Tension filled Jebal. “Whom is he with?”
“Farouk and Jovar, my lord.”
Jebal looked at his beautiful wife. “I must go. I may summon you tonight, Zohara. If I do, be prepared.”
She nodded, her gaze wide and glued to his. As they stared at one another, her slave appeared behind her. Jebal glanced briefly at Murad, then turned and strode away. But as he left the gardens, he glanced behind him one last time. Zohara was leaning against her slave, gripping his arm, watching him, her expression taut with fear.
“Alex?” Murad asked in a low tone of voice.
“I have had another narrow escape,” Alex said hoarsely. She was ill. Not even relieved. “Murad? What am I going to do?”
“I do not know. Alex, there is news.”
“What’s happened?” Alex asked quickly.
“The Americans are making some changes,” Murad said, “which is why the bashaw is in conference with Farouk and Jovar.”
Alex dismissed Jebal and his advances from her mind. “What changes?”
“Commodore Morris has been relieved of his command. Effective immediately,” Murad said. “The new commander of the United States squadron is Edward Preble.”
Alex stared. The ramifications of what Murad had just said sank in quickly. “Ohmygod.” Her gaze held Murad’s. “All of our plans have been made. But how will we escape now?”
Murad did not answer her.
25
XAVIER SAT ONthe terrace of the bagnio with Tubbs and the French scribe. He was exhausted. In fact, he had never been so tired in his entire life, but he forced himself to think. For in less than two weeks time, he intended to execute the mass escape of his crew along with the simultaneous destruction of thePearl.
Everything was falling into place. Commodore Morris had agreed to support the escape with a covering and rescue operation. The precise location of the rendezvous had been agreed upon, as had the exact time and date. The bribes had already been placed. Now it was merely a matter of leaving the prison, setting thePearlon fire, making it undetected through the city in the ensuing chaos, and fighting their way out of the eastern gate. Xavier did not fool himself. The odds were not favorable; too much could go wrong.
Alexandra Thornton’s lovely, seductive image came to mind. Xavier stood, recalling too well their last encounter. He was still ashamed of his behavior, but he could not regret kissing her. Unfortunately, his lust for her had merely been whetted. Next time he must exercise greater self-control. She had let too much information slip. He no longer had any doubt that she was a spy—one with very valuable sources of information.
He would still give her the opportunity to escape with him and his men. As an enemy agent, her life was in danger every moment she remained in Tripoli. It went against his nature to leave a woman, any woman, even a spy, in such dangerous circumstances. At the exact moment he and his men left the bagnio, he would send word to her to meet him at the eastern gate. If he and his men were caught, trapped, or died, she would suffer the very same fate.
The idea was somehow highly disturbing. Yet she was clever enough to comprehend the exact risks she was taking. On a certain level, he could not help but admire her courage.
Shoving her image aside, Xavier walked to the edge of the terrace and stared into the night and at the shimmering, ink blue sea. The moon was still mostly full. Just beyond the entrance of Tripoli Harbor, he saw a Swedish brig cruising past a British man-of-war at anchor. But no American ships were in sight.
The Americans had given up their blockade of Tripoli two weeks ago. Just when the city was beginning to feel more than a pinch. What kind of decision had Morris made?
Unfortunately, Xavier had little respect for the commodore. His reputation preceded him. Alexandra had been right. Morris was inept and he should have never been given command of the United States Mediterranean squadron to begin with. Xavier sighed. How he wished someone other than Morris would be covering the escape. But surely Morris could manage to send out two gunboats while covering the rescue with the necessary broadsides and gunfire from his flagship.
“You have a visitor, Cap’n,” Tubbs murmured softly.
Xavier turned. It was like speaking of the devil. His jaw tightened as he stared in disbelief at Alexandra rushing toward him up the stairs, her slave behind her. They were, of course, both disguised as bedouins.
Was she mad? Or did she wish to destroy them both?
And he mustnotremember the wild passion he had been consumed with when he had held her in his arms.At all costs.
“Xavier.”
There was a wild light in her eyes. He was wary, alert. “I hope that you have a very good reason for coming here tonight.”
“I do.” Her gaze flashed. She grabbed his wrist and dragged him away from the scribe and Tubbs. “Morris has been relieved of his command, effectivenow.”
Xavier stared, shocked.
