Hassan and Hakim must have been equally impressed by the air of restrained menace that Seifert exuded because their attitude was distinctly wary as they approached him. They ordered him to lean against the hood of the jeep. The search wasn’t the routine one Hassan had planned. It was very thorough but yielded nothing more lethal than a fingernail clipper. Then they were striding toward the plane, the red-haired giant a few paces ahead, apparently ignoring the machine-gun Hakim was pointing at the small of his back.

“Relax,” Hassan snapped at Hakim as they entered the passenger compartment of the plane. “You saw that there was no sign of a weapon. It appears Ben Raschid is being sensible for a change.” He gestured to Zilah in her seat at the back of the plane. “There she is, Seifert. You can see that she’s alive and unharmed.”

“I want to talk to her,” Daniel said. “Alone.”

“That’s not necessary,” Hassan said sharply. “She will tell you we have not misused her.”

“Then let her tell me,” Daniel said. “Alone. I have instructions to make sure you’ve done her no harm before we deal. I hardly think she’d be willing to spill any beans while you stand there with a gun pointed at her head.”

Hassan hesitated a moment before he shrugged. “Go ahead. We will stay by the door. You will be out of earshot back there if you lower your voice. You have five minutes.”

Daniel Seifert looked even bigger in the confines of the cabin than he had by the jeep as he strode down the aisle toward her. He sat down in the seat facing her, his gaze searching her face. “My name is Daniel Seifert. Have they hurt you?”