A Family Affair

by Fern Michaels

  Trish ran down the gangway and almost tripped as she skidded to a stop at the open door, where a hostess grinned at her. “In a bit of a hurry, are we?”

  “It’s been nineteen hours,” Trish grumbled.

  “That it has. That it has,” the hostess said, commiserating. “Let’s get you seated and buckled up. We’re number two for takeoff. They’re deicing the wings as we speak. Then we can taxi out to the runway. How about some nice fresh, hot coffee and some delicious made-from-scratch cinnamon buns loaded with butter and frosting?”

  “Sounds good. Yes, I’d like that very much.” Trish realized then that she was ravenous. They’d run out of food in the VIP lounge hours and hours ago. It seemed a shame that she was the only passenger on board the flight when so many of her fellow passengers back in the terminal were still waiting to fly to their destinations. She wondered when Zack would make it out.

  At that moment, though, all she wanted to do was wash her face and hands and brush her teeth. Combing her hair might help a little, and perhaps a little makeup. She looked out the window to see all the busy maintenance workers and the heavy-duty snow-removal machines, all working at full capacity. She crossed her fingers and said a prayer that the plane would lift off without a problem and climb until they were out of the storm.

  She was going home.

  The meeting with the lawyers from International Alliance Capital had been over for hours already. The angry, disgruntled men with their fancy briefcases were gone, and Malik and Rashid were playing host to the emirs at a lavish late afternoon dinner.

  The eighty-year-old emir of Abu Dhabi fixed his watery gaze on Malik and asked in a frail, reedy voice, “How did you know, my son, that those men were thieves and that they were robbing our emirates blind while placing us in the precarious position we now find ourselves in?”

  “Study, watchful eyes, and common sense, Your Highness. We can make it right. I have already alerted the authorities, and matters will be taken care of. Having said that, we must take responsibility for turning a blind eye to what was right under our noses. As it is, the world is watching us very carefully. We do not need any more bad press. We all need the tourist dollars, but there are better, more honest people to help us with that.”

  The second-oldest emir spoke up, his voice as reedy and frail as his predecessor’s. “What did those men mean when they said we were”—he looked around fretfully as he tried to remember the phrase Jeff Davis had used—“sabotaging them by way of their passports and their bank accounts? What do we have to do with their country clubs and eviction notices? I didn’t understand any of that.”

  “Nor did we understand, Your Highness,” Malik said. “I think they were referring to things that were happening back in America. It’s all a mystery to me. What I still need to know is where they got the idea that we are hiding sixty-three billion barrels of oil and keeping it in reserve. Perhaps the Saudis are hiding it. It is not us.”

  A third emir, younger by only a few years, spoke next. “They are foolish men who think that is a possible bargaining chip. For us to keep them on our payroll. I, for one, am glad to see the last of them. I want a guarantee that we are rid of them and that we won’t be getting any bad press or people poking into our business over here.”

  Rashid stepped forward and spoke hesitantly after a nudge from Malik. “When a snake invades your personal space, the only recourse is to cut off the snake’s head. I think all of you did just that by not renewing International Alliance Capital’s contract. When you are dealing with billions of dollars of laundered money, there is not all that much we can do but take our share of responsibility. Accounts here in the emirates have been frozen as of early this morning. For now and in the days to come, it will have to be business as usual, until we can sort through everything to see just how much havoc these men have caused us monetarily.”

  “Life was peaceful until your father agreed to work with those men,” the oldest emir grumbled. His tone was just as fretful sounding as it was the first time he spoke. He popped a grape into his mouth and chewed as he looked around the table to see if the others agreed with him or not. They did, their heads bobbing up and down, even Malik’s.

