Later in the proceedings, women would join the inner circle of men. He hoped they’d stay composed. Egyptian women were known for their histrionics. That’s why they would not be allowed at the burial prayers at the cemetery site close by where Jafari’s closed casket would be carried to the gravesite by his older two sons and his twin nephews.
Neema had located and collected Ahmed’s son; Nicole’s parents had arrived to interfere not only with the child but with Father’s cancer treatment. But Ahmed himself had not been heard from—and even more puzzling—Mohamed. Still, Tebu had no idea of what happened to Mohamed. Baffling. And Seth’s concern grew as the hours passed without word.
And at that moment, Ahmed walked into the gathering room. He wore the flowing jellabiya. His clipped black hair and complete absence of beard made him look like a phony Arab. Seth felt rather than heard the silence as everyone’s gaze followed Ahmed’s entrance through the crowd of mourners, until he stood at Seth’s right arm—the position of superiority.
“Seth.” Ahmed’s only greeting. No embrace. No explanation.
Throughout Seth’s years in Brussels, he had trained in martial arts and weaponry. He was comfortable with violence as a way to allay the resentment he’d felt at being “sent away” by his family. How many times had he imagined taking down Jafari and Ahmed—killing them with his own hands? But never more than now. He wanted to simply pivot, grab Ahmed’s neck, and snap it. Now. But, of course, he couldn’t. Not now. But by the end of the day …
More men filed by to offer condolences, but now they spoke first to Ahmed. Seth had been demoted to second best. A familiar feeling, but one he’d no longer tolerate.
They were joined by a few women—including his mother, his own wife, Jafari’s widow, his sisters. The imam began the services, intoning the Surah Ya-Sin-Al-Qur’an al-Kareem, known as the “heart of the Quran.”
During the holy chant and as the imam proceeded through the religious rituals, Seth fine-tuned his plan. When the service ended, he spoke briefly to Bastet. That’s when he learned that, indeed, Nicole had shown up with Ahmed, and not only Nicole, but her twin sister and her husband. The house was filled with fucking Nelsons. He felt a surge of the hate he carried with him every day. In a brilliant sequel to the bomb that had rid him of Jafari, today would mark the culmination of all his foresight, his training, his scheming to control the family—and every fucking pound of Masud wealth.
“Any word on Mohamed?” he asked Bastet.
“I have not seen him,” she said, “nor has Aurera.”
“Go home now,” he said. “Take all the women with you. Stay away from Nicole and her family. Make sure our children and Jafari’s are separated from Ahmed’s kid. I’ll be there after the burial—as soon as I can. I don’t want to waste one more minute on the dead Jafari.”
“By the time we get there, the house will be full of mourners,” she said, “but I’ll do my best to do as you say.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
ROB STOOD BY and watched the women and children of the Masud clan traipse through the carved front doorway. They were the first contingent to return home from the funeral—women didn’t go to the burial, Rob had been told. They ignored him as they rushed by, whispering urgently to one another. In a hurry to set out the feast, he supposed. Egyptian custom was to put on a big spread after the body was in the ground. A party he would miss—as soon as Ahmed returned, the plan was to leave. Immediately.
Actually, the plan had been to turn around right after arrival and depart immediately after retrieving Alex. Berk had been adamant about that, had stressed the urgency. Rob figured that Berk must have reconsidered the strategy. He had gone outside several times to look for Berk and his men, expecting to find them close by the house. But no sign of their security guru. Probably to be expected—wasn’t security supposed to be invisible?
The three women doctors were still in the master suite with their patient, putting together a cancer treatment plan for Ahmed’s father. Rob was happy that Natalie could contribute to the Masuds. He also was relieved when Laura updated Natalie on the resolution at Keystone: her program to reposition Zomera had been approved by the FDA. Natalie’s job meant a lot to her; he hoped the Zomera success meant she would not be fired—despite her having taken off in the middle of the crisis.
Servants now scurried all over the place, balancing food platters and carrying baskets. Tim had hung out with Rob for a while, but now had taken charge of Alex and was on his way to fetch the women and have them gather at the front door, ready to leave when Ahmed returned.
