Trusting A Sheikh (Playgrounds of Power 1) (15 page)

"You said it," Chloe replied with a grin. It wasn't just false bravado – she was truly happy that Tariq was having this reaction, because awful as it was, it at least proved his honesty and character.

"We have to get him to safety," Tariq said, lost in thought. "Yes, that's the first step."

"You think he's going to trust you?" Chloe replied with a raised eyebrow. "Because I don't. It seemed pretty obvious to me in that room that he'd been tortured at some point, and I doubt he's just going to hand himself in willingly to anyone you send."

"You're right. What do you think I should do?" Tariq asked. Somehow, Chloe felt a sense of pride that he was asking her at all. It was a silly thing, but she related it to her own father, himself born in Saudi Arabia and steeped in the culture of the region. Much as she loved him, he wasn't always willing to compromise or listen to her opinions as often as he should. He had certainly improved with age, and through marrying a Western woman, but still – old habits died hard. And more than that, Tariq had proved himself to be a leader – and a good one. That he was willing to take her counsel meant more to her than he knew.

"It's a tough one, that's for sure," Chloe mused thoughtfully. "I don't think he'll react too well to an approach from you or anyone from the embassy. And frankly, given that we
know
that at least one of your guys is compromised – Khalid – and that someone from the Embassy is involved, I wouldn't trust that approach either. What do you reckon to me doing it?"

"You?" Tariq asked with a worried look on his face. "I can't put you in any danger – it wouldn't be right."

Chloe looked balefully at Tariq. "You aren't putting me in any danger. I'm doing it myself, thank you very much."

"You know what I mean," Tariq replied, slightly shamefacedly. "If you get hurt, or worse, then I'll have that on my conscience the rest of my life."

"And if Rashid gets hurt, then I'll have his life on my conscience," Chloe retorted.

"That's not the same thing," Tariq protested.

"Why not?" Chloe replied hotly. "Just because you haven't slept with him?"

"That's not fair, Chloe," Tariq said, with a hurt look on his face. "It's perfectly reasonable that I'm more concerned about your safety than his. I know I've only known you for what, a few days, but I've begun to care for you."

The thought hit Chloe hard – just the idea that someone other than her family might care for her was a revelation. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"What do you think I mean?" Tariq asked with a smile. "I don't just have anyone in my bed, you know?"

"Don't you?" Chloe replied with a wicked smile. "You seem like the type who could charm the pants off anyone…"

"Well, maybe… But I don't feel about them like I do about you," Tariq replied, bowing his head slightly almost as though he were embarrassed to state that fact. "Anyway, that's beside the point. I can't let you contact Rashid – if Khalid is planning an attempt on his life, then it's far too dangerous. I know enough about Khalid to know that your life would be in unbelievable danger. He is a very violent, dangerous man."

"It's not your choice," Chloe said flatly. "I wasn't brought up to ignore people's suffering, and I won't turn a blind eye and see Rashid die. He's a good man, and I can do something to save his life."

Tariq looked defeated, as though he knew there was nothing he could do to change Chloe's mind. "Are you sure?"

"I am," Chloe said with a sense of finality. "I'm not sure how I'm going to do it, but whatever happens, it needs to be quickly."

"Okay. When you get to him, whatever you do, don't use your own phone. Here, take my number." He pulled an expensive looking Mont Blanc pen out from the inside of his suit jacket along with a tiny leather notebook, and scribbled something down on the paper before tearing it off and handing it to her. "Take the battery on your phone, okay? When you have to get in touch with me, go to a shop and buy a cheap burner phone. Got it?"

Chloe just stood there for a couple of seconds, marveling at the way that Tariq had changed in an instant from being concerned for her safety and trying to prevent her from going forward with her plan to a mindset that was deadly practical, calm and intelligent. Nepotism or not, she could see that the fact that it was he, not some other Saudi functionary, that had been sent to London on his trade mission was no accident of birth. No, Tariq was an extremely intelligent and competent man.

"What are you staring at?" Tariq asked, and Chloe snapped back to reality, realizing that she had been daydreaming.

"Nothing." She blushed. "It's just, I like seeing you like this…"

"What do you mean? Like what?" Tariq asked.

