The Sheik's Safety by Dana Marton

to the ground, lowered him slowly.
    She tucked his handgun next to hers into her belt under the abaya and stepped forward, walked toward the guard without looking at him. He said something, probably ordering her out of the prison. She walked on. He spoke again, his voice angry this time. But she was close enough now. A chop to the man’s windpipe dropped him to his knees.
    â€œKeys,” she said and pulled her gun, pointed it between his eyes.
    He gasped for air, shook his head. Probably didn’t even understand her. Too bad for him. She didn’t have time to play around. She knocked him out same as the first man, searched his uniform. He didn’t have the key. Okay, maybe that was what he had tried to tell her.
    She looked the door over, pulled her knife and went to work on the pins in the hinges. Damn, it wasn’t easy. She forced the blade into the tiny gapbetween the top of one pin and the doorjamb, wiggled it. Her efforts were working but too slow. She glanced around—still alone—then wiped her forehead as she focused on the pin again.
    When it was out far enough, she popped it free with the butt of her knife and went to work on the second pin. It was even more tightly stuck than the first. Come on, come on, come on. She put all she had into it. She hadn’t come all this way to fail. She wiggled the pin up with the tip of the knife, wishing she could see through the door, see what shape Saeed was in. She wouldn’t allow herself to think that she might not find him alive. He was charged with treason. There must be an official execution. King Majid would want that to legitimize the whole charade. He had to keep Saeed alive for that.
    But it didn’t mean he hadn’t been tortured. She pushed harder, the pin moved up another fraction of an inch, but then the blade slipped and scraped against the door. She didn’t worry about the noise, just went back to what she was doing.
    If there was someone in the room with Saeed, they would have heard her by now. She was pretty sure he was alone.
    The sound of boots scraping the floor came from above her head, people going somewhere on the upper level. She popped the pin, jammed the knife between the door and its frame, put all her weightinto it and moved the door enough to get her fingers in the gap, then pulled with all her strength. Damn, that didn’t feel good on her bad shoulder.
    Saeed sat on a metal bed in a small dingy room, handcuffed to the frame. She took her first deep, real breath since he’d gone missing that morning. Relief rushed blood to her head, drumming through her ears.
    â€œAre you okay?” She leaned the wooden door against the wall to make sure it wouldn’t fall and draw attention.
    â€œDara?”
    If she ever saw a man more surprised, she couldn’t remember it. Good. Maybe now he would start taking her seriously. “Are you hurt?”
    He shook his head.
    She handed him the knife before she left to get the guard outside the door. She tied and gagged him before pulling the listless body into the cell, then went and dragged in the other man the same way. He was heavy, made her work up a sweat, starting to come to and fight against his ropes.
    Saeed was still trying to open the handcuffs, not easy with his hands bound together. She took the knife from him, tried, and didn’t seem to manage any better. Damn. She looked around the room for another tool.
    â€œYour gun,” Saeed said.
    â€œThey’ll hear us.”
    â€œUse the pillow.”
    There was no time to hesitate. “Stand back.”
    She placed the pillow over the barrel of the gun, pushed it against the chain that held the cuffs together, then squeezed the trigger. The sound echoed through the room, but not as badly as she’d expected, no more than a door slamming shut.
    She stripped off her abaya, veil and headscarf then tossed them at him. He understood at once and handed her his kaffiyeh from around his neck.