Interlude: Cavatina Page 2

Alain stared.

  “Why are you here, Alain? Why come to me?” Luca’s breath shook. His fingernails bit through his skin, warm blood seeping over his fingertips.

  He saw Alain shudder, saw his eyes go wide. Heard his moan, his ragged inhale.

  “Alain?” Luca frowned. He started forward, a half step.

  Alain, by his nature, craved blood, but he’d never been this unrestrained about it. Months before, Luca had bled in front of him and Alain had quietly pushed him away. He hadn’t looked like he was about to go out of his mind then, leap across the room and devour Luca whole.

  Not like he did now.

  “Stay back,” Alain hissed. He ducked behind the saint’s statue, grasping the stone and squeezing. Marble crumbled to dust and fell to the floor. “It was a mistake to come,” Alain growled. He melted into the shadows.

  “Alain—"

  The electricity, the burnt tang to the air, vanished. The heaviness on Luca’s tongue lifted.

  He jogged down the hall, peering between the two gaping chunks missing from the saint’s rock-hewn arms.

  Stillness and silence waited for him, the hallway as empty as it had been minutes before.

  As quickly as Alain had appeared, he’d vanished, even deep in the heart of the Vatican, in the inner recesses of the Holy Father. He could go anywhere, it seemed. At any time.

  Except to his home, or to Cristoph.

  Luca stared down at his palm, at the blood smeared against his skin. He closed his hand into a fist as his eyes slipped shut.

  * * *

  2

  Manama, Bahrain

  “Ready?” Faisal cupped his cheek. Smiled.

  Adam nodded. “I am.”

  “The world is going to meet Adam Cooper al-Saud tonight.” Faisal kissed Adam’s cheek lightly.

  “At least, the US Embassy is.” Adam chuckled, turning his cheek into Faisal’s to catch his lips. “I’m ready. I am.”

  Almost six months they’d been married, moving together from Saudi Arabia to Bahrain as Faisal accepted the position of the Kingdom’s ambassador in Bahrain.

  All that time, Adam had been the Kingdom’s biggest secret.

  But the United States Embassy’s annual holiday party had arrived, and the US Ambassador had invited Ambassador Faisal al-Saud… and his guest.

  If Ethan, or President Spiers-Reichenbach for that matter, had said anything about Adam’s running off to Saudi Arabia after their mission in the Arctic, he’d never heard. The Marine Corps sent him is discharge paperwork over email, and Coleman had shipped all his crap from Tampa to Bahrain. As far as the US government and the military was concerned, he’d fallen off the grid.

  That changed tonight.

  Their SUV turned into the secured entrance of the US Embassy compound off Sheik Isa Bin Salman Highway. Stone walls surrounded the compound, the embassy, the ambassador’s residence, and the secured buildings of the United States mission. Marine embassy guards fortified the compound, waiting at a checkpoint at the end of long drive. Concrete and rebar barriers forced every vehicle to twist and turn slowly through a maze of barricades. Palm trees shaded the drive. Overhead cover and concealment.

  A Marine in full battle gear signaled their driver to stop. The rest of the Marine’s fire team held back, weapons at the low and ready.

  “Good evening, sir,” the Marine said. Her rank insignia read sergeant. “How can I help you?”

  “I am delivering Ambassador al-Saud of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and his guest.”

  “Very good, sir. Proceed along this road for two klicks, then bear left around the embassy H-Q and continue through the next checkpoint to the ambassador’s residence. It will be on your right after one klick.”

  “Alhamdulillah. Thank you.”

  “Good evening, sir.” The Marine pulled back after staring at Faisal and Adam. Her gaze lingered on Adam, traced the lines of his Western features, his pale skin.

  Faisal squeezed his hand and his thumb rubbed over Adam’s wrist. Floodlights illuminated the palm trunks, the blocky exterior of the embassy. They drove beneath the American flag, flapping in the warm Gulf breeze. The Great Seal of the United States loomed over the front doors. Adam’s eyes locked on the seal, onto the eagle, as they drove past.

  The ambassador’s residence glowed, every window lit brightly, and a crowd milled at the front entrance. Marine guards in dress blues escorted guests from their limos and SUVs to a receiving line of American embassy and military officers. Inside the foyer, United States Ambassador Barrera and his wife welcomed the elite of Bahrain to their home.