Tim hadn’t yet returned with the women, when Rob saw a black limousine pull onto the circular drive and stop at the front door. A man in a flowing dark gown got out, followed by two hefty security guys and Ahmed, also in a robe. The first man must be Seth, Ahmed’s surviving brother.
Rob returned to the sofa in the anteroom to await their entry.
The man with Ahmed stopped, stared angrily, and blurted, “Who are you?”
“Rob,” Ahmed intervened, “meet my brother Seth.”
Rob stood, extended his hand to the angry-looking man. “Pleased to meet you.”
“What, may I ask, are you doing here?” His English was almost perfect.
“Rob is my wife’s sister’s husband,” Ahmed said, annoyance audible in his voice. “Rob Johnson. Married to Natalie, Nicole’s sister, who is with Mother and Father right now. But we all must leave for the airport.”
“Why are these foreign people in my home?” Seth demanded. “I go to my brother’s funeral and my home gets taken over. Ahmed, what the hell is going on?”
Not quite the welcome that Rob had imagined. Especially considering how Natalie’s drug might well prolong Seth Masud’s father’s life. Time to get the Nelson family the hell to the airport—with or without Berk’s help. He’d already been worried about trouble getting out of Cairo, and the possibility of being marooned in this house appeared not only uncomfortable, but perhaps dangerous.
Ahmed looked toward the front door. “Rob, where’s Berk? We need to leave. Now.”
“Ha, you imbeciles. You think you can bring your muscle onto my property, and I’m going to let that slide? After what happened to Jafari? You’re even stupider than I thought.”
“Seth,” Ahmed said, “first, who said this is your house?” He took off his long robe. Underneath, he wore a golf shirt and slacks. “Father is alive and in control and right now his cancer is being treated with a highly effective drug. Provided by Rob’s wife. Nothing here is yours. You just pack up and go back to Europe. That’s what Jafari wanted from you. That’s what I want.”
“The fuck you want. What you and your foreigners want is the fuck out of here.”
“You’re right,” Rob said. “We were just getting ready to leave. Ahmed, let’s get the others.”
“No, Ahmed, I need you to come with me. Jafari left something for you. You need to come up to the library.” Rob started to move. “Just you,” Seth said, positioning himself between Ahmed and Rob.
Rob was perplexed by this odd, brotherly sparring. Not until he spotted the gun barrel—a Sig Sauer, he thought, protruding from the folds of Seth’s robe—did his puzzlement give way to near panic. Ahmed knew nothing about guns, had always shied away from Rob’s sports gun collection.
Rob watched as Ahmed walked ahead of Seth toward a stairway farther down the front hall. Before going upstairs, Ahmed turned slightly to say, “Rob, get the others. Leave now. Leave the compound. Take them all.”
“Berk?” Rob said.
“With him or without him. Leave. Now.”
Rob heard a vicious snarl. “Get the fuck up those steps, Brother.”
As Seth disappeared behind Ahmed, he could be heard to ask a terse question, presumably into a handheld device. “Secure?”
* * *
Rob tried to assess their situation.
Ahmed’s brother appeared deranged. Was it the stress of his oldest brother’s horrific death?
<
br /> By now, all the others from the Masud compound had left to start welcoming guests in the ballroom-size entertainment area at the opposite end of the sprawling complex.
Natalie, Nicole, their parents, and Alex still were in Ahmed’s parents’ suite. Tim had not yet returned with them.
Berk and his strapping compadres had disappeared. Rob no longer figured this a gesture of courtesy to give the family privacy. Something ominous had detained them.
Ahmed had been forced upstairs. At gunpoint?
Shit, Rob, think. Sort this out …
We came here to rescue a little boy. What’s the story with the Masud family?
Go outside and search for Berk? He’d have weapons. But Seth had dropped that cryptic remark about muscle and Jafari …
Should he rush to move all the others out of the old man’s sick room? Out the door, off the property, out of Egypt? Now. Ahmed had clearly instructed—
Or should he follow Ahmed upstairs? Seth’s look of malice, his dark glare, ominous, threatening. Rob was quite fond of his brother-in-law—even if he had abducted Alex, breaking Nicole’s heart. He wished him no harm, the man seemed genuinely remorseful.
