She was about to review each individual report when Nicole walked into the room.
“What are you doing?” her sister asked.
Natalie recognized the accusatory tone. Nicole had been the “dominant” twin. Always in charge. Always dictating the agenda. At least when they’d been kids, all the way through high school. The first important time Natalie had stood up to Nicole was her choice of college; Natalie insisting on Notre Dame, where Mike had gone; not Nicole’s choice for her, the University of Michigan, following their brother Kevin. For the first time, she’d had a Nicole-free life for four years, but she’d missed her sister, and the two joined up again for med school at the University of Pennsylvania.
“I’m going over some data. There’s a problem—”
“Is that what you were talking to Mom about?”
“Yes,” Natalie admitted as if she’d done something grievously wrong.
“Ahmed took Alex and you’re studying data?”
Nicole plunked down at the edge of the bed that dominated the spacious room. Her eyes were red, her hair hung limply to her slumped shoulders. Natalie had never seen her like this. Nicole was always strong, resilient.
“I didn’t seem to be much help while you were working with the boys and the investigator—Berk.”
“The boys have left to go home to their safe families. My child is gone. Think about how scared Alex has to be.”
“We’ll get him back,” was all Natalie could think of to say. She’d never had a child of her own, could only imagine the terror that must be going through her sister. And poor, sweet little Alex—without his mother. She left the stack of papers, went to Nicole, put her arm around her, felt her tremble, pulled her in close.
Silently, for several minutes, they sat there together. Nicole had no more tears, but her body kept shaking and Natalie tightened her hold. When Rob walked in, neither sister noticed him until he spoke. “Nicole, you should go to bed. It’s after midnight. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”
Natalie loosened her hold and Nicole checked her watch. “Seven in the morning in Giza,” she said. “I wonder if Alex is awake.”
Just then her cell phone rang.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
NICOLE GRABBED HER phone. “Hello?”
A pause.
“Who’s calling?” Her voice sounded tremulous. Would Berk have cell phone monitoring in place? Was he listening right now? She hoped so.
“Uh, it’s me.”
“Ahmed? Where is Alex?”
“He’s okay—”
“Let me talk to him.”
“He’s sleeping.”
“Wake him up. It’s morning there.”
“Can’t do that.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Careful. Sound nice. Don’t piss him off.
“Look, Nicole, I—”
The phone went to dial tone.
“Ahmed!” she screamed. “Don’t hang up!”
Too late.
Rob’s cell phone buzzed. A text message. “From Berk,” he said. “Confirmed source: the Masud home in Giza.”
“So he’s with his family. Just like Ahmed’s father told me. The Masud family has my son.”
“They’ll take care of him,” Natalie said, adding, “until we get him back.”
“And we will, Nicole,” Rob said. “Soon.”
Nicole set the cell phone on the bed.
“Make sure you keep it charged,” Rob said. “If he calls back, remember to get as much information as you can about their plans.”
And play nice, Nicole thought, like I still love the bastard. And you know what? Maybe I still do. Just hearing Ahmed’s voice … triggered … memories. If only …
“Do you think he knows where I am? He didn’t ask. What if he tries to get in touch with me at our house?” Nicole started to get up. “I think I should go home.”
“No,” Rob reassured her. “Berk’s forwarded all your calls here. If Archy calls your home, it’ll ring here. Berk thinks it best not to let him know exactly where you are.”
“Ahmed,” Nicole said. “He doesn’t want to be called Archy.”
“Come on.” Natalie stood. “Let me take you to your room. I wish I had something to help you sleep.”
If only I could wake up with Alex snuggling beside me.
Nicole almost asked if she could stay here, and sleep with Natalie, like they did when they were kids whenever they were scared. But one look at Natalie’s stack of papers told her that her sister had a work problem that would be her priority—for the night, at least.
“That’s okay. I can find my way,” she said. “But you and Rob have to promise to wake me the instant we learn anything about Alex. Please.”
“We will,” Rob promised. And she walked to the guest room down the hall.
Nicole did something she’d not done since she was a little girl. She knelt at the side of the bed and prayed. Please, God, bring Alex home to me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
AHMED TERMINATED HIS call to Nicole. At first, he had felt, but not seen, Jafari enter the suite. He looked up to face Jafari’s glare.
“What the fuck—calling that woman? Good riddance to her, my brother.”
“I needed to know she’s okay,” Ahmed said, sounding defensive and hating himself. “She is very close to our son and—”
“That woman’s nothing but trouble. Find a wife here. A new mother for my nephew.”
“That wouldn’t be fair to Nicole,” Ahmed said, now internally able to question with clarity yesterday’s decision. He cared about Nicole and respected the depth of her love for their son. How had it come to this? Was it too late to simply take Alex and go back? He could deal with the fucking lawsuits; they were par for the course for American plastic surgeons. At least back there, he was in charge of his direction in life. In the light of day, it seemed clear that big brother Jafari had appointed himself dictator of the Masud family—and Ahmed hadn’t seen his father yet.
