by Lynda Filler
“Tell me about Afghanistan.” The journalist’s curiosity kicked into high gear. This could be a great TV special.
He looked off into the distance, his eyes clouded over, and he took a very long deep breath.
“Maybe another time. Tonight, let’s toast new friendships and happier things like love.”
Rosy excused herself to go to the restroom. She turned back and realized neither seemed the least bit bothered by her departure. She checked her watch and saw it was just after ten pm. It had been a long week, so she decided to let the lovebirds have some privacy. When she came out of the washroom, she was assaulted by a man with a weapon raised.
“Stay inside! Get back in the bathroom, you’re safer there. Only come out when I tell you!”
Rosy was trembling. She screamed out for Sabrina and prayed she was alright.
She heard Rosie’s cry, but she also knew Xavi had sent one of his men to push her back. Sabrina was crouched behind the bar, shaking. She watched the SAS boys, Xavi’s friends, form a protective circle around the two of them, their weapons raised and ready to use.
“What’s happening?”
Xavi leaned down and assured her she needn’t worry. He would protect her.
“From what??”
“There’s been a terrorist attack on London Bridge. Our security team just reported it.
Suddenly, they heard glass breaking and pedestrians screaming.
Sabrina crawled low behind the bar while her friend was focused on the door and his fellow men and checked for service on her cell phone. She had a strong signal. She made her call.
She whispered into the phone.
“Rob. Connect me to the network and put me online. I’m going live! There’s been a terrorist attack at London Bridge and I’m in Café Brood in the middle of it all.”
“Oh my God, Sabrina, are you safe?
“Yes. Now do what I say. Immediately!”
“Okay.” She waited, then turned her iPhone video, facing her own image, and listened as Rob cut in and went live with a quick intro.
“We have Sabrina Sayyid reporting LIVE from Borough Market. Go, Sabrina.”
“I’m in Café Brood. I don’t know much yet, except that I can hear screams and hysteria coming from the Market area. I’m safe behind the bar at the Café, where we are lucky to have a group of military men back from Afghanistan to protect the patrons.” She rose slowly from the protection of the bar—the military boys were moving cautiously toward the front of the restaurant. Sabrina crouched low, made her way quickly hugging the café wall, and remained out of view of the street. She reached the windows at the front and edged her phone up to the window ledge. She risked a quick look and could see the chaos inside and out of other establishments. She pointed her cell phone, recording live.
“I can see outside, and people are falling all over the place. I can’t quite make out what’s happening, but everyone is running in my direction away from the bridge area.” She stopped, breathless, scared but determined. “Oh, no, I can see a man wielding a sword. He’s covered in blood. Wait. The SAS boys from the bar have their weapons out; and they’re running out of the restaurant to protect the public. They’ve shot one terrorist. I see another one now! There are people lying lifeless on the ground!” From her left, a hand grabbed her by the arm.
“What are you doing? This is a terrorist attack. Stay down!”
Sabrina’s phone hand shook, but she still managed to televise a live video of a man with a ginger mustache, his ball cap flying off his head, running toward trouble. He stopped, took aim—one killing shot—and the final terrorist lay dead. Sabrina stopped her recording.
Her phone was vibrating. She thought it was from the adrenaline and near-death experience, but it was her producer.
“Sabrina, that was incredible. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m shaken, but okay.”
She watched a security team surround Xavi and whisk him away. He turned, looking for her, smiled and waved.
“Yes, did you catch the last terrorist going down?”
“Yes. This will make you a media star!”
“I don’t care about that. I was only hoping to save some lives and have a visual of the terrorists for the authorities, in case they got away. It’s good for the country to know that a well-known Muslim journalist does not sympathize with the methods of ISIL.”
“Well, you did better than that, Sabrina. You caught a photo of Prince George Xavier protecting his country. It’s not every day that a journalist gets a shot of the future King of England securing the realm.”
Sabrina was stunned and overwhelmed. The Muslim reporter leaned up against the rough-hewn wood wall and put her head in her hands. She cursed Aphrodite and started to cry.
10
Somewhere in the Middle East
THE GLOATING ARAB watched the newsfeed live-streaming on BBC from London Bridge. He laughed and nodded to his number one aide to get a look at the carnage.
“So far, five dead and two holding on. And look at the wounded! I love to see British blood flow.” He lit the last Gauloises in his pack, against doctor’s orders.
His aide looked at him accusingly.