  Malik’s voice was strong and a little impatient because they had gone over this many times in the past six months. “What you say is true, Your Highness, but you must remember that my father partnered with International Alliance Capital when things were bad here. We needed new business, and we needed the tourism. It all went bad when the money started to flow faster than we could handle it. I hesitate to remind you that I was not here, and I also understand that my father’s sins fall to me. What we’ve done now by chopping off the head of the snake is given ourselves breathing room to make wise, educated decisions from here on in. There is no rush.”

  The last emir sitting at the round table, a particularly close friend of Malik’s father, looked at Malik and said, “I sense much trouble for these men. My heart is telling me there are other forces at work here, not just us sitting at this table.”

  The other emirs nodded sagely, although truth be told, none of them had a clue. They were just ready to get rid of what they called a blight on the United Arab Emirates.

  The emirs grumbled among themselves for a few more moments. Then, as one, they nodded.

  The meeting was over, the lavish and bountiful meal on the table barely touched.

  The emirs’ departure was grand and a bit pompous, their pristine white robes swishing importantly as they strode through the palace, Malik and Rashid behind them.

  When the emirs were sent off with seemly bows and touches to the forehead, Malik dusted his hands dramatically. “I thought that went rather well. What do you think, Rashid?”

  “What I think is, the Four Js pissed someone else off besides the emirs, and whoever it is, is about to collect some blood. Not our worry, Malik. You up for a beer in the cave?”

  Malik’s voice sounded tired, but he put on his game face. “Nothing I would like better. Then I will take my medicine. Stop watching me like an expectant father.”

  “Who else is going to watch over you?” Rashid snapped, his patience at an end. He had to deal not only with a temperamental pregnant wife, Trish and her plane, which was finally airborne again, but also with His Royal Highness.

  The moment they entered Malik’s cave, Malik ripped at his headgear and pulled off his robe. He was wearing cargo shorts and a white T-shirt that said MÖTLEY CRÜE on the back. Rashid was dressed the same, except his shirt said NEW YORK METS.

  It was Malik who uncapped the beer and handed one to Rashid. “We’re both going to go straight to hell, with no stops on the way, for this. You know it, right?”

  “I do, and right now I don’t give a good rat’s ass!” Rashid said as he clinked his bottle against Malik’s. Malik laughed so hard, Rashid had to pound him on the back to get him to stop coughing.

  “Okay, one more, and that’s it. Sit, Rashid, and talk to me. Why do you keep checking your phone? I thought you said Soraya said it was a false alarm.”

  “I have calls in to the American embassy, to the members of the council, to everyone I could think of. I want to make sure those men get out of here and that they go empty-handed.”

  “Ah, I see. What or who do you think the outside sources are that are causing problems for the Four Js?”

  “I wish I knew so I could shake their hands.”

  “The money laundering is never going to stop, Rashid. But for now, we put a lid on it. If we stay vigilant, we might be able to contain it. That’s going to be your job. You do understand that?”

  “I do, and I will do my very best. And now it’s time for your medicine. I’ll fetch it.”

  Rashid handed over an assortment of pills, together with a glass of water. Malik ignored the water he was offered and swallowed the pills with the last of his Bud Light. Rashid didn’t even argue, because he knew Malik’s response would be, “At this stage of the game, do you really think it matters if I s
wallow those damn pills with water or beer?”

  “Go to your wife and hold her hand and tell her how much you love her. I’m going to take a nap and dream about my wife.”

  Malik was asleep even before Rashid exited the cave. Carrying his formal clothing, he tromped down the palace corridors, daring anyone to say a word or even look at him. Inside his apartments, he saw his wife pacing around in circles. Rashid started to quake in his sandals as he perceived his wife giving him the evil eye.

  “What did I do now?”

  “You made me pregnant is what you did. I am miserable with heartburn, and my stomach is cramping. How could you do this to me?”

  “If I remember correctly, you were a willing participant at the time.”

  “That was then. This is now!” Soraya shrilled, knowing full well the cramping was the first stage of labor. “This is it. I am not going through this again. Do you hear me, Rashid? I told the doctors to tie my tubes.”