“Just get comfortable, my brother, I have a lot to tell you.”
“I need to see Father,” Ahmed said. His father had been ill, that much he knew, but how ill?
“The family has problems, Ahmed. That’s why we pressured you to come back to Egypt. We know about your prestige and comfortable income in Pennsylvania, about your chummy in-laws, about the sports you’ve taken on. Well, too bad, that’s all over now. And about Father—he has terminal pancreatic cancer.”
“No,” Ahmed breathed. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? How long …”
“How long have we known? Or how much longer does he have to live?” Jafari said.
“Jesus, why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Jesus? Yes, you have been away too long. What, you’re Christian now?”
“Just an expression. Tell me more about Father.”
“Father has told few. That’s how he wants it, but he’s fading fast.”
“How long?”
“A couple of months, more or less. He refuses to go to a hospital—cancer’s too advanced for surgery. Chemo hasn’t worked. He refuses radiation.”
“Father was never much for medicine.” Ahmed paused. “Is that why you want me back? To look into his medical options? I’m no expert in—”
“No,” Jafari said. “We’re not that ignorant here; we get that plastic surgeons don’t know shit about oncology.”
“Then what do you want of me?” Other than to have an additional family member under your control.
“Father is not the reason. Although it will comfort him to have his middle son here during his final days and for his funeral.”
“What about Seth?”
“He stays in Brussels,” Jafari said.
Ahmed waited for an explanation, but none came. He had never liked his younger brother, five years his junior, now forty years old. Always considered him a sneaky, snake-in-the-grass type, but attributed his devious nature to the misfortune of having been born the last of five siblings.
“
Look, Jafari, I am deeply sorry about Father. I will talk to him today. See if I can help in any way. But right now, I want to call Nicole. Before she goes to bed tonight. She’s frantic—”
“Do not try again to call the United States. I will not allow it. Perhaps in several days. But not until you and Wati are acclimated. I have much political and financial information for you to absorb. And Wati must become accustomed to our ways. Aurera will take care of the boy. Get an hour or two of sleep, then you and I will have breakfast, and I will impart to you what’s happening in Egypt—and across the whole Middle East.”
When Jafari left him alone, Ahmed again picked up the phone. He dialed only the US country code before he set it back down. His hand shook as he did. Why? It had been a long time since anyone, including his big brother, told him what to do—whom he could and could not call. Was he afraid? Afraid of his own brother—in his own childhood home? Had he been away, living in a so-called free society so long that he could no longer recognize a threat from the family bully? He was desperate to reach Nicole, to tell her … to tell her … what? For that reason—uncertainty about what he would say to her—not because he was a coward, he got up and headed for the shower.
* * *
In the sunny breakfast room, Osiris, married to his older sister, Merit, sat alone at the large rectangular table. Ahmed took the seat across from him and remembered to switch to Arabic. He asked about his two sons.
“Disturbing times. With all the student upheaval going on. Political instability. Of course, you’ve heard about the Coptic church bombing in Alexandria. Jafari thinks—”
“What about Jafari?” Jafari himself interrupted.
“Just talking about our brother-in-law’s sons,” Ahmed said. “Speaking of which, your boys are looking healthy and strong.”
Ahmed imagined a slight twinkle in Jafari’s hard, black eyes. He was proud of his boys, but family members confided the little girl was the darling of his life. Who’d have thought—Jafari, the epitome of Arabic male chauvinism!
“Ahmed and I have business to discuss, Osiris. Would you leave us and advise the staff that we are not to be disturbed by anyone, which includes my sister—your wife.”
In an attempt to assess the extent of Jafari’s autocracy in the household, Ahmed watched his brother-in-law’s reaction. Jafari—the eldest son, always top dog—Merit, relegated to the background, out of the public eye—even though she was the spinal column of the Masud cotton empire. Ahmed had never been close to his older sister, but he had never questioned her brilliance, her energy, and passionate dedication to their business. And she had married an economic genius, now on the influential Egyptian Economic Council. Their sons were academic prodigies, too—unlike Jafari’s kids, who struggled to stay at grade level.
Jafari and Merit—and Osiris by association—had an antagonistic relationship both inside the company and inside the family compound. A relationship that Father had always tempered. Now, as Osiris, without complaint, got up from the table, leaving a half-eaten breakfast, Ahmed observed that Jafari’s position was unchallenged.
“When can I talk to Father—” Ahmed began.
“Not important. I want you to spend the entire day focusing on Facebook. Most men here don’t even know what it is. No concept of what they call ‘social media.’ But young ones are all over it. The thing is rampant. I don’t understand shit about it and I need someone I can trust. Who better than middle-brother! Americans started this disaster, so I’m sure you must understand it. I told you on the Sunday call to get into it. Did you?”
“You overestimate my ability. I know what Facebook is, but I’ve never used it. I’m too busy for that. It’s a kid thing, teenagers.”
“Did you check out what I told you? About Mohamed ElBaradei?”
“Yeah, I got into it, sure. But I don’t know what I’m doing, or looking for. The guy is a nuclear weapons inspector. He’s critical of Mubarak, but that’s about it.”
