Abdullah admired his hand, first the back of it and then the front. His fingers were meaty and brown.
“Well, what do you think should be done? After all, this is your mess. I paid you to deal with her,” Abdullah said.
Jean Baptiste nodded and then shrugged.
“True. But as she is in the Abbey and will most likely stay there, what harm can be done? As far as the sheik is concerned, she is back in Arabia. Only you and I know the truth.”
Abdullah stood slowly and nodded.
“Yes. Only you and I know the truth,” he repeated.
Jean Baptiste moved toward the door as the cleric advanced behind him. Withdrawing the knife from his robe’s large pocket, he drew the slim blade across the mercenary’s throat, watching the blood spurt from the large wound. Jean Baptiste clasped his throat and gurgled, falling to the floor. Jean Baptiste knew too late that the advisor had sealed his doom.
Abdullah watched the man fall, with blood spurting out of him, causing the floor to turn ruby red. His eyes were cold and calculating as Jean Baptiste held the wound with his hand and gurgled.
“Now only I know, my friend,” Abdullah said to the dying man.
***
A day later, Liam and his friend Connor discovered the whereabouts of the man who had attacked Sally. They made their way to The Mucky Duck while they decided what to do with the man.
When they opened the door to the room, the mercenary was dead, lying in a pool of his own blood.
***
Abdullah left the mercenary’s room and went back to his own lodging. He would have to find Mohammed in the morning and decide upon his story. The fact that the girl was in a London Abbey was disconcerting. Her proximity to them and the chance that Mohammed would find her was good.
Her father, Lord Fairfax, had hired the Bow Street Runners, who were known who their quick effectiveness. They would find her soon enough.
Abdullah bowed in prayer, his head touching the mat. He had left the inn quickly after the encounter with Jean Baptiste. He washed the blood from his knife, body and clothes in his private room.
He had thought long and hard about what he had learned from the dead man. The white witch was nearby, and it was only a matter of time before they discovered her. He must form another plan to remove Mohammed from the situation.
He prayed to Allah that night. In the morning, a plan sprung to mind. Allahu Akbar! God was indeed great.
***
The next morning, Abdullah met Mohammed at the coffeehouse they frequented while in London. Abdullah’s dark foreign robes contrasted with Mohammed’s dark beige and green frock coat and breeches. They made an odd couple, sitting in the back with their penny-a-cup coffees.
Abdullah sipped his brew, while Mohammed barely tolerated his. Nothing could compare to the superior Arabian beans he himself grew and the coffee it produced.
“Is there any news from Lord Fairfax?” Abdullah asked, looking concerned.
“No, my friend. Though we both remain hopeful,” Mohammed said as he looked deeply into the brown brew.
Abdullah knew he was at a crossroads. He could tell him exactly where the white woman was, and they would be reunited within the hour. Or, he could continue on with his new plan and tear them apart. He chose the latter.
“I have excellent news, my Lord. News that you will be very excited to hear,” Abdullah said, baiting the hook.
“Yes? Speak, man!” he exclaimed. Mohammed’s head jerked up and his eyes were alert.
“I have tracked down Jean Baptiste as you commanded. He revealed all to me,” Abdullah continued.
Mohammed clasped him arm across the table. “And?” he asked.
“He sold the woman to another man with the ship bound for Arabia. She is at this very time bound home for Arabia,” he said.
“Bound for Arabia?” Mohammed asked. He was both elated and disturbed.