Chapter 18
Omar stood on the terrace, watching his lanky teenage daughter with her diving instructor as he drilled her in their Olympic-sized in-ground pool. Always a bright, sweet cooperative child, she bore no resemblance to her uncooperative mother. The fact that his heroin-addled wife had not given birth to her went unnoticed by all but his most trusted men. His loss of patience with his wife was hardly surprising as Jane slowly became more difficult to control. He had hoped that obtaining the child for her after the death of their own infant would satisfy her and she would become more malleable. No such luck.
He idly wondered when this adopted country of his would get its act together on the health front. It was inexcusable not to provide the best medical care to those who could afford it. Let the masses languish in the bureaucracy of socialized managed care; he paid plenty to avoid being lumped in with them. But even he must admit getting access to government vaccines was wishful thinking. Like the one for polio. U.S. distribution was mired in red tape, inefficiencies and incompetence. And the virus did not discriminate.
He glanced at his watch, noting the time for his wife’s injection approached. She must be getting very jumpy by now. He must remember to avoid her until she got her next shot. He detested his wife, especially when she begged for her fix; her revolting behavior offended his sensibilities. He chafed at the demands his handlers required of him in their quest to ensure he became the Socialist New World Party’s nominee for presidential office. He agreed with the imams, he did need a proper Anglo-Saxon wife and child for public consumption. And Jane came from a solid American family, one well known in the breadbasket of the country. Her family owned a very successful produce and cattle farm which had been passed down through the generations, keeping it in the family. Best of all, they didn’t rely on government farm subsidies. That made them very popular with the common folk and good for his career.
The fact that his heritage was Middle Eastern was no longer the obstacle that it once was, thanks to the emergence of the Muslim Brotherhood Party. But the Socialist New World Party held the power and controlled the country. Some thought they always would. Which is why, decades ago, the Brotherhood had prepared for this eventual possibility; with him. Yes, the Brotherhood’s Manchurian candidate. He smiled ironically.
To the world, he appeared to be the rising hope of the SNW Party; the party that had always bent over backward to their own detriment, constantly displaying their ridiculous political correctness and obvious hypocrisy. The party that believed keeping their constituency down and perpetually needy was the way to control them.
The radical Brotherhood’s constituency was huge. Out of fear, the SNW decided they could do an end run around the Brotherhood by offering their own Muslim candidate. He was Muslim, but not too Muslim; dark, but not too dark. With a socially-acceptable blond American wife from the heartland of the country, it would be an easy win over the Muslim candidate who would be offered by the Brotherhood; a candidate they planned to ensure would lose the election, handing the victory to him.
But even his handlers weren’t aware of his deepest commitment to the hidden agenda of the real power behind the Brotherhood. With his election, the SNW Party would be secretly headed by none other than The Salafis; the deepest, darkest enemy of the west and feared even by their own radical Muslim supporters. They would finally be in a position to destroy the evil in the west as they had long sworn to do, blaming another country in the process.
He heard laughter coming from the pool. The sounds diverted his attention back to the present and he watched his daughter execute a perfect dive off the board. He decided he would have lunch served out on the terrace where she could join him. He enjoyed taking more of an interest in her now that she no longer chased after her mother’s skirts like a child. He actually enjoyed watching the development of the person she showed signs of becoming. Yes, he could admit it. He nurtured a deep fondness for her.
He had not expected that reaction when Brooks had delivered the infant to them over a decade ago. She had been such a good baby. Knowing they could not lose her to another polio epidemic surely helped—one of the many requirements he had given Brooks was that the mother must have survived a bout with polio while pregnant. The gestating infant would then have the antibodies to give it immunity. He had not been concerned with the details of obtaining such a child. That was up to his men. Brooks knew never to disappoint. Interestingly, the report indicated that the search for a child had reached beyond U.S. borders to countries where the incidence of the virus was more prevalent. Looking at his daughter, none would suspect she had been born anywhere but in sunny Florida.
