The Sheikh’s Secret Son (Sharjah Sheikhs Book 3) Page 9

  Ahmed and Khalid were both fuming as they stood with their hands behind their backs, listening to the reports as they came in.

  “What do we know?” Zaid asked sternly.

  “The authorities are calling it an act of terrorism,” his father said.

  “That much is obvious. We were there when it happened,” Zaid told his father. “There were three separate explosions. Have the authorities said anything about bombs or explosives?”

  “They haven’t released any real information yet,” the Sultan told him. “Just that they are opening a formal investigation and have started gathering evidence.”

  “And where is Alacabak?” Zaid asked.

  “He’s at the scene of the apparent attack with the investigators,” the Sultan said.

  Of course he is. Zaid simply nodded. Except that, he wasn’t there when the blast hit.

  Hazim chimed in. “I’ve increased security around the palace including regular patrols in teams of four instead of two. All cameras are operational and we are checking all vehicles before they enter the grounds. But as of right now, we’re secure. We’re safe.”

  “Great,” said the Sultan. “Now, I need a moment alone with my sons. We have other matters to discuss in the midst of this disaster.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hazim nodded and left the room.

  Once the door was closed, the Sultan pulled a chair back from the table and sat down. He looked troubled and tired, as if the weight of these events simply compounded matters that were already bothering him.

  “It’s time, Zaid,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t follow. Time for what?” Zaid asked.

  He and his brothers pulled out chairs and sat down.

  “It’s time for you to marry.”

  “Father, now is not the time to discuss me getting married. Not in the midst of all this chaos,” Zaid argued.

  “Stability. That’s what the people need right now. And a royal wedding is just the kind of thing people will want to see,” the Sultan continued. “It’s something to celebrate. Something that brings people together; unifies them. Something that could restore their faith in the Al-Qasimi family. Right now, there are probably many people who do not feel safe after the attack, but we can fix that with a wedding. A big, beautiful, public spectacle with lots of guests.”

  "No disrespect intended, father, but that is the worst idea. What the people want to see is what we're doing to keep them safe.” Zaid looked to his brothers who nodded at him encouragingly. “To spend so much money on a public spectacle will only fuel any animosity already felt toward us with this migrant issue we’re dealing with.”

  The Sultan stared at Zaid making him feel as though he was a child again. “Now is not the time to speak to me of disrespect. Did you think I would not find out that I have another grandson hidden away in your quarters? Exactly how long did you intend to keep that information to yourself?”

  Zaid’s stomach churned as he tried to figure out how best to respond. “Father, I can explain.” The Sultan held his hand up and Zaid went silent. Turning to look at his brothers, he couldn’t tell what Khalid was thinking from the stoic expression on his face but he detected a smirk on Ahmed’s face. Turning his head slowly back toward his father, he watched his face break out in a grin.

  “Another grandson.” Clapping his hands together. “You will marry this woman, yes?”

  “Yes, sir,” Zaid agreed readily; although he still had to talk Rebecca into it.

  “Excellent. You will announce your engagement and reveal the identity of your bride at the Jazia Ball next week. The timing is perfect as it culminates with the end of the diplomatic tour. We will hold the wedding shortly after the ball, within the next few days,” the Sultan continued.

  “Yes, sir.” Zaid felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from him. “I like the sound of that. I think that would be very appropriate, and it would be a good thing for the people to see.”

  “Indeed,” the Sultan agreed. “Now, this woman. She will agree?”

  Zaid thought about it for a moment. “I need to talk to her about it.” He worried that she would think she’d have to give up her humanitarian work while he was already envisioning how much she could help here in Sharjah. He couldn’t imagine her saying no. She had promised herself to him already, had told him she was his. There was no indication that there was any doubt in her mind or heart about her feelings for him. But would she marry him?

  The more he thought about it, the more excited he became. This gave him an excuse finally to bring up the topic of marriage with her. It would legitimize his son, making him an heir to the Sultancy.