  Their SUV pulled to a stop. “Inshallah, have a good evening.” Their driver, Aziz, smiled in the rearview mirror.

  “Thank you, Aziz.” Faisal smiled back. Aziz had been flogged by his commanding officer in the Saudi army. He’d been caught blowing another man in the barracks bathroom, and he was on the way out of the military. Faisal had requested his reassignment to the embassy in Bahrain. He was their closest assistant, and their most loyal. “We’ll see you after.”

  Adam clamped down on Faisal’s hand. Two Marines in dress blues were reaching for their SUV’s door handle as an honor guard snapped to attention. Another Marine waited to announce them. A photographer hovered nearby, his strobing flash peppering the dusky evening with pops of light that left rainbows behind Adam’s eyelids. He inhaled—

  The door opened. He heard Faisal’s name, heard Faisal’s title, and then his own name announced.

  Faisal slid from the SUV. His snow-white thobe fell to the red carpet and his bisht folded around him. His checked keffiyeh fell over his shoulders, the fabric spilling effortlessly down his lithe back. Even ensconced in layers of royal fabric, Faisal still captivated him. He couldn’t breathe, not watching him, not when Faisal turned, held out his hand, smiled—

  Adam grabbed his hand and followed.

  Cameras flashed. Heads turned.

  An Arab man holding another man’s hand was not an uncommon sight. In this part of the world, it was one of the ways Arab men showed their friendship with each other.

  But Faisal pulled him close and wrapped his arm around Adam’s waist. Nuzzled his cheek and looped Adam’s arm through his elbow. He kissed him then, his dry lips warm on Adam’s skin, lingering longer than a polite Arabian hello. Their matching thobes swirled, hems chasing each other. Adam’s keffiyeh draped over his shoulder, too, not as effortlessly chic as Faisal’s. His bisht, his cloak, was ivory, etched in golden thread along the lapels, and flowed to the ground. He would have picked something more sedate, but Uncle Abdul had sent it to him as a gift, and he couldn’t refuse.

  He felt peeled apart, flayed to his bones by the stares. Military officers froze as state department officials in perfectly-tailored suits gawked.

  Faisal led them to the receiving line, ignoring everyone’s dropped jaws. Adam followed, mimicking Faisal. Faisal had grown up in the royal court. He knew the protocols, what to do, how to act. Adam tried not to trip over his hems.

  First in the receiving line were the military officers, the high command of the United States Fifth Fleet stationed in Bahrain. As the ambassador from Saudi Arabia, Faisal worked closely with them and with the Pentagon, coordinating Saudi and American military operations in the Gulf.

  Faisal held out his hand to Admiral Hughes. “Admiral, may I present my husband, His Highness Adam Cooper al-Saud.”

  “Ambassador.” Admiral Hughes shook his hand slowly, almost dazed, his eyes glued to Adam. “Congratulations.” He frowned. “Adam… Cooper? Are you American?”

  “Yes, Admiral.” He shook Hughes’ hand next. “And now Saudi Arabian.”

  The murmurs flowed up and down the receiving line, hushed whispers and raised eyebrows. Faisal guided him along, a lifetime of royal experience keeping his smile etched in place, as they made their way into the ambassador’s residence.

  Ambassador Barrera waited in the foyer, jaw hanging as Adam and Faisal made their way through the officers of the embassy, the d
eputy chiefs, the deputy ambassador, and then, finally, to him.

  “Ambassador al-Saud.” Ambassador Barrera gripped Faisal’s hand. “It appears congratulations are in order.”

  “Alhamdulillah. Yes, thank you. May I present my husband, His Highness Adam Cooper al-Saud, Mr. Ambassador?”

  “Adam Cooper?” Ambassador Barrera shook his hand, holding on, not letting go. “You’re American?”

  “I am.” He stayed in the half circle of Faisal’s arm.

  “Well, I am dying to know how the two of you met and how you ended up married. I’ve been in the Gulf for thirty years and I’ve never seen an acknowledged marriage such as this.” Ambassador Barrera nodded between them. “And I know of princesses that weren’t given the al-Saud name after their marriages into the Kingdom.”