He picked up a phone and ordered lunch for two on the terrace. He preferred his wife not join them. Their relationship had evolved over the years, and in the beginning it had been exciting. The corruption of an innocent often had its moments.
Jane had clearly been in love with him when they married. He’d had to submit to all kinds of suspicion during their courtship, but his charm, ivy-league education, and impeccable, though Muslim, family history as moderates had won her family over. And one could not negate the powerful effect of craggy good looks and irresistible dimples on the insipid American female.
Not that Jane was less insipid than others. They were all that way. He had luckily been able to put his distaste aside long enough to get Jane pregnant. Later, he determined her attachment to the baby was unseemly and unhealthy—he was concerned that she would infect the child with her western entitlement philosophy. So the baby was turned over to a nanny. He then devised a plan to get his wife addicted to heroin as a way to control her. Her incessant whining about the child distracted him.
Unfortunately, when Sarasota was hit with the polio epidemic over a decade ago, they had lost the child. By then, Jane was firmly owned by the white powder and was in no condition to handle her grief. Her mind had temporarily broken.
Had the public known what they were going through, his plans would have been ruined. No one votes for a politician with a wife in the loony bin. So he put her in the attic instead. He turned her care over to his men. They knew what had to be done. It had not been easy—they had almost lost her as she wasted away and they’d had to use the defibrillator on her, twice.
When Brooks had finally obtained a suitable baby, she had been in the attic for over a year. By then, she wasn’t even sure who she was, and it had taken the slow introduction of the child to snap her out of it. But she would never again be the person she had been when he married her. She didn’t even remember the wedding or her family in the Midwest for that matter.
Jane had initially been easy to handle, even taking a small interest in his political affairs. Enough so that she was more than presentable when he needed to trot out proof of his normal American family. But it was becoming more difficult to have her around. She constantly interfered in his decisions for their daughter, and she could no longer be trusted in public.
That was going to get much, much worse as his campaign heated up. He was beginning to wonder how a recently widowed senator might fair in the polls. His closest competitor was the Muslim Brotherhood candidate, and a brave widower with a young daughter was beginning to sound appealing.
He was distracted from his musings by his household staff setting up the terrace table for lunch. He changed his mind and requested that his wife join them. She knew better than to refuse. His new idea was beginning to take shape. If he wanted to go through with this new plan, he had better be seen with her as often and in as loving a light as possible, even by the household staff.
Besides, he had a special present for his daughter. Dialing his secretary, he asked her to make sure the puppy was ready. He wanted it brought to the terrace right after lunch. It would be nice if they could use this as a photo op for the campaign. He asked her to alert the press and arrange their transportation to the island. He wanted their presence to be coordinated with the conclusion of lunch, allowing refreshments to be served to them after the
event. Yes, that would work out beautifully.
While the press stuffed their faces, and his wife and daughter played with the new puppy, he would excuse himself for an important conference.
The conference would necessitate him donning one of his disguises before the press left. He would mingle with the crowd as they were herded to his yacht to be taken back to the mainland, disembarking at Marina Jacks. Then he’d spin off from the crowd and walk the few blocks downtown to a waiting car driven by his mistress, who would drive them to The Oasis Club, fifteen minutes away. The exquisite home was on a private cul de sac, surrounded by palm trees and a private reserve where no one could observe their comings and goings.
Lita was a beautiful, intelligent and tempestuous Syrian woman. He had met her by chance at his mosque, had been instantly attracted to her, and was positive that she had no knowledge of his identity as a mover and shaker in U.S. politics.
Their relationship had flourished for seven years and she refused him nothing, no matter how brutal he became in his lovemaking. He had actually developed a real affection for Lita; a thoroughly genuine, likeable and very loyal young woman. He knew that positively, for he’d had his men thoroughly investigate her. He realized that by now she must know who he was, but out of respect, she had never alluded to it.