"I don't know," Chloe replied slowly. "The way you've just taken charge, it's kind of – sexy."

It was Tariq's turn to blush, though it was far less noticeable on his more tanned skin. "Um, thanks – I guess?"

It was the first time that Chloe had seen the Prince looking quite so awkward, and she couldn't help but giggle. "I should go," she finally said, leaning in to Tariq and surreptitiously kissing him on the lips, hoping no one around them had seen. She didn't want to accidentally risk his career through something as small as a kiss.

Apparently, Tariq didn't share the same idea.

"What was that?" he demanded, almost coldly – Chloe couldn't put a finger on exactly what emotion he was displaying.

"What do you mean?" Chloe asked quickly, afraid she'd somehow screwed up.

"That wasn't a kiss," Tariq joked, breaking a smile. "Come here." He didn't give Chloe choice, not that she would have chosen differently if he had, he just grabbed her hands and pulled her into him. She stood on her tiptoes, leaning into the kiss, and felt his powerful arms briefly snake around her waist as he pressed his body into her, tongue probing her lips. She didn't want to let go, knowing just how dangerous the next day would be. But she knew she had to.

She broke off. "I've got to go," she groaned.

"I know," Tariq replied sadly, pulling her into him one last time and breathing into her hair. "Be safe."

17

^"
H
ow much?" she asked the teenage cashier, flashing the Nokia box in front of his disinterested eyes.

"Ah, you don't want that one," the teenager whined. "It's a dumb phone. You ain't gonna get no apps on that."

"I don't need any," Chloe replied, perhaps more sharply than she normally would have, but she was in a rush. "How much?" she reiterated.

"You sure? Who doesn't use apps? Man, you can't even get the Internet on that…" the kid replied, looking shocked that anyone would buy a phone without the Internet. Chloe doubted, looking at him, that he even remembered a world without the Internet. Sometimes even she had difficulty remembering it, so she had no doubt that this kid had grown up with his thumbs glued to his touchscreen.

"I'm sure," she replied firmly. "How much is it?" she said, trying to get a message across.

"It'll set you back £30. Do you want some credit for it?" the kid asked, his tone dripping with disdain, as though he couldn't imagine that anyone these days would actually use a top up phone. "I suppose I should," Chloe replied, kicking herself for not thinking of something so basic. "How much do you reckon I'll need?"

"How much are you going to be using it?" the kid asked, looking at her like she was stupid. Chloe realized how dumb she must've sounded, and – not wanting to run out, she shamefacedly said, "Just put £40 on it."

"You're the boss," the kid replied, going through the motions of running it through the cash register. Chloe threw in a woolen fishermen's hat that she saw on the side of the counter almost as an afterthought. The thought had struck her on the way over that if Tariq was worried enough about Khalid and his cronies tracking her cellphone usage, then they might also have access to other surveillance techniques, so she'd ditched her expensive suit in her car and replaced it with a warm old Adidas tracksuit that she usually wore to the gym. It wasn't exactly power dressing, but combined with the hat, she decided that she would look almost unrecognizable.

"Okay, that'll be £70."

Chloe hurriedly handed over the money – all cash. She'd watched enough spy movies to know not to use credit cards when ‘on the run’, and as she was now living her life by the old maxim ‘you're not paranoid if someone is out to get you’, it seemed like the right thing to do.

"Thanks," she said, walking out of the shop. The teenage checkout attendant didn't reply, but slumped down and picked up a magazine instead. Normally, Chloe would have been irritated by that kind of behavior, but given the circumstances, she didn't pay it another moment's thought.

She sheltered under a bus stop from the cold, blustery November wind as she quickly pulled the cellphone from its sparse, spartan packaging, holding the green call button down to power the unit up. It was quite a shock to be using a phone with actual buttons again, but hell, the battery life would definitely be better…

Before she'd powered down her own phone, she'd taken Rashid's number out and written it on the back of the same piece of paper that Tariq had given her, and she didn't hesitate – once the standard Nokia jingle had played – before punching his digits in.

