“I hope not.”
“What do you mean, you hope not?” Hawk asked, brow furrowed.
“If it comes to that, something has gone terribly wrong with my plan.”
“You already have a plan?” Hawk asked.
Blunt nodded. “And it has a legend that I think you’ll enjoy playing.”
Hawk’s eyebrows shot upward. “I can’t wait to see where this goes.”
CHAPTER 8
Asir Mountains, Saudi Arabia
MALIK BASHIR ADJUSTED HIS SUNGLASSES and leaned forward on the railing surrounding his patio overlooking the lush vegetation of the Asir Mountains. The Jabal Sawda peak cast its lengthening shadow over the valley below. Behind him, two bikini-clad women sporting stilettos reclined on poolside lounge chairs, mindlessly turning the pages of fashion magazines. Surveying the desolate road that snaked its way up to his fortress, Bashir tapped his fingers on the rail and kept the beat with the hip-hop sounds of Drake thumping from his sound system. Without any neighbors, Bashir didn’t need to worry about any complaints regarding the bone-rattling bass. It was one of the perks of living in a home carved into a mountain.
Noticing movement on the road, Bashir rapidly snapped his fingers, signaling to the women that he wanted the music turned down. They obliged, and he leaned out over the railing, bending his ear toward the movement he’d seen. Moments later, the vehicle he’d heard roared into full view. An oil tanker chugged along, beginning its ascent up the road to his mountain.
Bashir glanced at his watch and grinned.
Right on time.
It’d take at least twenty minutes for the tractor trailer to meander its way to the warehouse burrowed into the other side of the rock opposite his home. He called for Abdul, his new assistant.
Abdul moved swiftly across the patio, using his hands to shield his eyes from the women. Once he reached Bashir, Abdul stood upright and positioned himself with his back to the ladies.
“What do you need, sir?” Abdul asked.
The faint smile on Bashir’s face erupted into an enormous grin, followed by an unbridled guffaw. Bashir slapped Abdul on the back.
“Are you afraid Allah might strike you dead for looking at a beautiful woman?” Bashir asked.
Lips held tightly shut, Abdul shook his head.
“It’s okay to look,” Bashir said as he placed his hands on Abdul. Turning his reluctant assistant, Bashir made sure the women were right in Abdul’s line of sight.
Abdul closed his eyes, squeezing them shut.
Bashir used both of his hands to hold Abdul’s face centered on the female companions. “Go ahead, open your eyes. It’s not going to hurt you.”
Slowly, Abdul gave in, yielding first with his right eye and then with his left.
“Well, what do you think?” Bashir asked.
Abdul closed his eyes again.
Shuffling around to stand in front of Abdul, Bashir placed his hands on Abdul’s shoulders. “Look at me.”
Abdul slowly opened his eyes again, repeating the same pattern as he’d practiced moments before—first one, then the other. His face brightened when he saw Bashir.
Once Abdul’s eyes were opened, Bashir shot a glance skyward and shook his head. “They’re not going to bite you, Abdul.”
“It’s not that,” Abdul stammered. “It’s just that . . .”
“What? There are rules? Rules found in the Holy scriptures that tell us such behavior isn’t accepted? Is that it?”
Abdul looked at his feet and nodded almost imperceptibly.
Bashir’s eyes narrowed. “There’s only one rule around here that you need to know, and it’s this: Never question Bashir.”
Bashir grabbed Abdul with both hands around his neck and began to squeeze. For a moment, Abdul attempted to resist, flailing at Bashir before trying to loosen his grip. Bashir responded by tightening his hands around Abdul’s neck and applying more pressure. With his eyes, Abdul pleaded for Bashir to stop, but Bashir held firm for a few more seconds before finally releasing Abdul.
Abdul collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. After a few seconds, Bashir snatched Abdul by the nape of his neck and yanked him to his feet. Hesitant to look up, Abdul slowly raised his head and was met by Bashir’s steely gaze.
“Thank you,” Abdul said with a raspy voice. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. I just—”
Bashir grabbed Abdul’s shirt and thrust him upward so that his knees were even with the railing. In a single forceful shove, Bashir threw Abdul backward and sent him tumbling over the edge. Bashir stepped forward and peered into the ravine below, grinning sardonically as he watched Abdul bounce down the mountainside.
Bashir rubbed his hands together and turned around to face the two women who hadn’t even looked up from their magazines.
“What’s my only rule?” he asked aloud.
“Never question Bashir,” the ladies said in unison without looking up.
“That’s right: Never Question Bashir.”
Bashir sauntered over to the bar and poured himself a glass of vodka on the rocks. Swaying to the sounds of Drake still thumping over the audio system, Bashir gulped down the entire drink. He winked and smiled at one of the women who’d stopped reading for a moment to look up at him.
“This is going to be a great day,” he said.
Bashir poured another drink and walked over to the edge of the patio, staring down at the body of Abdul, now lying motionless several hundred feet below.
“Hasim!” Bashir called.
In a matter of seconds, Hasim Sattar strode onto the patio and stopped a few feet short of Bashir. Sattar glanced at the drink in Bashir’s hand.
“What do you require, Bashir?”
“The tanker is approaching. Are we ready to make the transfer?”
Sattar nodded. “Everything is in order. Do you want me to notify you when the merchandise arrives?”
Bashir smiled. Sattar was his most trusted confidante, a man who practiced the strictest of protocol even when it wasn’t necessary. Even when there was no threat of anyone eavesdropping on their conversation, Sattar still referred to the weapons as merchandise.
“I’d like that,” Bashir said, gesturing back toward the house. “Carry on.”
Sattar headed