  Rashid turned white. “You can’t do that!”

  “You just watch me! Owww!” she screeched, the sound ricocheting off the apartment walls. “Don’t you dare walk away from me, you coward! You stand right there and watch me suffer. Do you hear me, Rashid?” Soraya bellowed at the top of her lungs.

  “The whole place can hear you. They already know you are the worst patient in the whole world. Did you call the doctor? Are they waiting for you?” At his wits’ end, Rashid flapped his arms as he, too, started to pace in circles. “If I tell you a secret, will you shut up and allow me to wheel you in the chair to the clinic?”

  Soraya stopped bellowing long enough to say, “What kind of secret?”

  “All secrets are good,” Rashid said as he pushed his wife down into the wheelchair a maid had fetched as soon as her mistress started screaming. “I will tell you the moment I get you to the clinic, so you will have something to think about instead of terrorizing those poor doctors and nurses. No cursing this time, Soraya.”

  “This better be a really good secret, Rashid, or you will find yourself below level again.”

  Rashid was breathless as he sprinted down the corridors, pushing his wife so fast, she didn’t have time to scream. The moment he reached the clinic and the doors opened, he gasped, “She’s all yours!”

  “The secret, my dear husband!”

  Rashid leaned over and whispered, “I am leaving now to pick up Trish at the airport. I think we’ll make it back in time for me to welcome our new addition. If not, carry on without me.”

  Soraya forgot about how miserable she was. “Truly, she’s almost here? Did you tell Malik?”

  “No. I want it to be a surprise.”

  Soraya started screaming and bellowing again as she let loose with every cussword she knew, which was a lot. She stopped long enough to scream, “Go!”

  Outside the clinic doors, Rashid, his face dripping with sweat, leaned against the wall and slowly sank down to his haunches. “Why me, Allah? Why me?” When there was no answer to his question, Rashid pulled himself to his feet and walked back to his apartments, where he donned the white robe and his headgear. He called for a car and a driver and left the palace. He imagined he could hear his wife’s screams ricocheting off the palace walls. It wasn’t until he was inside the car that he let loose with a heartfelt sigh of relief.

  Chapter 19

  IT WAS ALMOST MIDNIGHT BY THE TIME THE CHAUFFEUR-DRIVEN car dropped Trish and Rashid off at the entrance to the palace. The deeper they moved into the palace, the quieter it became, until they turned the corner to head toward the clinic. They both stopped, looked at one another, and listened.

  “She’s not screaming,” Trish said.

  “I don’t know if that’s good or bad,” Rashid said, his voice jittery. He knocked softly on the door. A nurse opened it, her eyes wild.

  “What?” Rashid asked.

  “False labor. The princess is sleeping now. The doctor feels the baby will arrive by sunup. Please, please, do us all a favor and do not wake your wife.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” Rashid said, drawing Trish away from the door.

  The two looked at one another.

  “He was in the cave when I left for the airport.”

  Trish nodded. “I’m going to take a shower and get cleaned up.”

  “Come. I will walk you to your apartment. I did not tell Malik you were arriving this evening. Soraya said not to tell him. You know it is worth my life not to listen to my wife.”

  “I do know that. Are you sure there is nothing you want to tell me?”

  Rashid sucked in a deep breath. Instead of speaking, he simply shook his head.

  At the door to her apartment, Rashid did something he had never done before. He hugged her. Puzzled, she looked up to see only sadness and tears in his eyes. “Good night, Trish. I am going to leave you now. I have this . . . this . . . I need to see my children.” He whirled, his white robe rustling with the breeze he created.

  Trish frowned. Was he that worried about his wife? Not knowing the answer, she shrugged and entered the altogether familiar apartment, where she’d been so happy. She looked around; nothing had changed.

