassandra.”

She was dressed in dun-colored fatigues with a knee-length poncho, belted at the waist. A hat hung by a cord behind her, a scarf around her neck. Her skin glowed in the light, her eyes shining even brighter.

He struggled to sit up. Two men held his shoulders.

Cassandra waved them off.

Painter slowly sat up. Guns pointed at him.

“We’ve got some business to discuss.” Cassandra dropped to one knee. “That little stunt of yours cost me most of my electronics. Though we were able to salvage a few things, like my laptop.” She pointed to the computer resting on a folding chair. It displayed a SeaWiFS satellite map of the region, with live feed of the sandstorm.

Painter noted the scrolling weather data. The coastal high-pressure system off the Arabian Sea had finally crossed the mountains. It was due to collide with the sandstorm in the next two hours. A megastorm of sea and sand.

But none of that mattered now.

“There’s no way I’m telling you anything,” he croaked out.

“I don’t remember asking you anything.”

He sneered at her. Even that hurt.

She shifted to the laptop and touched a few keys. The screen contained an overlay of the area: town, ruins, desert. It was monochrome, except for a small blue ring, slowly spinning, a quarter inch in diameter. Below it, coordinates along the X-, Y-, and Z-axes changed. A live feed. He knew what he was looking at. It was a signal from a microtransceiver, a system designed by his own hand.

“What have you done?”

“We implanted Dr. al-Maaz. We dared not lose track of her.”

“The transmission…underground…” He had a hard time making his tongue work.

“There was enough of a gap in the wreckage to lower a weighted thread antenna. It seems once we spooled enough wire we were able to pick up her signal. There must be good acoustics down there. We’ve lowered booster transmitters. We can track her anywhere.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

Cassandra returned to his bed. She had a small transmitter in her hand. “To inform you of a small modification in your design. It seems with a bit more battery, you can ignite a pellet of C4. I can show you the schematics.”

Painter’s flesh went cold. “Cassandra, what have you done?” He pictured Safia’s face, her shy smile.

“There’s just enough C4 to blow out someone’s spine.”

“You didn’t…”

She raised one eyebrow, a gesture that used to excite, quicken his heart. Now it terrified him.

Painter clenched fistfuls of sheets. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“How cooperative. But again, Painter, I don’t remember asking you any questions.” She held up the transmitter and glanced to the screen. “It’s time to punish you for your little stunt today.”

She pressed the button.

“No!”

His scream was lost in a monstrous explosion. It felt as if his heart had detonated. It took him a breath to understand.

Cassandra smiled down at him, deliciously satisfied.

Laughter rose raw, with little true humor, from the men in the room.

She held up the device. “Sorry, I guess that was the wrong transmitter. This one controlled the charges placed in the tractor’s debris. My demolitions experts have promised me the explosives will clear a path to the tunnel. All it requires now is a little cleanup. We’ll be moving in within the next half hour.”

Painter’s heart still ached, thudding in his throat.

Cassandra pulled out a second transmitter. “This is the real one. Keyed to Safia’s transceiver. Shall we try that again?”

Painter simply hung his head. She would do it. Ubar was open. Cassandra had no further need for Safia’s expertise.

Cassandra knelt closer. “Now that I have your full attention, maybe we can have that little chat.”