  “King Faisal al-Saud was pleased to bestow the family name on Adam.”

  And there it was. Faisal had answered everyone’s questions, even the ones they didn’t dare say aloud. Was Adam truly acknowledged, or was this Faisal’s spectacular, fiery, blazing fall from grace, his youthful intransigence run amok, his last night out before being yanked back to Saudi and hidden away for the rest of his life? How close was Faisal to Riyadh, this orphaned prince from a dead line who appeared so suddenly on the international scene, ambassador to Bahrain before his thirtieth birthday? Faisal had been named after the king, but how far had his apple wandered after it fell from that royal tree?

  Adam felt the air shift, the energy of the room quiver.

  Everyone now knew they were talking to the future ruler of Saudi Arabia.

  And everything had changed.

  Ambassador Barrera beamed, all wolfish smiles and bright eyes. “Please join us, Ambassador Faisal, Adam. Make yourselves at home. The United States is proud to welcome you. We’re absolutely delighted to have you both with us tonight.”

  * * *

  They made the rounds, gliding through the foyer to the ballroom and onto the patio. Faisal grabbed a plate of appetizers, Adam two bottles of water. They perched on a stone railing overlooking the burbling pool in the ambassador’s backyard, feeding each other dates and olives, figs and honey-soaked pastries.

  Admiral Hughes, flanked by a staff of advisors and high-level officers, found them both, a few hours into the evening. Adam stopped himself from snapping to attention in front of Admiral Hughes and his staff of senior officers, all standing deferentially before him and Faisal.

  “Mr. Cooper al-Saud, would you mind if we borrowed your husband for a moment?” Hughes, at least, was polite to a fault, following the officer and a gentleman script to a T. “We’d like to chat with the ambassador.”

  Adam had definitely held a higher US security clearance than Faisal ever had, but none of these men knew who he was or what he’d been before becoming His Highness Adam Cooper al-Saud. He smiled demurely, accepted the kiss from Faisal on his cheek, and let Admiral Hughes and his staff guide Faisal away to a secluded gazebo on the other side of the pool. Hughes broke out cigars as Adam watched them gather around the admiral’s tablet. Later, Faisal would tell him about the meeting, ask for Adam’s advice.

  “So. Adam Cooper, local Detroit boy, makes good in Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.”

  He twisted, his keffiyeh flicking over one shoulder as he whipped around.

  A blond man in a suit held out a beer, his eyebrows raised, a small smile on his chiseled face. He had a dimpled chin and a scar over his left eyebrow, and a gaze that slid deep into Adam’s bones. “Care for a beer?”

  “Thanks, but I don’t drink anymore.”

  Shrugging, he sat beside Adam and set the second beer on the ground in one fluid movement. He settled against the railing, his suit jacket flaring around his hips, one end falling over the stone. He held out his hand. “Jason Rice, State Department. You caused quite a stir tonight.”

  Adam blinked. He shook Jason’s hand. “Was it your job to look me up as soon as I arrived?”

  “Actually, it was.” Jason chuckled, sipping his beer. “Deputy Attaché to Ambassador Barrera. I was pulling your files off the network as you were shaking the ambassador’s hand.”

  “Everyone knows my history now?”

  “Just the ambassador. And me.” Jason winked. “You’re the talk of the evening. The ambassador is going to be pissed about this tomorrow. He was hoping everyone would be talking about his clean energy initiatives in the Gulf.”

  They laughed together. Adam’s gaze darted across the pool to Faisal, deep in conversation still with Admiral Hughes.

  “You used to drink. I saw a stint in the brig at MacDill for drunk and disorderly.”

  “My God, how deep into my records did you go?”

  Jason stared at him, that small smile stretching his lips. He drank from his beer again, his eyes never leaving Adam’s. “You converted to Islam.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I did. To marry him.”

  “That’s intense, man. Especially with your background.”

  “My background?”

  “Active duty Marines. You spent most of your career in the Middle East. You saw some shit.”

  Adam looked away.

  “I know what it’s like,” Jason said softly. “Army. First Infantry. Did my time in the Middle East, too. Crazy fucked up world, huh?”

  “Bismillah, it really is.”

