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I could call the police, she said, and cast a meaningful glance at the nightstand, where the phone sat. It's turned off, he replied. I already checked it. How could such a man have come to such a state? Why did he persist in living? Arabia was strange, especially in the backward regions, where tradition still held sway, and was amplified, even, by men like the Sultan who claimed to be supporting traditional values while, in fact, to Kate's mind, merely exploited the ignorance of the surrounding tribes. Kate gazed up at the clear blue sky. No father daughters rape pictures clouds could be seen. Just the blazing sun, baking the sand with mid-day heat. Here, out in the desert waste where no city could survive, even with imported water, for far too much would be needed, nomadic tribesmen still roamed along paths charted centuries ago by their forefathers. They herded sheep and goats. That was their livelihood even in the waning days of the 0th century. And the Sultan, heir to the only oasis for miles around, ruled over them with an iron fist, submitting himself only to King Fahd himself, who lived far away. The palm fronds of an overhanging tree caressed Kate's body with shadows. She kept her face under the shelter of the tree while letting her white body stretch out into the blaze of sunlight. She was fresh from bed, and she knew she could only stay a little while.
The Sultan disapproved of deep tans. Kate adjusted her bikini halter. It was soft, made of the very thinnest cotton. She rolled over to feel the weight of her breasts beneath her. The little bra seemed reluctant to do anything but cup them with the lightest, feather-like pressure, as if a firmer hold might hurt them.