THE LAST ARK

CHAPTER 20: ARABIAN NIGHTS

Erga Palace, Riyadh Four Days Before Temple Ceremony

Geoff Rhodes isn’t dead, at least judging from the piercing pain jabbing into the back of his skull without mercy. Th e persistent agony slowly draws him out of a coma, one excruciating stab at a time. His hand falls from his stomach to feel silky sheets. Cool air circulates the sweet scent of jasmine. Each new sensory awareness entices him to fi ght for more consciousness. With sheer determination to endure the jabs to his skull, he forces his eyes to open a sliver. Bright sunlight peeks through ornate, colorful drapes, shining a thin beam of light onto an enormous bed with a soft wool blanket. Next to the bed sits a glass of water, a teacup, and a bottle of medications that he can only hope are there for the pain. Th e room furnishings look like they could come from a modern Arabian Nights tale of luxurious indulgence. He checks under the sheets to see that he’s naked, but has no recollection of what happened to his clothes or how he came to be here. Where is he? Geoff remembers boarding the private jet to escort a very irritable FPOTUS back home after meeting the New York District Attorney. Together with Agents Stevens and Blake at the back of the plane, they drank only coffee and talked about the hot, muggy Florida weather. Then he can’t recall anything else. Nothing else—nothing. Ignoring the pain, he swings one leg over the edge of the bed, followed by the other, and then forces himself to sit up. A rapid, sharp wave of nausea stops him, forcing him to breathe slowly. It takes a moment for the nausea to pass before Geoff stands to waddle over to the drapes. Every muscle in his body objects as his arm yanks the heavy curtain aside. Then his jaw goes slack. Geoff gazes out over the most magnificent pool and garden he’s ever seen, like out of a grand Hollywood set of Eden on steroids. Enormous, as large as a football stadium, surrounded by walls, stone pillars, and shrines with copulas. Paths, gardens, fountains with waterfalls and lagoons. Thousands of cleverly placed palm trees create a canopy of majestic frond umbrellas that cast a magical patchwork of cooling shade onto the man-made oasis. So mesmerized by the enormity and opulence, it takes Geoff a moment to follow the scene down until he discovers the wide eyes of a young woman staring up at him through her hijab headscarf. Geoff suddenly remembers his nakedness. With a rapid yank and a sudden flush of pain, he closes the drape. Where is he? What happened to Stevens and Blake, and the FPOTUS, and his clothes? A knock on the door causes him to panic. “Hold on,” he calls with a hoarse, dry voice. Only then does he notice a thin, cotton robe laid over a nearby cushioned chair with a long hair lamb’s wool cover. The door knocks again, a bit more impatiently. “Coming.” Geoff opens the door to find three enormous Arabian men who practically push their way into his room. A thin man wearing gold and white robes with a well-trimmed beard and dark glasses steps in after them. “Welcome to Erga Palace, Mr. Rhodes. My name is Faisal. You are a guest of the Royal Family of Saud, a rare honor, I can assure you. I’m afraid you made a powerful impression with the king’s niece a few moments ago.” Geoff’s head whirls with a spiking pain. “King? I … I didn’t mean—it was an accident. I mean, I didn’t know—what happened to me? How did I get here?” “Our doctors have provided you with an excellent medication to ease your pain,” Faisal says, pointing to the pills by his bed, not bothering to answer his questions. “Designed specifically to counter the drug they gave you during the flight. Please feel safe to take them, as I would hate to see you suffer any further.” Two pills already sit within a delicate ivory plate featuring an Islamic symbol. Geoff quickly downs the pills with several large gulps of water, feeling extremely dehydrated. The water soothes his throat enough to ask again. “How did you bring me here? Where are the others? Where is the president?” he demands more forcefully. “Stay calm, Agent Rhodes, and try to remember your place. We have offered you an opportunity to be our guest.” Faisal frowns. “The other two agents have already left Arabia. You are also free to go once you have eaten and feel well.” “And the president?” “Your former president is free to leave when he wishes. However, he has requested temporary asylum in Arabia, claiming political persecution in America. The king has granted the request.” Asylum? Persecution? The idea of a former president under the control of any foreign government will send the State Department, White House, CIA, and the Department of Defense into a frenzy, not to mention the panic among our allies. The media will have an orgasmic meltdown over this one, and his followers will erupt in protest. If someone gave him a drug on the plane, then that implies pre-planning, a conspiracy. “Where are the other agents?” Geoff asks again. “On a flight to Tel Aviv where we advised them to check in with the US Embassy. From there, we do not know, nor do we care,” Faisal explains with the calm condescension of someone aware that Geoff is powerless to object. “Where’s my phone and firearm?” T he gentleman smiles slightly. “We forbid personal phone devices or weapons inside the palace. We will return your personal items once you land at your destination.” If the garden pool was that enormous, there is no way he could find the president, much less convince him to return to the US to stand criminal trial. Tactical assessment: he’s royally screwed. “You mentioned something to eat. I’d like to get dressed first,” Geoff requests. “Of course, my men will wait for you outside,” Faisal reassures before he turns to leave. Inside the marble bathroom, bigger than his entire apartment back in Maryland, Geoff inhales the fragrant fresh flowers before turning on the shower. The medicine already eases his intense pain. Geoff considers his limited options and the devastating impact this fiasco will have on his career at the Secret Service. “I wonder if I can come work for these guys. I’m probably out of a job.”