  “Now, when do I get to meet her?” his father interrupted his thoughts.

  Smiling at his father, “The Ball. Now, if you will excuse me, father, I have a woman to talk into marrying me.” Zaid was grateful not to have to go through what his brothers had gone through with their marriages. There wasn’t going to be any trial-and-error this time. This time, it would be a marriage and he was going to get it right the first time.

  The Sultan dismissed the brothers, sending them out of the boardroom.

  “Who is it?” Khalid asked. “Is it one of the women from the delegates touring Sharjah?”

  “I’ll tell you once she says yes,” Zaid answered. “I don’t want to jinx it.” He smiled at his brothers and walked off on his own.

  One of the members of the security team came up and handed him a folder full of reports. “This is the information you requested,” the young man told him before turning to leave.

  What information? Zaid opened the folder to review the file information he’d been handed. With everything that had happened, he’d forgotten about the report he’d requested on how the money for improvements in Rajak and Timina had been spent. He flipped through the pages as he walked pausing when he came across several spreadsheets indicating where money should have gone toward infrastructure. Having now toured both neighborhoods, he knew that the money never made it there.

  Continuing to flip through the pages, he was surprised to see reference to a private security firm that he knew the palace didn’t do business with. Despite the mounting evidence, he still didn’t have enough to bring to his father. His advisor was too well entrenched and from what Zaid was reading, had the means to mask his trail of deception and subterfuge well.

  What are you up to Alacabak?

  14

  It had been one week since the bombings and the authorities were tight-lipped about any speculation on who did it. Zaid had managed to find out that, there had indeed been three separate bombs planted and that they had gone off hours sooner than originally planned. Because of that, there were fewer injuries and the number of fatalities had been limited to three. But any further information was held back as the investigation continued.

  With the addition of security personnel and more stringent safety precautions, the diplomatic envoy continued their tour and there was speculation that despite what happened, there were still investors interested in Sharjah. Zaid assumed that it had more to do with the authorities swift reaction to the bombing coupled with the obvious poverty intervention tactics the palace was taking to provide fresh water to the people of Rajak and Timina for drinking, cooking and bathing; along with improved sanitation in those areas that were easily remedied.

  The Jazia Ball was that night and all of the Emirate’s high society would attend including the delegates from the diplomacy tour. Rumors were flying around that a big announcement would occur tonight, which caught the media’s attention and they were lined up outside eager to catch a glimpse of the guests and speculate on what the announcement would be.

  It was one of those nights when the Sultan conveniently forgot about the restrictions he placed on alcohol in the palace. Champagne flowed as servers handed out beautiful crystal flutes filled with the sparkling drink. The palace ballroom was elaborately decorated in gold and white giving the impression of opulence against the backdrop of the s
tar-studded sky, which could be seen through the many doors that had been left open to the exotic Arabian landscape.

  The Sultan was the only person who showed up in traditional attire, and that was how he preferred it for the annual ball. It was a time to celebrate progress and prosperity. The ballroom was packed with guests eager to sample the food prepared by Ahmed’s wife, Melanie, and her restaurant, which had recently won two awards.

  With the diplomatic party already present, Zaid was excited to show off the fiery little Irish-American redhead dressed in a long amethyst-colored gown with silver embroidery throughout. She was stunning and Zaid couldn’t wait for their engagement announcement.

  “This is how my father parties when he wants to show off,” he’d warned her before they left his private quarters. “Be prepared, because it’s big.”

  When they walked into the ballroom, they were greeted by loud music and bright lights as men and women moved to the beat of the music on the dance floor causing Rebecca to grip his hand a little tighter.

  “This is not what I expected,” she said in his ear.

  “Oh, this is nothing. It’s early,” Zaid warned.