  She smiled when she saw that the huge bed was turned down, a fresh nightgown on her pillow. She knew even before she entered the bathroom that the tub would be filled with her favorite bath salts. Not that she wanted a soak just then. What she wanted was to wash her hair and take a nice long hot shower to wash away the smell of the airport and the stale air of the plane she’d been in for so many hours.

  Forty minutes later, Trish was perfumed and powdered and dressed in what she called her favorite muumuu, a long sky-blue gown. Her wet hair was piled on top of her head. She wore soft, comfortable slippers. The little clock on the night table told her the time was ten minutes past one in the morning.

  Her heart pounding in her chest, Trish left the apartment and walked down several corridors, knowing full well that there were many sets of eyes watching her. Like she cared.

  The cave was dimly lit. Malik was sprawled on the oversize chaise. She smiled at the cargo shorts and the MÖTLEY CRÜE T-shirt, his favorite cave wear. He’d kicked off his sandals. She saw the four empty bottles of Bud Light. She tiptoed over to the chaise and sat down on the floor, her legs folded under her. She stared at her husband, her heart so full of love, she thought she would explode with the feeling. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. She made no effort to stop them. Nor did she make an effort to wipe the tears with the sleeve of her gown.

  Malik looked thinner. But, then, so did she, according to her sister, Emma. She leaned closer to stare at her husband’s face. In sleep, it looked drawn and gaunt. She chewed on her lower lip as she tried to understand why Malik would have lost weight. She understood her own weight loss but not her husband’s. She thought about Rashid’s sad, moist eyes, and her heart started to pound in her chest. Still, she didn’t move.

  Something in the cave changed. Malik shifted in his sleep, his legs straightened out, and then his eyelids fluttered. “Trish,” he whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “Why are you sitting on the floor? Why are you crying?”

  “I was watching you sleep. I don’t know why I’m crying.”

  “I missed you. You didn’t say good-bye.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I was upset with you.”

  “Yes. It is I who should apologize. I’m sorry, Trish. We need to talk.”

  “I know we do. I wish we had done that earlier. I needed to leave and to think about things, you know, to get my head on straight. What went wrong, Malik?”

  Malik struggled to sit up on the chaise. “Something no one is prepared for. At least I wasn’t. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

  “I would have helped you, whatever it was . . . is.”

  “I didn’t want you to know,” Malik said softly.

  “But why? I thought we agreed that there would be no secrets between us. You shut me out, Malik. What could be so terrible that you couldn’t share i
t with me? I love you. Together, we could have dealt with it. Secrets are for people who don’t trust each other.”

  “Not this secret. There’s no other way to say this other than to just tell you. I’m dying, Trish. When I left the palace, I was going from doctor to doctor, searching for a cure, but there is no cure. I don’t have much time left on this earth. Can you forgive me? And if you can’t forgive me for shutting you out, can you at least tell me you understand?”

  Trish didn’t trust herself to speak. Her world was spinning out of control, and there was nothing she could do about it. She nodded. Neither moved. It was as though they were both rooted to some unseen object that prevented either of them from moving.

  Somewhere deep inside her, way down in the depths of her soul, she had thought perhaps it was something like this, but she had never allowed herself to give voice to the horrible thought. Something so perfect, so wonderful couldn’t end like this. It just couldn’t.

  “Specialists in the States,” she whispered.

  “Been there, done that,” Malik said gently.

  “Switzerland. They have cutting-edge . . .”

  “Been there, done that. I went to the best. I didn’t overlook anything. It is what it is, Trish.” Malik reached for Trish’s hand. She scrambled to her feet and literally threw herself at her husband. He clutched at her, his whole body trembling as he held her. Their tears mingled as they crooned to each other, the words indistinct, but neither cared.

  A long time later, Trish managed to whisper, “What do we do now?”

  “I don’t know, Trish. I’ve all but turned everything over to Rashid. I’ll just be a consulting figurehead. When I’m gone, you will assume my role, and Rashid, along with Soraya, will be your adviser. Unless you don’t want to do that.”