No time for indecision!
Rob rushed into the large foyer, across it into the elder Masuds’ quarters to warn the others.
He flung open the door to the private quarters and with no introductions, shouted: “Tim, get them all out now. No purses. No baggage. Out the front door. Off the property. Now. All of you.” Appealing to Tim did sound sexist, but political correctness could wait. Tim was a take-charge type.
“Rob!” Natalie ran toward him. Rob turned, did not wait for her to reach him, tore back into the hall in the direction of the stairs where Seth had herded Ahmed.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
AHMED WAS NOT taking any chances. When he’d turned at the landing midway up the steps, he’d seen Seth’s gun. He would comply with whatever his brother wanted. In a short time, he’d be on a plane to the US with Nicole and Alex.
“What did you want to show me, Seth? Why up here? And what’s with the gun?”
“This one’s my favorite, a Sig,” Seth said, pulling the gun out from under the jellabiya. “But I have a large collection. Know how to use them, too. Bet you didn’t know that I’m also a martial arts specialist.”
So Berk’s intel had been accurate.
Ahmed realized that he really had never known his younger brother. And certainly, not this side of him. One good look at Seth’s favorite gun—a big, dusky-gray thing designed to maim and kill—and Ahmed shifted in one instant from pissed-off to scared-to-death. He feared guns, always had. Never had one in the house. To his recollection, the men in his family never handled guns. They did enjoy membership at the Shooting Club, but that was social and recreational. Their security was armed, for sure, but Ahmed couldn’t imagine his father with a weapon. Maybe Jafari in his paranoia might have learned to shoot, but not Seth. Seth lived in Europe. They didn’t allow guns there. So why had Berk asked that question about Seth and martial arts? What exactly did “arts” mean—like those guys who fight in cages on TV?
“I can kill you with my bare hands.”
Ahmed felt Seth’s eyes appraise his neck. No question—a choke-hold could kill. He felt his heart contract.
“Walk over to the balcony,” Seth ordered.
Seth was now directly behind him, prodding him with the gun.
“Move.” Seth gestured toward a balcony that extended the full length of the upper hallway, connecting the eastern and western wings of the compound. When they were small, they’d never been allowed to play on that stretch of the balcony. Mother was fearful the boys’ constant roughhousing would end up with one falling over the rail.
Below was a decorative pool dug along the length of the house to indulge Mother’s horticulture passion. Each year she had the watery garden redone—some older plantings pulled up to accommodate the latest landscape designs featured in Middle Eastern architectural magazines that afforded endless aqua-gardening possibilities, and the Masuds spared no expense.
“Remember the movie Syriana—2005—George Clooney and Matt Damon?” Seth asked.
“What are you talking about?” Ahmed moved forward as slowly as he dared with the gun barrel bumping his back.
“Ha! I bet you saw it in America. Geopolitical movies are big there.”
“So what?”
They now stood on the balcony overlooking the dug-up pool, his mother’s work-in-process. What had Seth said he wanted to show him upstairs? Something to do with Jafari? Some old movie?
“So, this year Mother is going with new twinkly lights. The moment she told me, I knew what to do. In the movie, Matt Damon’s kid is electrocuted—a pool with faulty lights. Not difficult at all, although until you showed up so suddenly at the mosque, I wasn’t sure that I’d get the chance to …”
A movie? Faulty lights? Ahmed turned and gazed distractedly about the familiar room. Was this real? Could he be hallucinating? But no, he wasn’t the crazy one. Seth sounded insane.
“But just in case the juice doesn’t do the job, I’m going to snap your neck before you hit the sizzle …”
Ahmed felt a powerful hand reach upward, grab his neck, compressing it, squeezing it, the gun muzzle still pressing his back. He felt the breeze float across the balcony, gentle. This couldn’t be happening …
Then no more pressure on his back, but the hand around his neck clamped tighter—his eyes bulged—his vision dimmed—any more pressure would crush his larynx. Ahmed felt his body twist and Seth seemed to back up, just slightly.
