street.
Matt inhaled the heady fragrance of the plumeria blossoms. The rich meal, several bottle of cold Amstel beer and the city lights added to his blissful contentment. Samir stepped onto the far sidewalk. And headed for the door of the restaurant.
The door handle seemed jammed. Samir pulled harder. The flash came first, followed by searing heat, then the shock wave. The front of the restaurant burst into orange flame, and then disintegrated.
For the next thirty years Matt’s nightmares would replay over and over that scene; his roommate’s hand yanking on the restaurant door and then the explosion. It couldn’t have lasted more than a second, the deafening explosion and the brilliant flash, just before the huge orange ball of fire. Samir’s high-pitched scream was cut off as he vaporized right before Matt’s eyes.
Matt couldn’t move or cry out. Samir’s death wail reached his ears, but only for a second, and then the blast’s shock wave hurled him against the stone wall, unconscious and bleeding.
Chapter Three
Bald Eagle Estate, Blue Ridge Mountains
“There’s the entrance to the clinic. Keep going, the Egyptian’s estate is a half mile ahead. And slow down, the ice on this road is tricky at this hour of the morning.” The ambassador sat back into the plush seat and looked out the darkened, bullet-proof windows. The driver and bodyguard, both armed, concentrated on the road ahead.
Turning left, they were waived through the gate, the guard not even coming out of his warm hut. “Wow, what a fortress.” The bodyguard studied the layout. “Most eyes would miss the electronic bullocks and tire shredding spikes submerged in the road.”
“You two know the drill,” the ambassador said, buttoning his coat. “Park the car and wait. And keep on the alert. I should be only a half hour or so.” His look skewered the driver. “And maintain radio silence. We’re not officially here.”
“Yes, sir.”
The ambassador opened the door. A cold blast of morning air made him shiver. He hated this evil place.
“Welcome, my friend,” cooed Mohammed al Nagib, still in his warm-up suit, his white hair reflecting the bright morning sun. “On time as usual.” They shook hands stiffly.
“I see you’ve been out for a walk.”
“As always. It gets the juices flowing and wakes up the brain cells. Must keep our wits about us during these, shall I say, interesting times.”
“And your dogs? For protection?”
Al Nagib smiled. “Good companions. They never offer opinions, just loyalty.”
“Such odd names,” replied the ambassador, cocking his head. “Rough and Tumble.”
“A little whimsy on my part.” His host gestured towards the large double door. “Shall we go inside? On a crisp day like this, some hot Arabic coffee is in order. Or should I say Middle Eastern coffee?”
The Israeli ambassador to the United States looked back at his car, now tucked into a small space just next to the circular driveway.
“Ah. You are looking at my statue. Magnificent, isn’t it?” The thirteen-foot bronze bald eagle, wings outstretched in full flight, dominated the circular driveway. Its wingtips shimmered in the cold sunlight. “It’s the American symbol of liberty and freedom. Did you know that Benjamin Franklin argued strongly that the Turkey should be the national bird? Perhaps he was prescient.” They laughed, then turned and walked into the main house.
The warm inviting aroma of bacon and eggs drifted out from the kitchen, situated just to the left. Silverware clattered. A maid giggled. Inside the colonial period breakfast room, the ambassador, a former Israeli Army general, pulled out a small electronic device, turned it on and slowly swept through a full 360-degree circle. All three lights remained green. He smiled, and then sat down opposite his host.
“We both have much to hide, Mr. Ambassador,” said his Egyptian-American host. “Sadly, that it is the way of the world. Politics makes strange bedfellows, and in our case, very strange indeed.”
“On that point I can easily agree.”
“Let me assure you, you have nothing to fear here in my home. This room isn’t bugged and we are perfectly alone.”
“As per our agreement,” nodded the Israeli, his back ramrod straight.
“I prefer the old-fashioned type of meeting,” Nagib smiled, “where two people, both with as much to gain as to lose, look each other squarely in the eyes, make commitments, and keep them. Nothing could be simpler, and it seems in today’s crazy world, nothing could be more difficult.”
Al Nagib picked up the silver pot. Steam furled from the spout. “Coffee, Mr. Ambassador?”
“Thank you, Mr. Nagib.” He took a small sip of the thick aromatic coffee. “As always, excellent.” The small cup met the saucer with a delicate chink.
“I asked for this brief meeting to make certain that everything was in order before we consummate our arrangement. I too believe in looking my partners, as well as my victims, directly in the eye. Is everything ready at the clinic?”
“Thanks to my modest funding and your exceptionally talented physicians, the new private wing at the clinic is ready and waiting. Tonight’s reception in Washington will provide the occasion to welcome our first guests to the private wing.”
“Splendid.”
“Why thank you, Mr. Ambassador. And of course I have no need to worry that you have a firm commitment from the senator?” Nagib passed a large bowl of dried dates and figs.
“He is most anxious to support the cause of the United States against those who threaten its borders and its people. And he already has the first deposit in his new Swiss bank account. Ah,” the ambassador held a date up, admiring it, “Medjoul dates from Jordan. We have a hard time getting them in Israel.”
“Then this unruly terrorist cell will be discovered by your people?”
“There is an excellent possibility. And if all goes well, it will soon be under our control.” The ambassador savored the sweet dried fruit.
“It is good that we have a common goal,” Nagib said. “It proves that Israelis and Arabs can work together.”
The Israeli’s eyes narrowed. “Do not delude yourself, Mr. Nagib. My purpose is to safeguard the nation of Israel, at any cost. Your only purpose is profit.”
A glass shattered in the kitchen. The ambassador turned with a start. Al Nagib remained motionless.
“Perhaps we differ in motivation, but not in the end result,” the host laughed nervously, standing up to escort his guest out. The ambassador’s car crept forward. As they walked out the front door, another cold blast of air buffeted the general. He shivered more deeply this time. The bodyguard held the door as the ambassador turned and nodded farewell. Mohammed al Nagib replied with a faint wave and returned to the breakfast room.
“Demetrie?” Al Nagib’s voice echoed.
Demetrie Antonopolis, brown hair tied back in a long pony tail, stepped through the glass doors facing the enormous garden. “I got every word clear as a bell from the pool house,” he announced. “These new laser directional microphones are remarkable.”
The Egyptian stared at the aging international playboy, and professional assassin. “Process and file it with the other recordings, and send digitized copies via our secure network to the others.” Nagib watched him closely. “We’ll be leaving for London this afternoon. Make certain the Falcon is fueled and ready. Do not be late this time. And for your sake, leave the hashish at home. If it weren’t for your father, I’d consider you more of a liability than an asset.”
