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Mocca swung into the driver’s seat and closed his door, trapping the three of them into an awkward intimacy. Amanda steeled herself to get used to it and turned her gaze firmly forward. She was stunned to see the Berber spokesman leading the white Arabian stallion away, a riderless white Arabian stallion!
The back of her neck prickled.
Who was the man beside her? Why would the leader of these fighting troops belonging to Jebel Haffa appoint himself her guide? It was a lowly task that could have been undertaken by any of his men. How could any guide give direc-tions to where she wanted to go if the guide did not know where she was going?
It only made sense if he was charged with more than guiding her. Amanda had told no-one exactly where they were heading. She had given Mocca only the most general instructions.
Mocca switched on the engine and the truck started to rumble forward again. The rest of the convoy followed suit. If everything went to plan they would be at their first camping site in the next hour or so.
Amanda concentrated on acting naturally as she put away Xa Shiraq’s note and spread out her map of the area. Any deviation from the route marked by her father and she’d know for certain she had a problem.
A big problem.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEY came to the wine village of Tirham in the Ozimi valley without further incident. Only then did their self-appointed guide break his stillness. He waved his hand and pointed to a junction side road.
‘What does he want?’ Amanda asked tersely. She was tired after travelling for twelve hours. Tirham was their destination for today and she certainly did not want to go any further.
‘We must go where the guide points,’ Mocca answered, resignation in his voice, and turning the truck onto a narrow road that led away from the village.
Amanda would have liked to argue the point, gave the inscrutable stranger next to her a quick glance, and decided against it.
‘The villagers will be disappointed,’ she reflected in courteous disapproval.
‘True,’ said Mocca, but he did not turn back.
Amanda was not so trusting. On the other hand, Mocca believed he had good reason to trust whereas she knew she was on borrowed time.
The man beside her was a disturbing enigma. Was he a deaf-mute? There had been absolutely no response from him to the spasmodic conversation between Mocca and herself. His presence had blighted the last hour.
As much as Amanda had tried to ignore the Berber leader, she had been unable to lessen her tense awareness of him, waiting for a movement, waiting for a word that might confirm her worst fears. She hoped Mocca was right and this detour was insignificant and meant nothing more than the end of today’s journey.
They passed through a forest of magnificent cedar. At the dawn of civilisation cedar trees like these had flourished throughout the fertile crescent. They came to a cleared area beside a quickly flowing stream of sparkling water. A large, ornate tent and another group of silent, unmoving Berbers filled a small portion of the area.
Their guide tapped Mocca’s shoulder and pointed to where Mocca should park the truck and those that followed. It was some fifty metres from the tent, the furthest possible distance away within the clearing. Some of the Berbers moved forward to direct the rest of the convoy to their corresponding plac
es.
Amanda had the sinking feeling she had seen clockwork precision planning like this before. Who, she wondered, was in the tent?
Mocca hopped out to assert his position in this matter.
For the first time the enigmatic Berber guide turned his face towards Amanda. All was still hidden, but Amanda had the impression of the darkest sable eyes, deeply socketed, radiating energy and light. He waved his hand and the gesture was unmistakable. He wanted her to alight.
‘I’m staying right here,’ Amanda said, hoping the stranger understood English.
There was a shrug of the shoulders and the guide turned to the other side of the cabin and stepped out, Mocca deferentially holding the driver’s door open for him. Without another sound or gesture, the Berber leader headed for the tent, his cloak billowing out behind his tall and imperious figure as his long strides ate up the short distance.
He paused at the entrance to the tent, turning slightly to one of the two men who seemed to be standing guard there. The man nodded as though he had been spoken to. Not a mute, Amanda deduced, her fears and suspicions growing stronger by the second.
She couldn’t drive away. That would be admitting defeat. To run away would be to jeopardise her quest. Besides, if this was, indeed, the long arm of Xa Shiraq reaching out to gather her in, she doubted there would be any way to escape. Better to sit tight and wait to see what happened next. Tomorrow she would insist on having her own way and see if that produced any result.
The black cloaked figure moved inside the tent and disappeared from her view. The man who had received his instructions moved to meet up with Mocca and converse with him. Both men then turned and came to the truck where Amanda still waited.
‘You are invited to take refreshments while the camp is being set up. There are more comforts for you inside the tent,’ Mocca informed her. He smiled infectiously. ‘It is also necessary. There is no other way.’
Neatly arranged, Amanda thought, certain now she was dealing with Jebel Haffa himself, the most loyal of Xa Shiraq’s lieutenants. Her business in Xabia would be discussed privately in his tent. The decision of how to deal with her might have already been made. She might never get to Xa Shiraq. Nor to the crystal caves in the mountains.