He wondered how he could continue to see her once the election was over. Perhaps, it was time for them to have a serious discussion about her future. Maybe she needed to play a more visible role in his life. Considering his plans for his wife, he thought a cushy yet prestigious job in Washington might be in her future. Giving a big smile and a thumbs up to his daughter as she checked to make sure he was still watching, he slipped down the elegant stairs to the pool to join her.
*
Omar’s daughter loved her handsome daddy. She knew he was an important man, because everyone fussed over him so much. Her mother said they were going to live in the big White House in Washington D.C. She wished they didn’t need to move. Her swim team needed her here. And her school friends would grow up and forget about her.
She knew that to be true because her daddy had told her she must learn to be independent and not rely on other relationships. Her mother told her that relationships were all she had to rely on. Her parents were very different. She knew she was loved by both her parents, but sometimes she felt very lonely. She wished she had a sister or brother. Everything would be so different in the big sunny house they lived in if she had a sibling to talk to instead of just her nanny or Mrs. Iskander, her father’s secretary.
Her best friend, Nancy, owned a little dog named Snowball, fluffy and white. Nancy treated Snowball like her very own child. It made her long for a pet of her own. One she could sleep and cuddle with when her daddy left home or when her mother was indisposed, which was much of the time.
Her daddy waved to her from the terrace of their bay-front mansion. She loved to excel at her diving, as it pleased her daddy so. She hoped he would be able to spend some time with her once her instructor left. Glancing up, she saw her daddy coming down the staircase and walking toward the pool with a big smile on his handsome face. Oh, goody, she just knew today would be a good day.
*
Lita set her cellphone on the counter. She had just received instructions from Omar; she’d be seeing him this afternoon. She hastened to the lavender Jacuzzi tub in her extravagant cream-marble bathroom to prepare for the riotous lovemaking that was sure to soon follow her collecting him from downtown. She found the constant charade of pretending not to know who he was exceedingly tedious. It was bad enough that her life had obsessively revolved around him long before she had met him. But he would never know that.
As she disrobed, she examined her lithe tapered arms and seductive hips. Faint traces of the ugly bruises, left by Omar the last time they were together, still existed. She rested her head on an Egyptian cotton pillow as she soaked in the Jacuzzi and tried to shake off her depression as she thought about how much of her life she gave to her job. She might have Syrian heritage, but Omar knew nothing of the fact that first and foremost she was an American, a very proud American. So proud, she had not even batted an eye when asked to undertake this undercover assignment over seven years ago.
At first, Omar Nasir had been a small potato on their radar, just another wealthy Muslim with some hazy roots and questionable sources of income. She had been part of an investigation which had followed his movements for many years.
It wasn’t until he had started his fledgling political career that her superiors had become worried; his rise in politics had been nothing short of meteoric. Her superiors had decided they needed to get closer, to ascertain how much of a threat he may be. Without hesitation they had selected Lita for the assignment. Single, beautiful, intelligent and, best of all, she could pass as Middle Eastern. Her cover was exemplary, impossible to pierce, as her last seven years attested to.
The most surprising aspect of this assignment had been the discovery of what an excellent little actress she was. Who knew? She had only improved as the years passed.
Her newfound talent certainly came in handy whenever he laid his loathsome hands on her. He made her flesh crawl. In the throes of passion, his handsome face looked dissipated and repulsive. But he had slowly started to confide in her; nothing big, just the occasional tidbit that, when linked with other information in his file, led them to conclude he hid an agenda.
They were already aware that he fed his wife heroin. Unfortunately, they could not figure out why. Perhaps she had discovered something deleterious about him. Successful politicians usually tried to avoid scandals and divorces; perhaps he had chosen to control her through an introduced addiction. Whatever he was up to must be very serious to go to that length.
They had also received an unusual tip a few years ago. Omar had attended the mosque in Sarasota for many years, but on certain occasions he would appear in disguise, as an old man. He would secrete himself behind private doors, off limits for everyone except the imams. This was the same mosque that had long been suspected of secretly supporting the Salafis. She shuddered at the thought of the Salafis getting a toehold in her country. They were an ultra-conservative group who believed life must be based on Islam’s past, including the worst of Sharia Law, and dedicated to the destruction of the West.
