She gasped as the helicopter drew nearer.
The pilot’s voice crackled urgently over the intercom—‘Everyone down!’
She didn’t have enough time to be scared, it all happened too fast. Barely had she unbuckled her belt when she was ripped from her seat and thrown bodily to the floor, covered almost completely by the large body of a guard. She was winded but it didn’t matter as gunfire battered the side of the aircraft, punching holes through the fuselage and thwacking into the upholstery and fittings around her. Something glass shattered, sending a spray of shards over them both, the guard taking the brunt of the debris.
The engines were still whining, one sounding choppy although the plane had now stopped, and someone was yelling in Arabic. ‘What’s going on?’ she gasped.
The guard above her muttered to her in rough English, ‘Stay low; the helicopter is pulling away.’ And then suddenly she could breathe again as his weight lifted free.
And all her thought congealed to one certain prospect. Unless the helicopter had decided to melt back into the direction it had come, then it must have found a far more attractive target…
‘Khaled!’ she screamed, jumping to her feet, knowing that his car would be an easy target from the air, able to be picked out easily on the long, lonely road between the airport and the city.
Then smoke began to fill the cabin, dark and acrid and thick. She was aware of doors opening behind her, of escape chutes being deployed and the wail of sirens as rescue vehicles screamed across the tarmac towards them. Escape was at hand but all she wanted to do was get a quick glimpse to see where the helicopter had gone.
But even as she made for a window someone grabbed her hand, the man who’d covered her earlier, quite possibly saving her life, and pulled her back towards the escape route. Blood trickled from under his hairline and from his hands—the shattered glass—but if he felt his wounds, he gave no indication as he bade her to pull off her low-heeled shoes and quickly mimed the escape routine.
She followed his actions, escaping from the plane and reaching the ground, where already the emergency services were gathered to collect the escaping crew. She was hoisted out of the way and rushed to a vehicle as the cabin crew and security guards followed in rapid order from the smoking jet as sprays from a fire engine began to cover it with foam.
That was when she heard it.
The blast that could only mean an explosion—a mighty boom that came from the direction of the highway. She turned and saw the plume of smoke rising above the desert, black and thunderous and speaking of destruction and death, and something inside her burst open on a silent scream.
Khaled’s car!
Her gut clenched in revulsion and panic.
But that would mean…
Khaled—dead?
It couldn’t be possible. It just couldn’t. Not when she’d never had the chance to tell him what he meant to her. Not when she’d never had the chance to tell him that she loved him.
It didn’t matter now, what he’d thought of her. Whether he’d lied to her or not, whether he’d loved her or not, he’d had a right to know that she loved him. W
hat he’d chosen to do with that knowledge should have been up to him, but at least he would have known.
She should have told him that much at least.
She let herself be led into an ambulance. Someone held something to her face and she pulled back but the dressing came away red and she looked at it strangely, wondering that the blood could be hers when she felt no pain but for what had happened to Khaled.
Why were they even bothering with her? Why weren’t they looking after him? Hadn’t they heard it? Didn’t they know?
The ambulance sped away from the plane. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, hoping desperately that one of them spoke English.
She wasn’t disappointed. ‘Hebra,’ the one who’d held the dressing to her face said. ‘Hospital.’
‘But what about Khaled?’ she begged. ‘His car…’
The men looked at each other, exchanging glances that shredded what was left of her heart. Did they know or were they just as scared as she was because they didn’t?
They reached the perimeter security gates and stopped. She looked around, wondering about the delay—there was a car blocking their progress, trying to get in. A black car. A black car with two flat tyres, blistered paint and smashed windows.
Khaled’s car!
Even as she watched a door opened wide and Khaled jumped out, running to the ambulance as his driver backed the damaged car out of the way.
‘Zafeerah?’ he shouted, half-demand, half-question, and one of the men nodded and pointed to the rear door. Before she had a chance to lift herself from the stretcher the back doors flew open and Khaled was inside, at her side, hauling her into his arms as the ambulance set off again, its siren screaming, as it sped its way to the city.