Even at such a close distance, he could barely make out the men atop the camels, their long, white cotton Arabian thobes blending into the fierce eddies of white-hot sand that swirled up from the desert floor. It wasn’t Jack’s first time on a camel, but the conditions were more challenging than he’d ever experienced before—and growing steadily worse by the minute. He didn’t dare try to adjust the kaffiyeh that hung down low over his forehead. Even one hand off the reins might tempt the camel to shift off the narrow path, and Jack wasn’t certain he’d ever find his way back. In retrospect, he’d probably let his machismo get in the way when Magda Al Muhammed, the leader of the small Bedouin troop, had offered to tether him to one of the lead camels for the forty-minute trek. Magda hadn’t given Andy and Sloane a choice—and they were now clinging for dear life to a shared mount a few feet to Jack’s right, guided along by Magda’s cousin, who couldn’t have been older than fourteen.
