Grains of Truth (25 page)

Mohamed stood in the corridor outside his cabin, inserting the key in the lock. She gasped at the sight of a dark, ugly bruise on his cheek. At the sound, he looked up to find her hastening toward him. Wordlessly, he grabbed her arm and shoved her inside ahead of him. 

The door banged shut as he jerked her into his arms. His lips came down on hers with such force she hadn’t time to protest. Not that she was sure she wanted to. Never before had he exhibited such savage, uncontrolled passion. There would be bruises on her arms where he held her. It was a searing kiss—as if he might find the answers to his dilemmas in its depths. With sudden equal force, he released her. If she hadn’t been able to stumble back against the wall, she would’ve fallen. 

“Mohamed?”

At first he didn’t answer. His back was to her now as he bent over the open suitcase on the unmade bed. When he turned to face her, she saw again the nasty bruise on his face, his lower lip cut and swollen. 

“You must leave. You cannot be here. Have your luggage taken downstairs. I will meet you there in a few minutes.”

“What happened?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Can you not, for once, do as I ask, Julia? Without endless questions and debate?” Despite the carefully controlled words spoken through clenched teeth, she knew by his shaking hands that he was as close to loosing control as she’d ever seen him.

~

The boy had a hard time keeping up with Alexander’s long-legged gait as they walked the short distance from the boat to the hotel. He turned in at the wrought-iron gate, reclaimed his bag and dropped a few bills in the small, outstretched hand.

“Shukran!” called the grinning boy after him as he strode up the gravel drive.

In his room, Alex deftly unpacked the bag. The luxuriously elegant décor escaped him completely as he went about arranging his few articles of clothing and toiletries in a precise and orderly manner. Once the contents had been removed, he pressed a spot in the corner to release the false bottom. These days, it was unadvisable to carry anything through Customs in the concealed space, but it still proved useful at times. When necessary, he had other methods for procuring firearms once reaching his destination. 

Secured there were the other two revolvers. With the hand of an expert, he removed the Beretta and loaded it. He snapped the chamber closed, ensuring that the safety catch engaged, and laid it on the dresser. He reassembled the false bottom and put the bag in the closet. With nothing to do now but wait, he went to the picture window and opened the drapes all the way to reveal the scene below. 

His third-floor suite provided a sweeping view of the river and the barren desert beyond. He noted several feluccas moored at the water’s edge, most likely for hire. Alexander checked the time: forty minutes to go before Julia’s call, then three hours before her next communication from Brad Caldwell. Several of the graceful sailboats flitted across the sparkling current below. He considered the implications of Mohamed’s mysterious disappearance.

This definitely complicated things—even further, if that was possible.

Chapter 29

Sarah Littlefield stared down at the sheet of paper in her hand. Unbelievable. The woman was stark raving mad. Well, Sarah had suspected this for some time. But Julia was nobody’s fool. At least she’d had the good sense to leave this missive outlining the entire far-fetched story. But this? Too incredible. 

The whole “I’m going hiking” thing sounded fishy from the start. As the days passed with no word from Julia, Sarah became increasingly apprehensive. No answer to her emails and ditto on the cell phone. Julia always answered her cell phone. By the morning of the sixth day, her concern drove her to hop into her fuel-efficient hybrid Prius, still in sweaty running clothes, and zip across the Bay Bridge from Berkeley to San Francisco. Sarah had insisted that Julia give her a spare key to her rented studio apartment during her illness.

“So you can discover the body?” Julia asked.

Very funny, ha, ha.

Sarah let herself in and surveyed the room. As she’d suspected, a white envelope lay on the table, her name written across the front in a bold hand. Ripping it open, she scanned the page then sat down and read it again, carefully, from the top. Unbelievable. She bit her lip as she looked out the window into the lifting fog.

Exactly one hour later she sat in a chair across the desk from Special Agent Brad Caldwell.