Then the blast of a gunshot—deafening.
Have I been shot?
Nicole! Alex! I’m sorry—
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
EVEN THOUGH ROB had directed her stepfather to “get the family out of the house,” Natalie was the one who acted. An order, authoritative, nonnegotiable. She had no idea why or what was happening, but she knew her husband. He was the antithesis of hysteria, the most grounded, trustworthy person she’d ever known.
Natalie literally pushed her family out the door of the Masud parents’ suite and shoved them toward the foyer. “Get them out, Tim,” she said. “Something must be really wrong.”
“Where’s Rob?” Tim said. “Is he out there?”
Natalie didn’t think so. She didn’t know why—then she heard the gunshot. Coming not from outside, but from the stairwell down the hall. Where those stairs led, she had no idea. Had Rob gone up there?
She had to find out. Turning, she saw Tim usher Mom and Alex outside, but Nicole had broken away from them and now stood at her side.
“The shot came from up there.” Nicole stated the obvious. Both sisters made the instant decision. They ran toward the staircase.
A commotion seemed to build behind them—voices, motion. Natalie thought maybe Tim was trying to rush after them, but she paid no attention and neither did Nicole. They were acting in tandem as they had as sisters growing up. Only this time, Natalie, not Nicole, led the charge.
The staircase was wide, with a plush carpet and bronze-colored railings. They were now side by side almost at the top. Nicole saw it before she did: the dark red color staining the golden hues of the patterned carpet.
Natalie heard Nicole scream, “Rob!”
If not for her medical training, Natalie would have fainted. Slumped on the stairs, her husband drenched in blood. For an instant, she looked away, unwilling to acknowledge the huge hole in his chest, one that …
Another shot rang out, coming from upstairs.
“Get down,” Nicole yelled, pushing ahead of her, shoving her down onto Rob’s drenched chest.
Natalie felt the warm, sticky substance ooze into the fabric of her blouse. “Rob!” Her voice sounded like a croak. Frantic, her fingers found his neck, felt for a carotid pulse, detecting none. She knew. As a doctor, she knew. Rob was dead. The gaping, bloody hole in his chest was enough damage. She couldn’t help him. She heard
another shot.
Nicole must have continued up the stairs, because she now tumbled down, past her and Rob. Natalie couldn’t see through her tears, but she heard a thud at the bottom.
From above, she heard a curdling yell. “That, Brother Ahmed, was your bitch wife. But ha, you can’t hear me, can you? Now, over the side—”
Her husband, Rob, was dead. What about Nicole? What about Ahmed? He must be up there. What should she do? Natalie felt helpless, but fearless. Without Rob, her life no longer mattered. Somehow she managed to leave Rob and rush down to Nicole.
“I’m okay,” Nicole said. “I think a bullet grazed my leg, threw me backward. I saw Ahmed up there. Unconscious. His brother is holding him—hanging him—over the balcony. He’s the one who fired the gun—he’s crazy—I think he’s going to kill him—”
More noises downstairs, male voices, some trampling sounds—
Men who worked for Seth Masud? Were they all murderers—the Masud family? After she and Mom went to all that trouble—Stop—focus. Nicole was trying to stand. Grasping the banister.
“I’m going to see if I can help Ahmed,” Natalie said. She knew that if it were Rob up there, her twin sister would be brave enough—
“No,” Nicole yelled. “No, Natalie. He’ll shoot you!”
Natalie charged upstairs, almost reaching the top when she heard steps behind her. A loud voice bellowed, “Get down, Natalie.”
Hefty male arms reached for her from behind, trying to pull her behind his large frame.
Mohamed.
He tried to push her back, but Natalie stood her ground and followed him into the book-lined room bordered on one side by a balcony. Mohamed leaped forward as Seth Masud, a mad grin on his face, suspended a limp body over the balcony railing—Ahmed’s. His other hand held a gun—now pointed directly at Mohamed.
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