  The Sultan sat in his throne-like chair on the dais at the far end of the room from the door, watching over his grand party. Zaid’s uncles sat on either side of him. They never took part in any of the balls or parties. They simply presided over it the same way they would have presided over court. His mother and aunts were seated off to the side, close enough to watch but far enough away that security could maintain a watchful eye on them.

  Once most of the guests had arrived and the party was finally in full swing, the Sultan stood and signaled the DJ to stop the music. It was time for the opening speech, and possibly even the wedding announcement.

  Zaid patted his pocket for the third time to make sure that the ring he planned to offer Rebecca was still there. In the past week, they had spent considerable time together as a family and every minute found him more in love with both Rebecca and Calum. So much so, that he couldn’t imagine his life without them. He hoped she felt the same.

  “Family, friends, and other esteemed guests,” the Sultan started his speech. “Welcome to the twenty-fifth annual Jazia Ball. Every year is a celebration of our good fortune and growing prosperity. It is with regret that the recent attacks on the factory has mired our longstanding peace in this region but it has done my heart good to know that so many of you readily donated funds to those families who were most hurt by the bombings. If you would, let’s take a moment to honor those who were injured and died.”

  Pausing, the Sultan dropped his head, mumbling quietly to himself as others followed suit. Lifting his head, Zaid could see the sadness on his father’s face before he seemed to shake it off.

  “Tonight we have a special treat for everyone,” he continued. “Tonight, my middle son, Sheikh Zaid Al-Qasimi, has asked to make an announcement of his own.” The Sultan looked around the room. “Now, I don’t know what he’s going to say or do, but as you all know, I’ve been marrying my sons off, so perhaps, this will be his year.” He paused and waved his hand toward where Zaid stood with Rebecca.

  There was laughter and cheering this time, mixed with applause. Rebecca shot Zaid an apprehensive look. While they’d had several discussions on coming together as a family, she’s been reticent about moving to Sharjah and Zaid had yet to broach the subject of marriage as he had hoped to surprise her.

  “So,” the Sultan said when the crowd quieted, “without further ado I’m turning it over to him.”

  Zaid gave Rebecca’s hand a squeeze and strode to the front of the room to stand on the edge of dais. “Friends and family gathered with us tonight,” he started, “as you all know I am the remaining brother who has yet to take a bride. My brothers, Khalid and Ahmed, have already married their beautiful brides. Now it’s my turn, and it is my hope that you will be as entranced with her as I am.”

  He looked at Rebecca. She was already beginning to blush. She knew what was coming.

  “Rebecca Reid,” he said, holding out his hand, “can you please approach the dais?”

  She walked up slowly, nervously. Zaid met her halfway, taking her hand to escort her up onto the miniature stage. He grinned as he stepped down. “I have to do it this way so it looks right when I kneel,” he told the guests, and their laughter filled the room, easing his nerves a bit.

  Rebecca looked down at him as he took a knee on the red carpet. She started to shake her head, tears threatening to spill over from her eyes. He held one of her small hands in his, and she held the other in front of her mouth.

  “Rebecca Reid, we’ve known each other for years. When we first worked together five years ago, the connection we had then was undeniable. We’ve worked together again recently, and our connection rekindled. Even better, you’ve opened my eyes, Rebecca. You’ve taught me how to see what’s right in front of me in a different light instead of always just accepting things at face value. I love you, Rebecca. I suspect I always have. I would be honored if you would continue to stand by my side, helping Sharjah see things through your perspective and find ways to help our people continue to grow. Rebecca Reid, what I’m asking is, will you marry me?”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks, and in the moment it took before Rebecca could speak, the moment where Zaid reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring, holding it out to her, he began to doubt himself, to doubt his certainty that she would agree to be his wife.

  “Yes,” she cried and he slid the ring he’d chosen especially for her onto her finger, his heart exploding with joy. “Yes, yes, yes, Zaid. Oh my God, yes. I love you so much.” She threw her arms around him, hanging off him as he stood up, lifting her a foot or so off the floor while the guests applauded and hooted. When he finally set Rebecca down, his father stood to cue the music back up.