“I don’t give a damn about rules and regulations or national security, Mr. Caldwell. You either tell me exactly where Julia is at this precise moment and how to reach her or you can be sure the whole nasty story will headline the evening news.”

She sprang to her feet to lean forward on tight fists, livid green eyes shooting sparks across the desk. “My family may not always approve of my activities, but they will, with all the might of their considerable resources, stand behind me on this, I assure you. And just in case you don’t know, they not only own a big chunk of the media in this town, they have some mighty powerful friends.”

He did know. And those resources could prove more than considerable.

Sarah left Brad’s office and went directly to that of her father, Charles Dormer Littlefield, III. Prudence, his secretary of over thirty years, saw the blonde cyclone exit the elevator and blow down the hall toward her father’s penthouse office suite. Even though she knew her boss to be on an important conference call, she buzzed him. “Sarah’s on her way in.”

All parties involved knew there was no way to stop her when she’d built up this kind of awesome momentum. Outwardly, Prudence felt obligated to disapprove of the way Sarah had her father wrapped around her little finger. Secretly, she admired her and reveled in seeing the titan of industry reduced to putty in his daughter’s diminutive hands.

“Damn it all to hell, Sarah! Can’t you see I’m busy here?”  

She came around the desk and planted a loud smacking kiss on his forehead. 

“Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll have to get back to you.” He tried to frown as he slammed down the phone but couldn’t prevent the corners of his lips from curling up at the sight of his darling, dynamic daughter. “All right, Sarah, what’s so all-fired important this time? Someone not treating their pets properly? Draining their pool into the bay?” 

The impressive man sat back in his big leather chair and listened with growing interest as she delivered a concise and scathing summary of Julia’s predicament. He’d known his daughter’s best friend for years. She’d spent numerous holidays with the Littlefield family, and he’d come to think of her as one of his own. 

“Well, well,” he rumbled ominously. “Those dirty bastards are up to their same old tricks.” With steepled fingers before him, he pursed his lips, and his half-closed eyes settled onto the shining green ones.

“What kind of hair-brained scheme are you concocting?”

~

Brad Caldwell did not look his usual dapper self: jacketless, with expensive silk tie askew and a greasy stain near the breast pocket of his wrinkled shirt, the rolled-up sleeves revealing tense, muscular arms. A five-o-clock shadow, the result of not having shaved for the twenty-four hours he’d been in the office, completed the look of a shady detective in an old B movie. 

It had been more than five years since he’d done any real work in the field. He’d thought those days were long gone. The wound in his side still gave him trouble in cold, damp weather—a regular reminder in the San Francisco fog. Nevertheless, he had jumped at Bob’s directive that he fly to Egypt. The thought had already occurred to him, and his hesitation in bringing it up was only due to trying to think of a plausible way to suggest it himself. 

He snapped his briefcase shut as a rap sounded at the door. Linda Boyd entered and came to sit in one of the chairs facing the desk. How the hell did she manage to look this fresh without sleep? he wondered disagreeably. Her medium-brown hair, cut short, emphasized wide-set hazel eyes, perpetually on the alert, and seldom missing a trick. She would never be called beautiful, but there was something decidedly appealing about her trim, athletic and always energetic persona.

“All set, Boyd?”

It was unanimously agreed that she would accompany him. The pair, traveling together as man and wife, would draw less attention than his going solo. Aliases with passports to match would at least give them time before the Egyptian authorities caught on. If—when—they did, things could become very unpleasant. It couldn’t be helped.

He felt personally responsible for the deterioration of Julia Grant’s “simple” assignment. Damn it, he was responsible. The whole thing was his bright idea. He’d pressured her in. It was up to him to get her out. He felt less than optimistic about the difficulties involved in protecting Mohamed Zahar. That part wasn’t going to be easy. But he gave Julia his word. He would do the best he could.

“Yeah, I’m set,” Linda said, regarding him with annoyingly clear and appraising eyes. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks. The look corresponds directly with my mood, so you might take that into consideration before making any more astute observations.”