“Anyone who is an enemy of Mubarak is an enemy of the Masud family. We need to know what ElBaradei is up to, and it seems the idiot is communicating all his shit on this Facebook.”
“I can look some more, but, Jafari, I must talk to Father. After what you told me—”
The kitchen servant came through the closed door, then backed out sheepishly.
“Bring us fuul”—a grainy pita bread with mashed fava beans—“and scrambled eggs. And tea,” Jafari yelled to her. Could Jafari have remembered that Ahmed had always hated fuul?
“If Mubarak goes down, we’re screwed,” Jafari said.
Ahmed knew that the family’s immense wealth was the direct result of the Mubarak regime’s privatization of industry. Hosni’s son Gamal virtually gave entire industries to his cronies. The cotton export business went to Umi Masud, longtime friend and supporter of the Mubaraks. Naturally, there had been huge payouts back to Mubarak, but such was the way of life in most Middle East countries. The United States, over many years a stalwart supporter of Egypt, must be aware of the vast corruption here. But Ahmed had never considered that his problem. He’d just wanted to live in a peaceful, comfortable environment with the love-of-his-life, Nicole.
“Ahmed, are you following me? Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yeah, you want me to become a social media geek and dig into what’s out there. I get that. But I can do it better if I go back to the US. I’ve got to tell you, Jafari, I miss my wife and while I’m here, I don’t like being separated from Alex—Wati.”
“You miss your wife!” Jafari stood, pounded his fist on the table. “Forget about that bitch.”
Finally, Ahmed found some backbone. He, too, rose, slammed back his chair and headed for the door. “I’m going back and I’m taking my son.”
“You can’t get back into the United States. I have your passport.”
Ahmed had no knowledge of international policy, but he and Alex had gone though no passport check, no security when they deplaned in Egypt. There was no record that they were even in this country.
He made it to the hallway when strong arms grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall. Jafari had followed him, the expression on his face a bit perturbed, not really angry.
“Mr. Masud, what should I do with him?”
“Let him go. But do not let him leave the property.”
Jafari patted Ahmed on the back. “You’d be surprised at the sophistication of our security. Just so you know, my guards are armed. Now go to your quarters. I had a computer set up for you. You have a secretary to work with you—armed also—and I’ll have food sent. And before you ask: no, as to seeing Father until I’m ready; no, to seeing my nephew Wati, until I say you can.”
Ahmed was a prisoner in his parents’ home. Or had Jafari already appropriated the estate?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ROB FELT ENERGIZED. For the first time in three years, he woke up with no thought of his failing—make that failed—business. He had an active role to play in finding his nephew, returning him safely to Nicole. The family had asked if they could use Rob and Natalie’s suburban house as the nerve center from which they’d operate. Berk had suggested it last night, saying he liked the relative isolation so traffic could be better monitored. Berk represented a serious, well-equipped organization, and Rob felt encouraged by proxy. He knew it was silly, but working with Berk gave him a renewed sense of confidence, something he’d been lacking for who knew how long.
Natalie was not in bed, and Rob glanced at the clock. Not quite five a.m. Early for her, but she was under enormous pressure to correct whatever was wrong with her drug. He’d never paid much attention to her pharmaceutical problems, nor she to his building problems—until the bottom dropped out and his financial liquidity—or lack of—dominated their conversations.
He dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, wanting a half hour in the workout room before the day got started in earnest. Passing Nicole’s room on the way downstairs, he heard no sounds and
hoped that she’d sleep a couple more hours. He found Natalie in her office, hunched over her desk, writing on a yellow notepad. She looked totally beat. Dark circles, hair pulled into a straggly ponytail.
“Honey, did you get any sleep at all?”
“I couldn’t. I have to finish this to-do list for my people. I mean, I think I understand what’s happened, but the data has to be presented in a graphically logical way.”
“And you are the only one who can do this?” he asked, not sarcastically. In fact, she probably was. She always said she had genius-level people working for her in the different departments, but not many that could put it all together, integrate all the parts among the research labs, the clinics, the regulatory circles.
“I guess we’ll see,” she said. “When I’m done here—couple more hours—I’ll send this in by courier—extensive instructions—and then I can focus all attention on Alex.”
Rob wondered how much attention that could be. His wife was exhausted. Hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours and counting.
She looked at him with a tired grin and a swoosh of her hand. “Don’t forget, I’m used to all-nighters. Now off to the gym before the guys get here. And, Rob, that was so generous of you to offer our home as the war room.”
“Happy to contribute. Never would have happened if it didn’t dawn on me when you had all the boxes sent home, you’d need to be here to work on your pharma problem.”
“Wait until we have some time to talk. I’ll tell you the whole story: shit.”
“What?” Rob swung around to face her. “Did you say what I thought you said?”
“Shit,” Natalie said. “It’s all about shit. Now go. I’ll see you soon. I love you, Rob.”
Shit? What was that about? His wife was not into crude language. Shit?
* * *
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