“Have you seen the woman who was seated there?” He pointed to her empty seat.
“No, sir,” the guard said.
“Let the others know she is missing,” he ordered. “Her name is Rebecca Reid and you should have received a photo of her along with the others. Check your phone, she’s the redhead.” He left to return to the table as the security officer tapped the button on his shoulder radio receiver.
Zaid heard him relaying the message to the other guards as he stepped away. They quickly mobilized. Several went into the restaurant while the ones remaining outside repositioned themselves to protect the lunch guests better.
“Alacabak,” Zaid whispered in the Chief Advisor’s ear, “have you seen Rebecca Reid, the envoy accompanying the delegates?”
“The redhead?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“She went inside the restaurant a little while ago. It looked like she was walking through to the front,” he answered.
“And you didn’t think to mention this because…?” the Sheikh asked.
“I didn’t think it was important,” Alacabak answered nonchalantly. “Why are you suddenly so protective of one woman?”
He stared down the Chief Advisor, considering his next actions or words at the potential security risk if she found herself in trouble. “We are responsible for everyone on this tour,” he reminded him. He could have shared any number of harsh words with the advisor, but he decided to let it go for the time being. He simply shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he uttered, standing back up.
Alacabak went back to his conversation with the delegate sitting next to him as he walked through the restaurant to see if security had any sightings. As he stepped out front, he swore aloud, as one of the guards looked at him, startled.
Zaid knew where she went. He figured he’d known it since he noticed she was missing but didn’t put it together until he walked back outside. He could not believe that she would jeopardize her safety simply to prove a point.
Rajak was a few blocks over from the restaurants at the waterfront. Many of the migrant workers who served as the labor force for the area lived there. It was a rough area, as many of the residents were not registered Emirati citizens. Rebecca had been asking about the area, and she must have realized how close they were. She seemed to believe that areas like Rajak and Timina represented flaws in the growth and progress of Sharjah, when the situation was actually rather complicated.
The crime in those areas didn’t help the people either, compounding the problems that already existed.
Zaid motioned to two of the guards to follow him as he hurried down the street to where the waterfront district crossed over to Rajak. He heard the click of heels behind him as Candace rushed to catch up with him.
No, he groaned internally. She did not need to follow him where he was going. It was bad enough that Rebecca had insisted on visiting one of the poorest sections of Sharjah. He really didn’t need the tour’s lead representative seeing what Rajak had to offer. If she saw what lay in wait across the bridge, it could undermine everything he was working for with the group of diplomats.
“Go back to the restaurant,” he ordered as she caught up with him. “I can handle this. I know where she went.”
“No,” Candace said. “I’m coming with you. As the tour lead, I am responsible for her behavior,” she argued, convincingly enough.
Zaid didn’t want to waste any more time arguing with the woman—he was too worried about the trouble Rebecca might get into foolishly going off on her own. “Fair enough,” Zaid said. “Keep up. Stay close.”
As they approached the waterway that cut inland from the bay and separated the waterfront district from Rajak, Zaid’s heart sank. There was no way to hide the stark contrast between the two sides of the bridge over the waterway. On one side, the waterfront district was new and modern. It was clean, bright, and populated by tourists and wealthy Emiratis. On the other side, the buildings were dilapidated and obviously outdated. There were large gaping holes where doors should have been. A few windows sat patched up with plywood. The people wandering the streets were noticeably downtrodden. The differences were painfully obvious.
But what seemed to have Candace’s attention was the figure standing on the bridge over the waterway. It was Rebecca, in her gray suit and skirt, digging through a bag she carried on her shoulder with an emaciated teenager standing in front of her, an anxious look on his face as he waited for whatever was in her bag.
Zaid and Candace watched as Rebecca pulled a small bundle out of her bag and handed it to the teenager. The look of gratitude on his face was easy to read even from where they stood. He pulled something out of the bundle that looked like either cake or bread and started eating.