His partner for this hasty operation shrugged with a grin. He didn’t intimidate her. They’d worked together before. Before his near-fatal injury. In fact, they’d briefly been lovers. That was a long time ago, she thought with lingering regret. She still had a soft spot for Brad. But as far as her job was concerned, she was all business.

“The car’s waiting downstairs.”

He ran a hand through tousled hair as he scanned the unusual litter of papers on his desk. “Okay. The communication’s been sent. We have barely enough time for me to run home to change and pack. We’ll go straight from there to the base.” He’d contrived to hitch a ride on an Air Force jet leaving for Kuwait in less than two hours. From there, they’d take a commercial flight directly to Aswan.

Without further comment, she followed him down the endless corridor, her long legs easily keeping pace with his. She had her doubts about the advisability of all this. The Egyptians weren’t going to like it one iota.

But Linda Boyd was a professional. Her tenacious ambition and unrelenting drive had brought her up the company ladder like a rocket. At the age of thirty-three, she was the highest ranking woman in her division. Despite her stinging wit and acid tongue, she followed orders—no matter how much she might disagree.

Besides, she would have followed Brad Caldwell anywhere.

~

Sarah Littlefield looked her father straight in the eye, intrepidly implacable, as she calmly announced, “I have to go to Egypt and bring her back.”

Brad Caldwell had been unable—or unwilling—to reach Julia by phone and somehow Sarah, “the blonde bundle of highly-explosive antagonism” according to her father, had learned of the imminent departure of the two secret service agents. Once she’d managed to cajole Charles Littlefield into applying some of his considerable family influence, Sarah bulldozed her way onto the plane. She gave no thought whatsoever to the possibility that she might encounter obstacles other than persuading Julia to return home.

So here she was, on the Air Force jet to Kuwait with Brad Caldwell and Linda Boyd, marshalling every molecule of her five-foot-two, anti-war activist frame to retrieve the dove from the clutches of the imperialist hawks. After all, how many times had Julia come to her rescue, bailing her out of jail—more often than not in the middle of the night?

Once on board, Brad promptly retreated under a blanket for some much-needed sleep. This conveniently spared his guilt-ridden conscience from having to fend off Sarah’s questions during the long flight. He kept thinking that things couldn’t get any worse. And then, of course, they did.

Chapter 30

Mohamed could barely see beyond his wrath to pack up the rest of his few meager belongings. At least his enraged state prevented further questions from Julia. But he knew that was only temporary. He must calm down—try to think clearly. The inevitable interrogation might be delayed but not, by any means, avoided.

The taxi driver who took them to the hotel thankfully spoke enough English to make discussion unwise. Two bellmen accompanied them to the elevator. When the door opened on the second floor, one of them stepped out with Mohamed’s suitcase.

Mohamed gave Julia a dark look. “Meet me out by the pool in an hour.” The doors closed between them.

He sincerely hoped that would allow enough time for him to regain control of his thought processes. A decision must be made about what to tell her. Not only the cause of his injuries—but also what action they must take.

All in all, he knew he was very, very lucky. Lucky his assailants hadn’t slit his throat and dumped his body in a ditch. He shuddered, vividly recalling the nerve-wracking scene. The man with the husky voice made it clear that would be his first choice. Mohamed felt the overwhelming contempt and inexplicable hatred emanating from the stranger as if directly from the fires of hell.

The other man, the one who spoke bafflingly in Oxford-perfect English, was more circumspect. After questioning him endlessly about Julia, their relationship and their activities, he remained silent for a long while. 

Mohamed stuck doggedly to his story. Julia Grant was writing a book about Egypt. He’d been hired as her guide. He’d worked for her before and did not believe she could be involved in any kind of covert activities. As far as he knew, her brief exchange with the man killed in Kom Ombo was perfectly innocent. She bought a blanket and that was all. He vehemently denied any illicit romance.