  Only, instead of music bursting from the speakers, the doors to the ballroom banged open. Members of the military stormed in, flanking Alacabak, the guests of the ball shrinking away from the men. At Alacabak’s signal, four soldiers seized Zaid and Rebecca.

  “What is the meaning of this?” boomed the Sultan, from where he stood.

  “These two have been conspiring against you, Sultan,” Alacabak accused, and whatever joy was left in Zaid’s heart turned to bitter anger. “Now that they’ve made their alliance official, it’s time to expose the truth.”

  The Sultan looked at Zaid and Rebecca. “What are you talking about, Alacabak?” he demanded.

  “The terrorist group that has claimed credit for the attacks on Timina had dealings with Ms. Reid,” he accused.

  “What are you talking about? This is her first time here,” Zaid responded, fisting his hands to keep from strangling Alacabak’s smug face.

  “Are you sure about that? Perhaps you should ask her.”

  Whipping his head around to look at Rebecca, he looked at the stricken look on her face, as tears shimmered in her eyes.

  “Rebecca? What is he talking about?” Zaid asked her, suddenly worried about her response.

  “My parents. They thought they were doing good helping workers at a factory. They…they had said that the Sultan had been abusing his power. My father was helping them to organize a strike but that wasn’t what they wanted. When he found out about the bomb making equipment, he reported it immediately.” Rebecca took a shuddering breath; her eyes grew unfocused as she seemed to remember the event.

  “They caught us as we were trying to get out of the country. Held guns to my parents’ heads. I hid Amy’s face so she wouldn’t see. I thought for sure, we were all going to die. But we didn’t. Instead, they branded us as traitors. Even my sister and me. She was so little. Her screams…” Before Zaid could console her, Alacabak strode forward and grabbed her right arm. Pushing her sleeve up to expose her upper arm, he held it up for everyone to see.

  “This is not the brand of a traitor but one marking her as one of their own. Rebecca Reid is a terrorist. She and Sheikh Zaid orc
hestrated the attack on the factory in Timina as the first step in a revolt against American interests in Sharjah. Sheikh Zaid Al-Qasimi has been plotting for months to take out all of the American interests in the area. That is why the diplomatic party who has been touring the region was placed in harm’s way during the attack,” Alacabak continued.

  “Is this true, son?” the Sultan asked.

  “No, sir,” Zaid said with a shake of his head. “Absolutely not.”

  “Then, what is he going on about?” the Sultan asked again.

  “I’m talking about your son trying to bring shame and dishonor to your family and to all of Sharjah,” the madman continued. “He and his American whore have an illegitimate son as well, conceived during one of his visits to the States, when they worked together. In fact, during the bombing of the factory at Timina, his son was supposed to be caught in the explosion and killed to prevent you from ever finding out about him. When the boy wasn’t sufficiently injured, one of their cohorts attempted to take him away to kill him but at the last moment, Sheikh Zaid stopped him.”

  “Is this true?” Rebecca asked. “Was someone trying to take Calum away?”

  Zaid froze, remembering that moment. In the rush to find Calum and Rebecca, he had assumed that the man was merely taking Calum to safety. He never considered that anyone would attempt to kidnap him in the middle of all that chaos.

  Nodding his head, he wasn’t sure he could speak at that moment. The look of gratitude Rebecca gave him was almost his undoing. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  It hit him then the reason why all of this was happening. He’d ignored too many things. Rebecca had warned him at every turn but he refused to listen thinking he knew better. It was time to speak up. If Alacabak gets his way, the people of Rajak and Timina, possibly even all of Sharjah will suffer and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

  “We need to get these terrorists out of the Sultan’s palace or we will be at risk for more terror attacks.” Alacabak had started talking truly out of his head. His words made less and less sense as he spoke.