Then he dived into the river, his body cleaving the torrent with a force that carried him far out into the channel. The water was cold and viciously rough, but he had grown up swimming in the North Sea, and his powerful strokes rapidly took him to where he had last seen the merchant's bare head.
Since the old man had submerged again, Ross dived below the surface to find him. The water was salty and thick with silt, with visibility only a few inches, so he searched by touch, swimming along with the current. Twice he came up for air, then went under again, before his reaching fingers found fabric. Grabbing a fistful of material, he kicked upward.
For a moment after emerging into the air, Muhammad Kasem floated as still as death, his face blue-white and waxy. Then his eyes opened and he began coughing.
Ross's relief was short-lived, for the reinvigorated merchant began flailing about with the strength of panic. A knee struck Ross in the stomach, knocking his breath out. Before he could recover, the old man locked his arms around his rescuer's neck, dragging both of them under.
Lungs burning, Ross struggled to break Muhammad Kasem's strangling grip. As he swallowed the salty water, there was a moment when he thought that this was the end, that he would die here in Central Asia, right in front of Juliet's eyes.
That would be a rotten memory to leave her with. The thought gave him a burst of energy that enabled him to free himself from the merchant's lethal grasp. As he fought his way to the surface again, he turned the old man around, immobilizing and supporting him with an arm across the chest.
Breaking through into the air was bliss to equal anything Ross had ever experienced in his life. For a few moments he was content to drift with the current while he reveled in the luxury of breathing. Then Muhammad Kasem began stirring, his limbs thrashing feebly.
"Relax, Uncle, and lie still," Ross murmured soothingly. "You are safe."
Though his breathing was ragged with fear, the old man obeyed. Ross struck out for the embankment, towing Muhammad Kasem behind him. His eyes were blurred with silt, but dimly he saw a knot of men calling encouragement to them.
Progress was slow. He had only one arm for swimming and the water was as turbulent as a mountain stream. Debris battered them, including a twisted tree trunk that pushed both men under again. It took most of Ross's remaining strength to fight free of the entangling branches, but he continued doggedly on.
When he was near the shore, someone skidded down the steep side of the wadi, grabbed his arm, and hauled Ross and his burden the last few feet to the embankment. Even without the English words in his ear, he would have known who it was.
"You stupid bastard," Juliet snarled as she lifted Muhammad Kasem away, then boosted the old man's frail body over the edge of the wadi into waiting hands. "You could have drowned."
"But I didn't," Ross gasped, too exhausted to think of a clever retort.
"Damned hero," she muttered. Since Ross could barely move, Juliet wrapped an arm around his waist and dragged him onto dry land by main force.
He promptly doubled over on his knees and began retching up the silty water he had swallowed. Juliet's arms supported him throughout, and they were much gentler than her voice had been. When he finally straightened up, throat raw, she lifted her waterskin and held it to his mouth so he could rinse away the salty taste of the flood water.
Still shaky, Ross managed to stand with Juliet's help. He was shivering from the cold water, and the chilly breeze cut right through his clinging, saturated tunic and trousers. Juliet was equally wet, but luckily the loose mantle she wore over her robe disguised any contours that might look suspiciously female.
Then he lifted his head to find that everyone in the caravan had gathered to watch the drama, and most were staring at him. Water darkened hair, but not enough. His blond head and white feet didn't leave much doubt about his foreignness. Among the murmuring voices in the crowd could be heard the repeated word "ferengi."
Next to him, Juliet tensed, her hand dropping from his arm to the hilt of her knife. She said nothing, but as she scanned the onlookers, a cold flash of gray eyes was visible through the narrow opening in her tagelmoust. Ross was reminded of a furious mother cat defending her kittens; she might call him a stupid bastard, but he did not doubt that she was prepared to fight anyone who attacked him.
Fortunately, heroics weren't necessary. The crowd seemed more surprised and curious than hostile. The only threatening expression was on the face of a surly Uzbek camel driver called Habib, who frequently taunted other menial members of the caravan, including "Jalal." Juliet had always ignored his gibes, but the man was a troublemaker, exactly the sort who might try to foment the crowd against a foreigner.