NanoStrike (10 page)

The car pulled up in front of a raised marble entrance. Nazar appeared at the oversized doorway and waved to them like a long-lost friend.

“Welcome. I am delighted you came. I meet so few young people in my business.” After shaking Abdul’s hand, Nazar turned to Adiba. He took her left hand in his right and lifted it to his lips. “And thank you most of all for bringing your charming companion. Adiba, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said in a small, deferential voice.

“Come. Let us move out of the heat. And, young lady, don’t make me feel older than I am. Please, call me Nazar.” Adiba delivered a forced smile. Her grip on Abdul’s hand was borderline painful.

Nazar proudly showed off his home. He drove them through the grounds in a golf cart, pointing out pieces of sculpture he had acquired. The gardens were built with local stone and exclusively featured native plants, no swimming pool or opulent water display. Nazar explained that it would be disrespectful to the people of Jordan to waste such a valuable commodity on ornamentation. He spoke at length to Abdul about his new business direction.

“After spending time with you, Abdul, I am confident your report will be accurate and fair, which is all I ask. I anticipate making a significant announcement about my alternative energy plans in the next few weeks. I will send you an invitation to the press briefing. It will take place in Phoenix, Arizona, and it will be a UK exclusive for the
Times
.” The news thrilled Abdul.

For supper, they selected food from a buffet laid out in a room Nazar told them was modeled on the cocktail lounge at the Hotel Alfonso XIII in Seville, Spain. Red silks draped the ceiling, giving the impression of being inside an elaborate marquee. Pale cream furnishings with clean, simple lines and red accents sat low to the ground. Nazar explained that he had once attended a meeting there. The room had seemed flawless to him, so he commissioned his designer to replicate it.

“An old man’s folly, I’m afraid.”

“No, it’s perfect,” Adiba said in a rare spontaneous outburst.

“How is your family, Adiba?” Nazar asked.

Nazar had seemed to understand her discomfort with the opulent surroundings. He had addressed himself to Abdul for most of the day. Only now, when she had freely spoken to him, did he respond with the most polite question one Arab could ask another.

“They are well, thank you for your interest, Nazar.” The quaint formality of her reply made Abdul’s heart race. She was perfect.

“I have a picture. Would you like to see them?”

Nazar smiled. “I would be honored.”

Adiba lifted her purse and produced a worn photograph; she moved to sit next to Nazar and pointed out her family.

“This was taken recently, but I’m sorry the quality is not—”

“Please, name them for me.” Nazar studied the small, creased picture.

“Father and mother, of course; these two are my brothers, Dani and Fadil, and this is my younger sister, Lana.”

“One day, she will be a beauty like you. How old is Lana?”

Adiba blushed. “Lana just turned sixteen.”

“She looks much younger. You know, I was also raised in East Jerusalem. I walked two miles to school each day. What school does Lana attend?”

Listening to their conversation, Abdul felt excluded. Adiba smiled at the photo and became animated, excited by the interest Nazar showed in her younger sister. Abdul sensed the deep love connecting her with the photo of her family, the representation of the five most precious things in her life. Ridiculous, he knew, but he felt jealous.

“Lana,” Nazar said. It brought Abdul back from his daydreaming. “A beautiful name and a beautiful family. Thank you for sharing them.”

Nazar stood and took a few paces away from his guests. “Now, we must be serious for a few moments. I confess to having had a wonderful, self-indulgent day showing off to you young people, and time has gotten away from us. It is almost 10:00 p.m. I suggest you stay the night and return in the morning to Eilat.” Adiba began to protest, but Nazar put up his hand.

“My dear, you, more than Abdul, should know that traveling by road after dark is an unnecessary risk to take. The border crossing is a far more suspicious affair at night.”

He softened his tone. “I know you didn’t come prepared to stay, but I assure you that I have a guest suite especially tailored to the needs of a woman. I am certain you will find everything you require for a comfortable night.”

To Abdul’s surprise, Adiba didn’t resist the idea; perhaps she did appreciate the dangers of night driving. For himself, he never wanted to leave this wonderful place and their fascinating host.

Nazar guided them to their suites on the second floor and bid them goodnight.

Thirty minutes later, Nazar sat alone at the desk in his bedroom. A black silk robe draped loosely around his naked body. He stared at two fifty-inch, wall-mounted monitors. Each screen split into eight windows, one for each of the cameras in the rooms. A small touch-screen control-panel sat in front of him. In the top left window of one screen, Abdul sat naked and cross-legged on his bed, meditating.

Impressive, he tends to both body and mind.

On the second screen, Adiba explored her room, opening every closet and drawer to investigate the contents. She selected nightclothes from the dresser and carried them to the bathroom. Nazar touched the controls, and her bathroom filled the screen. She sat on the commode. The solid sound of her urine stream played from his speakers.

He enlarged Abdul’s screen, placing the couple side-by-side. Still and calm, Abdul’s lean body sported a modest six-pack. His olive skin looked smooth, but his musculature was that of a grown man, not a boy. This disappointed Nazar; at the hotel, Abdul had appeared less mature. Still, the boy was easily manipulated. Martin was correct. A positive image in the London press when he made his announcement about the ethanol refinery would be invaluable. Abdul would repay this investment of time and become a good asset for the future.

