This will be our last posting for this column. We will post a first page periodically but will use Weds to also offer you a few thoughts from Diana as well as guest posts from publishing industry folk with great information and authors of excellent blogs.
I hope you will stop back in Weds and see what we will be offering.
The
blindfold sharpened Ali’s senses. With blood pounding in his ears, he searched
the night sounds for clues to his location. He felt concrete beneath his
feet...they must be in the city...but which? They’d driven long enough to reach
Makkah or the fishing villages near the sea. They were outside—he was sure of
that—and he felt exposed, vulnerable. The arid desert night was cooling rapidly
and he tried not to shiver. A bead of sweat clung to his forehead but he didn’t
dare touch it. No sudden moves. He felt the presence of the two men that
brought him there. They were close, and probably watching.
The drive had been disorienting, then the blind walk, and now the waiting. Fear gnawed at him. He reminded himself that he had chosen to be here.
Ali heard three taps on a wooden door, then the whine of oiled hinges. Men spoke in hushed tones. Someone pushed him forward and the door closed without a sound. It was dark inside, darker than the street.
“Were you followed?”
Ali knew that voice.
“Laa,” another man answered.
A pair of strong hands pulled off his blindfold. In the shadows, Ali recognized a foreigner. It was Michael Givens.
“Salaam, welcome,” Givens said.
“Salaam,” Ali answered.
Givens cracked the door open again and scanned the alley. Satisfied the streets were safe, he shut the door and bolted both locks. “Almost there.”
The drive had been disorienting, then the blind walk, and now the waiting. Fear gnawed at him. He reminded himself that he had chosen to be here.
Ali heard three taps on a wooden door, then the whine of oiled hinges. Men spoke in hushed tones. Someone pushed him forward and the door closed without a sound. It was dark inside, darker than the street.
“Were you followed?”
Ali knew that voice.
“Laa,” another man answered.
A pair of strong hands pulled off his blindfold. In the shadows, Ali recognized a foreigner. It was Michael Givens.
“Salaam, welcome,” Givens said.
“Salaam,” Ali answered.
Givens cracked the door open again and scanned the alley. Satisfied the streets were safe, he shut the door and bolted both locks. “Almost there.”