  “Everyone wants to get out and find a happy ending, though,” Jason said. “Like you apparently did.” He hesitated, leaning into Adam’s space. “And… the King? He honestly supports your marriage?”

  “He does.”

  Jason’s eyes narrowed.

  “This thobe and bisht were gifts from the royal family for tonight.”

  For a moment, Jason looked surprised, his eyes widening fractionally, his lips falling open. “This represents a gigantic social and political shift in the Kingdom. And in the Middle East. An acknowledged and openly homosexual royal prince?” Jason whistled. “I’m dying to know your story. How did you two meet?”

  “That’s not really very interesting—”

  “Bullshit.” Jason laughed out loud. “The first gay marriage in the Kingdom? And to an American? C’mon, tell me. How did you guys meet?”

  Adam laughed, almost despite himself. Jason settled on the railing, sipping his beer, his warm eyes drinking Adam in.

  He couldn’t tell Jason everything. There were secrets between him and Faisal that would stay lost in the sands forever, beneath the bones they’d buried by hand. There was darkness at their roots, pain that had sent Adam fleeing from Faisal, a quiet rage he hadn’t known how to process, not with Faisal and not alone, either. It had taken leaving, falling to pieces, and coming together again to figure out the darkness in their past. Accept what they’d done together.

  Ironically it was now, living in the sand and the sun and with the rush of Islam in his soul that he was finally able to live with himself again.

  Jason waited. Adam cut off the parts of the story he couldn’t tell, pushed them down, locked them in a box in the bottom of his soul. “You saw I was deployed to the Middle East, to Iraq, on my first deployment…”

  * * *

  Hours later, Jason walked Adam and Faisal out to their waiting SUV. Aziz waved from the driver’s seat, his eyes brimming with questions. Adam flashed him a quick grin and a wink. Aziz beamed.

  “Your Excellency,” Jason said, bowing his head to Faisal. “Your Highness.” He smiled at Adam. “It was great chatting with you this evening. Let’s keep in touch. It’s good to have friends in this town.”

  “Likewise, Jason. Bismillah, we will keep in touch.” Adam smiled back.

  “Bismillah, brother.” Jason winked.

  They said their farewells as they slid into the SUV. Driving back, they chatted with Aziz as they pulled onto the highway. Traffic lights threw their faces into half shadows and sickled moons.

  Faisal took his hand and kissed his knuckles. Cigar smoke clung to him, the tang of citrus and wood smoke. “Good time tonight?”
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  “Surprisingly, yes. I really enjoyed talking with Jason. Reminded of the good things in the past.” He stroked Faisal’s hand. “How was your chat with the admiral?”

  “Interesting. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. They want to discuss changes to our joint operations. I need your advice before I take it back to Uncle Abdul.” Faisal’s gaze turned teasing. “That gorgeous man who escorted you back to me. That was Jason?”

  Adam laughed. “Jason Rice. Assistant to the ambassador. And he’s nowhere near as gorgeous as you are.”

  “Flatterer.”

  Adam’s palm closed over Faisal’s crotch. He grinned. “Seems to be working.”

  “That’s not your flattery. That’s you.”

  They kissed, bouncing over the mosaic tiles on the bridge that led to Faisal’s island in the Bay, leaning into each other on the turns. Too soon, they were back at the villa, pulling into their gated entrance slowly. They straightened their thobes before the SUV stopped at the front door.

  Faisal frowned. He hesitated before climbing out of the SUV. “Think he’s all right tonight?”

  “Inshallah, we can pray.” Adam sighed hard. “But I doubt it. Nothing’s changing, is it? He’s spiraling out of control.”

  “He’s lonely. And hurting.”

  “Then he needs help. At home. What does he think he can get here? He has a life back in the States.”

  “Had.” Faisal’s voice was soft. “He doesn’t go home for a reason, habibi. You know that.”

  Adam slid out, silently. He behind his husband and waited while Faisal pressed his hand to the biometric lock. A click, and they pushed open the door, stepped into the villa. The lights were dim, only the chandelier in the dining room casting a golden glow through the vast halls. Tawny light played off Faisal’s tapestries, his crimson and gold rugs, the polished stone floors.

  If they slipped to the right, they could disappear to their bedroom, escape, finish what they started in the car—

  Through the bay windows at the back of the house, they saw him.