Nazar turned his attention to the girl. Adiba stripped off her day clothes and folded them carefully across the back of the bathroom chair. As she soaped up in the shower, he zoomed the lens, filling the screen with her face. Water droplets hung on her eyelashes. Without makeup, she seemed almost childlike. Her body, shaped with the curves most men desire, held no attraction for him. But her smooth, innocent face produced a ripple of arousal.

Adiba had spurned the more racy outfits on offer in the guest wardrobe and dressed in a modest full-length cotton nightgown that hung formlessly from her shoulders. Nazar approved. When she lay down to sleep, she left the light on low. He filled the screen with her face. Without the distraction of her woman’s body, it was possible for him to imagine her as she once had been—how her younger sister Lana would be now—innocent, frail, and unspoiled. He narrowed his eyes and pictured Lana’s childlike face in place of Adiba’s. He imagined Lana’s thin body beneath the cotton nightgown. Her breasts would be puffy and indistinct, just beginning to form, her pubic hairs soft, sparse wisps. His hand moved inside his dressing gown, and he stole her innocence for his pleasure.

The next morning, Mufeed served fresh fruits and hot croissants on the terrace. He handed Abdul a note and a business card: “Dear friends, I apologize for leaving in haste. Please linger over breakfast. This number will connect you with my secretary, Keisha. If I can ever be of assistance, you can contact me through her.”

After the chauffeur returned them to Eilat, they checked out of The Dan, and Adiba drove them to Ben Gurion Airport in the rickety old Datsun.

Adiba insisted on parking and walking into the terminal with him. He could hardly believe the chaos that greeted them when they entered the departure area. Line after line, thousands of people snaked around the concourse. He looked to her for an explanation. Surely a bomb must have gone off before they arrived.

“It is normal,” she said.

His mouth dropped open, and she laughed.

“You have much to learn about the Middle East.”

She stayed with him for two hours while he pushed his carry-on along the ground toward the security checkpoints. When only a dozen people remained in front of them, she touched his arm.

“I should leave. It will confuse them if they observe me waiting with you and not traveling.” On tiptoe, she kissed him full on the mouth, then dropped back to the balls of her feet and brushed a lipstick smear from his bottom lip with her thumb. Her eyes were dark pools. Abdul was sure his cheeks were scarlet. She laughed and moved to turn away, but he caught her shoulders, bent, and kissed her with force before wrapping her in his arms. Her breasts pressed against his chest. She folded into him, held him tightly, and whispered in his ear. “Please e-mail when you are safely home?”

“I will,” he said.

She bounced away into the crowd, but turned to blow him a kiss before she finally disappeared.

Chapter 12

Three days after the attack on the tube train, Detective Chief Inspector Quinnborne perched on the edge of a cluttered table in Scott Shearer’s office at the
Times of London
. Scott paced in front of his big window and Abdul and Rafiq sat at Scott’s desk. They listened to Abdul’s recording of his meeting with Ghazi.

“Can you describe him?” Quinn asked.

“The light was in my eyes, so I only got a glimpse. He had a scar on his face.” Abdul indicated with his finger where the cut ran. “He was a couple of inches taller than me, I’m five-eleven. And strong; he crushed my hand when we shook.”

“Was anything else said other than what we’ve heard?”

“No, I set up the equipment before he entered the room. That’s the whole recording. The meeting was briefer than I expected.”

Quinn glanced at Scott, who spoke to his staff. “Good work, Abdul. You also, Rafiq, I know you were guiding him all the way. Now, if you two will excuse us, I need a few minutes alone with the Chief Inspector.” Rafiq headed for the door. Abdul retrieved his digital recorder from the table.

“I’d like a copy,” Quinn said, handing Abdul a business card.

Abdul looked at his boss, who nodded. “No problem,” Abdul said.

Quinn had known Scott Shearer for over thirty years. He trusted the newspaper man and considered him a friend. Quinn hopped off the desk and thumped a fist into his palm. “You should have called me. You shouldn’t have let that kid go by himself.”

“I get dozens of these things each year. If I called you every time, I’d never get you out of my office. I couldn’t be sure it was a live one ’till we’d checked. Anyway, the
kid
did well, and I phoned you the minute I heard about the Oxford Circus attack. So what are we looking at?”

Quinn walked to the window. “You’ve put me in a tough spot. This is sensitive information.”

“It’s the same people who did the train, then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Quinn glared at Scott. “You can’t use this. If you shine a light on these bastards, they’ll be bigger than Elvis overnight.”

“What makes you so sure it’s Allah’s Revenge?”

Quinn’s jaws moved back and forth, grinding teeth. If he lied, Scott would know, and he needed access to Abdul. “Off the record?”

Scott nodded.

“They left a note on the train.” Quinn grabbed his coat from the rack near the door. “Look, give me the afternoon. I’ll get back with you when I can, by tonight at the latest.”