It was perfectly clear to Lita and her superiors that letting Omar Nasir win the election to become President of the United States would court disaster.
Chapter 19
Abby and Jose woke up refreshed and ready to tackle the new day. They both noticed how muted Scotty’s behavior seemed to be, so they decided Jose would stay with him in the suite to melt down more gold while Abby unloaded what they currently had ready.
They hoped their budding relationship didn’t make Scotty feel excluded; they needed to keep their unit tight. Who else did they have to rely on but each other? The fact that Scotty was still a teenager made it more difficult for him. Abby and Jose were each very aware of how difficult their teenage years had been, especially for Abby. And they had both enjoyed the support of other family members at the time. Scotty only had them. And Echo, of course, and Barney.
Scotty, Echo and Barney turned to watch them enter the kitchen, anxious to plan the day. They decided they would set up their equipment on the balcony, nicely secluded and private. It also gave Echo the exposure she needed for the sun. Abby would leave after lunch, when a cab would pick her up and take her where she needed to go. It was impractical to use the limo, and the less their driver knew of their affairs, the better.
The afternoon passed pleasantly. Barney and Echo sat quietly in one corner while Jose and Scotty did their work with the gold. Scotty seemed to warm up as they made progress, and soon the camaraderie they shared seemed as good as always.
“Did you know that the driving age in Florida is sixteen? You can get your permit,” Jose informed Scotty.
“Sixteen? You mean I can get a car?”
“Yeah, I don’t see w
hy not. I’m sure Abby wouldn’t have a problem with it, as long as you’re careful.” Jose smiled up at Scotty who looked simply amazed. Problem solved, Jose thought to himself. Never underestimate the power of a set of wheels on a teenage boy. Glancing at his watch, he wondered where Abby was; she should have been back by now. As soon as the thought passed through his mind, he heard the door to the suite open. Turning off their equipment and leaving the melted gold to cool on the balcony, they met Abby in the living room. She carried a recently purchased briefcase and, opening it up, she dumped out the cash.
“Time to get this to a bank. Shall we go and open an account here? A big branch of The Doyle Farmer’s Trust is across the street. We can go over before it closes. There were only two gold dealers in Norristown, so if we make this deposit we can leave in the morning. We’ll be way ahead of schedule and Peter’s calling tonight.” They had all decided that Peter should leave for Florida immediately to start house hunting whilst they made arrangements to leave Sussex County.
“Yes, he’ll have an update for us. Let’s get to the bank.” Jose leaned down, tying his sneakers’ laces.
“I’ll stay here. I think I’ll go online. I just want to check out what’s new on the auto horizon,” Scotty announced eagerly. “And these two need a babysitter, don’t they?”
“Auto horizon?” Abby asked.
“I’ll fill you in later.” Grabbing the briefcase, Jose took Abby’s arm, waved to Scotty and Echo and out they went.
Crossing the street, they entered the imposing lobby of The Doyle Farmer’s Trust. Along one wall of the lobby was the history of the bank.
Strolling over to the wall they noticed a well-guarded display of old gold coins. Reading the captions, they discovered the coins had been donated to the bank by the founder, Mr. Robert Doyle himself. They were part of an important collection that had belonged to his family for decades. It went on to say that one coin had been stolen and never recovered. Alongside the collection was a photo labeled ‘Mr. Robert Doyle and his first wife, Netty’. Abby studied the photo, a formal sepia-tone portrait of the husband and wife taken on their wedding day. He looked stern; she looked luminescent. For some reason, she found the face of Netty Doyle arresting. Why would that be? Perhaps she resembled someone Abby knew. Looking back at the coins, she did a double take. They looked just like the coin Scotty had found in the woods so long ago. Could it be that Scotty had found the stolen coin? It’s a good thing he never tried to sell it. Mr. Doyle’s estate could probably make a claim on the coin.
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