Sandstorm

5:05 P.M.

ALL THATwas left was the cleanup.

Cassandra kept one foot on the pontoon of her boat. She listened to the open channel as various teams swept the city in quadrants, clearing away pockets of resistance. She clutched her electronic tracker, fingers digging. She knew exactly where Safia was within the city.

Cassandra allowed the curator to scurry like a mouse while her crew mopped behind her, wearing through her resistance. Cassandra still wanted the bitch alive. Especially with Painter now on the run.

She had to resist screaming her frustration.

She would have the balls of every man topside if Painter escaped.

She took a deep shuddering breath. There was nothing she could do down here. She had to secure this place, root out its secrets, which meant capturing Safia alive. And with Safia in hand, Cassandra would have a card to play against Painter. A pretty little ace in the hole.

An explosion drew her attention back to the city. She was surprised her men needed to employ another grenade. She watched an RPG sail into the air.

She blinked at its trajectory.

Fuck…

She leaped from her perch and sprinted down the shoreline. Her rubber soles gave her good purchase on the rough glass. She dove behind a sheltering pile of debris as the grenade struck the pontoon boat.

The explosion deafened her, making her ears ache, even stinging her eyes. Glass and water sprayed high. She rolled up and away as broken glass rained down. She covered her head with her arms. Jagged pieces fell around her, dancing off other glass, slicing skin and clothes, stinging like a rain of fire.

After the deadly shower ceased, she stared up at the city. Had someone commandeered one of her team’s launchers? Another two RPGs flew by.

New automatic fire flared from a dozen places.

What the hell was going on?

AS THEexplosions echoed away and gunfire chattered, Safia watched Captain al-Haffi clump forward on his crutch. The shock of his arrival still held everyone speechless.

The captain’s eyes settled on Lu’lu. He dropped his crutch and lowered himself to one knee. He spoke in Arabic, but in a dialect few had heard spoken aloud. Safia had to strain her ears to recognize the words of the singsong speech.

“Your Highness, please forgive your servant for arriving so late.”

He bowed his head.

The hodja was as mystified as anyone else by his arrival and posturing.

Omaha stepped to Safia’s side. “He’s speaking Shahran.”

Safia’s mind spun. The Shahra were the mountain clan that traced their lineage to King Shaddad, the first ruler of Ubar…or rather the consort of its first queen.

Barak spoke, hearing Omaha. “We are all of the Shahra clan.”

Captain al-Haffi rose to his feet. Another man returned his crutch.

Safia realized what she had just witnessed: the formal acknowledgment of the king’s line to its queen.

Captain al-Haffi motioned them to follow, speaking again in English. “I had thought to get you clear, but all I can offer is shelter. We must hope my men and your women can hold the marauders off. Come.”

He led the way back around the palace. Everyone followed.

Omaha paced next to Barak. “You are Shahra?”

The man nodded.

“So that’s why you knew about that back door out of the mountains, through that graveyard. You said only the Shahra knew of that path.”

“The Vale of Remembrance,” Barak intoned more formally. “The graves of our ancestors, back to the exodus from Ubar.”

Captain al-Haffi hobbled alongside Lu’lu. Kara helped her from the other side, continuing their conversation. “Is that why you all volunteered for the mission? Because of its ties to Ubar.”

The captain bowed his head. “I apologize for the ruse, Lady Kensington. But the Shahra do not reveal their secrets to outsiders. That is not our way. We are as much guardians of this place as the Rahim. We were given this burden by the last queen of Ubar, just before our two lines parted ways. As she divided the keys, so she divided the royal lines, each with its own secrets.”

Safia stared between the two, the houses of Ubar joined again.

“What secret was left with you?” Omaha asked him.

“The old path into Ubar. The one walked by the first queen. We were forbidden to open it until Ubar was tread again.”

“A back door,” Omaha said.

Safia should have known. The queen who sealed Ubar after the horrible tragedy here was too meticulous. She had contingency plans stacked atop contingency plans, spreading them across both lines.

“So there’s a way out of here?” Omaha asked.

“Yes, to the surface. But there is no escape there. The sandstorm rages, which makes crossing atop Ubar’s dome dangerous. It was what took us so long to get here, once we learned from Barak that the gate had been breached.”

“Well, better late than never,” Danny said behind them.

“Yes, but now a new storm strikes the area, rising from the south. It will be death to walk those sands.”

“So we’re still trapped,” Omaha said.

“Until the storm abates. We must simply hold out until that time.”

With that sobering thought, they crisscrossed a few more streets in silence, finally reaching the back cavern wall. It looked solid, but Captain al-Haffi continued forward. Then Safia spotted it. A straight fracture in the glass wall. It angled inward, making it difficult to spot.

Captain al-Haffi led them to the crack. “The surface lies a hundred and fifty steps up. The passage can act as a shelter for the children and women.”

“And a trap if we can’t hold off Cassandra. She still outnumbers us and outguns us.”

Captain al-Haffi stared across the group. “My men could use help. Anybody who can hold a gun.”

Safia watched Danny and Coral accept weapons from a stash inside the crack. Even Clay stepped forward and held out his hand.

Her student caught her surprised look. “I really want that A,” was all he said as he stepped away. His eyes shone with terror, but he did not back down.

Omaha went last. “I already have a pistol. But I could use a second.”

Captain al-Haffi handed him an M-16.

“But this’ll do.”

Safia stepped up as he moved away. “Omaha…” She had never acknowledged what he had said back by the palace. Had his words been a deathbed confession, knowing they were doomed?

He smiled at her. “You don’t have to say anything. I made my stand. I haven’t earned your response yet.” He moved away. “But I hope at least you’ll let me try.”

Safia shoved up to him and put her arm around his neck and held him tight. She spoke into his ear. “I do love you…I just don’t know…” She couldn’t finish the statement. It hung there between them.

He squeezed her anyway. “I do. And I’ll wait until you do, too.”

An argument forced them apart. Words between Kara and Captain al-Haffi.

“I will not let you fight, Lady Kensington.”

“I am perfectly able to shoot a gun.”

“Then take a gun with you to the stairs. You may need it.”

Kara fumed, but the captain was right. The last stand might come to a fight on the stairs.

Captain al-Haffi placed a hand on her shoulder. “I owe your family a debt. Let me pay it this day.”

“What are you talking about?” Kara said.

He bowed his head; his voice grew mournful and shamed. “This is not the first time I’ve lent my services to your family. When I was a young man, a boy really, I volunteered to help you and your father.”

Kara’s frown deepened.

Captain al-Haffi lifted his face to hers. “My first name is Habib.”

Kara gasped and stumbled back a step. “The guide on the day of the hunt. That was you.”

“I was to attend your father because of his interest in Ubar. But I failed. Fear kept me from following you and your father that day into the forbidden sands. Only when I saw that you intended to enter the nisnases did I come after you, but it was too late. So I collected you from the sands and returned you to Thumrait. I did not know what else to do.”

Kara appeared dumbstruck. Safia stared between them. Everything had come full circle…back to these same sands.

“So let me protect you now…as I failed to do in the past.”

Kara could only nod. Captain al-Haffi moved away. Kara called after him. “You were only a boy.”

“Now I’m a man.” He turned to follow the others back down to the city.

Safia heard an echo of Omaha’s words.

The hodja stared among those remaining. “It is not over yet.” With those cryptic words, she entered the cleft. “We must walk the path of the old queen.”