Chloe normally didn't stray too far from her usual gentrified haunts of Mayfair, Chelsea – and on the few occasions that she decided to ‘slum’ it with her friends, perhaps the cheaper, and edgier haunts of Brixton Market. Today, however, she had decided that, just like with her fancy clothes and credit cards, she needed to dispense with that corner of her life – at least for the time being. So, instead of being surrounded by upmarket boutique clothing shops, or lost in a sea of marauding fashionista tourists hopping from expensive store to expensive store like a pack of materialistic locusts, Chloe found herself in the rather less salubrious surroundings of Elephant and Castle, near the Underground station.

She looked around edgily before jamming the hard edged Nokia phone to her ear with no idea what she was looking out for, or what she would do if she saw it. After all, she'd come to one of the most ethnically diverse areas of London precisely to lose herself in an area that no one would think to look for her. The flipside of that was – clearly – that her potential Arab pursuers were hardly going to stick out like a sore thumb in an area where walking around without at least a heavy tan made
you
the unusual one.

"Hello?"

"Rashid, it's Chloe. We met earlier on at the embassy."

There was a long pause as Rashid contemplated whether to simply put down the phone. "Why are you calling me?" he eventually asked, his voice dripping with suspicion.

"Rashid, is there any chance that we can meet in person? I have reason to believe that you are in considerable danger…"

Another long pause ensued, and Chloe anxiously debated whether or not to start talking again – fearing he might simply just end the call if she did so.

"So?" came a long-suffering sigh, finally, along with an unhelpful single word answer.

"Sir, I'm calling to warn you – you're in danger," Chloe begged. "We need to –."

Rashid cut her off. "You don't understand my meaning, Chloe – I'm always in danger. What makes this time any different? And, besides, why should I trust you?"

"I don't know how I can prove to you what I have to say," Chloe replied slowly, "but can we meet somewhere public? Just for a few minutes," she hastened to add. "If you don't believe what I have to say, then by all means, go…"

"Oxford Street. Opposite Topman. One hour."
Click
.

"
C
HRISTMAS LIGHTS ARE ALREADY UP
," the cab driver said, shaking his head. "It gets earlier and earlier every year – what's the world coming to, eh?"

Distracted, Chloe didn't catch it all, but agreed nonetheless. It seemed easier, and the man was certainly up in arms about that particular perceived injustice.

"And another thing," the man continued – seemingly unaware of Chloe's disinterest, "who's paying for them?" He banged his hands angrily against the steering wheel. "That's what I want to know. It better not be my tax money, that's all I have to say."

Chloe was quite sure that, in fact, wasn't all he had to say – but was in a distracted enough mood that she engaged with the angry cab driver almost by accident. "Pay for what?" she asked, innocently enough.

"The lights!" her driver exclaimed. "Weren't you listening?"

"Oh, sorry. Long day – you know?" Chloe replied, in an attempt to mollify him as best as she could. "Must've switched off!"

"Don't worry about it," the man replied with an easy smile, his appetite for conversation seemingly undimmed by Chloe's lukewarm response to his entreaties. "I've been up since five, me, just driving around."

Chloe had always hated these conversations. What on earth was she supposed to say to that? There was small talk, and then there was tiny talk – and this definitely felt as though it fit in the latter category.

"Five? That's awful," she said, just to fill the time. "I don't know how you manage it." She did, of course – she worked the same hours all the time, too, but she'd long ago realized that in situations like this, it was just best to let the other person do most of the talking – that's what they usually wanted to do anyway.

The driver turned around to look at Chloe, taking his eye off the traffic, and Chloe surreptitiously grasped her seatbelt slightly tighter. "I'll let you in on a little secret."

"Shouldn't you be, you know, looking at the road?" Chloe said nervously.

"Oh, don't you worry about that." The man chuckled, not putting Chloe's mind at ease at all. "I know these roads like the back of my hand."

Chloe wanted to say, but didn't:
Yeah, but the back of your hand is precisely what I don't want to see if we end up crashing!
Instead, she occupied herself by staring out the window, willing the journey to be over.

"Anyway, like I was saying – the trick is having a kettle by your bedside. I set my alarm for 4:30, wake up, make a coffee, drink it, then go back to bed."