“What? My lungs are messed up from this horrendous sand! This desert will kill me before the cigarettes.” He turned back to his computer.
“We have a special report coming in from Sabrina Sayyid, onsite at the killing zone in the Brood Café.”
The man laughed at the fear his recruits were causing for the head of the British Empire. He watched the reporter with a critical eye.
“Who is this girl, Mohammad?”
“She’s a Muslim journalist. Her family are very wealthy people. She’s well educated, but unmarried. She is not a good role model for our women. I’ve heard she refuses to wear a burqa or even a hijab in the presence of her father. The family own retail investments and banks. You have heard of the Sayyid, yes?”
“Yes, but I didn’t realize they had an unmarried daughter of her beauty. Get me more information about her immediately!”
“Yes. Right away.”
He pushed his computer away and strode out of his luxury tent. Not even the stars wanted to make an appearance in the pitch-black moonless night. His men stood guard around the perimeter of their compound. Nothing moved within twenty kilometers, except the camels he maintained for sport and the occasional racing wager.
In this separate tent, he kept his communication center. He controlled access to satellites and monitored all ISIL operations around the world. His mind was focused on London Bridge. His single-minded purpose was Inflicting pain and fear. It was a small event, not enough killed, but it showed the Western world that nowhere was safe from him. His men died martyrs for the cause; there were thousands more prepared to fight right behind them.
This time, he was making a difference in the world. This year alone, he had carried out over one hundred acts of terrorism around the world. Enough to keep the attention of the first world powers focused on terror. They were running scared and his mission was to crush them, in the name of Allah, of course. And if he acquired unimaginable wealth from his other, rarely talked about interests, so be it.
His aide scurried to his side.
“Here’s her file. I printed out and placed links to everything in your email. Also, there is a link where you can see more videos of her work.”
“Tell me more about her. School? Men?”
“Her education is London School of Economics and Political Science. She graduated at the top of her class. And there are no serious relationships in her life as of this moment. Will there be anything more?”
He dismissed his aide with a nod of his head, his fingers already opening the file.
He read far into the evening. The lights were extinguished around the camp, the guards were changed, and campfires were left to burn out. He studied her videos, over and over again; and he read her family history. By morning, he’d barely slept an hour. He had one thing on his mind�
��Sabrina Sayyid.
11
17th Arrondissement Paris, France
“RASHA, THANK YOU so much for your hospitality. Alice has a talent for languages and I see Amira is teaching her words in Arabic. That’s excellent.” She watched Alice playing with Amira and her adopted brother Kamar. He sat, shyly watching the girls jabbering in a combination of languages he had yet to learn.
“It is me who will always be grateful to you and Mr. Raven for rescuing me from the closed border. We are forever in your debt. We are very happy in Paris, and you and your family are always welcome to come visit any time. Your daughter is young, I think, but she is very smart—like her mother.” The agent code-named Luci smiled. Then laughed. She had never had what you would call a normal life, and these last few of months as Samaar in Paris had been tranquil.
“Maggs, are you ready? We should be going, Rasha, and let your children get to bed. How are they adjusting to school so far from Syria?”
Rasha lowered her voice. “It’s as if Amira knows her father will never return. She doesn’t ask, and she still comes to sleep with me at night. But school in this neighborhood has many children of Muslim background, and she is learning to read and write in English, French, and Arabic. I am proud of her.”
“And Kamar? When you found him alone in the refugee camp with papers sewn into his clothing and no family, did you think he would adjust like this? Look at him, holding the dolls for the girls!” They both laughed. The perfect little brother.
“No, I didn’t think he would adjust. But I think he knew his mother was dying. And he was prepared for change. He’s slower at school than Amira, but there’s a male helper in the class and he is spending time with Kamar. Samaar, I can never thank you enough for saving our lives and finding a home for us in a country where we can be free.”
Luci the assassin, turned away from the outpouring of emotion. She was trying to live a normal life, but it was all so foreign to her.
“Come Alice. Mommy is ready to go.”
Maggs walked out of the family kitchen with her arms full of Arabic delights. Luci laughed at the flour on Maggs face. Dressed in black pants and a long-sleeve sweater, even Mme Sying—may she rot in hell—would never have guessed that this woman was the femme fatale of the Katching Kitten Ball at Versailles.
“I’m learning to cook all over again. They certainly didn’t teach Arabic delicacies at the Michelin Culinary Institute in the South of France. We will have to spar later to make up for all this honey-sweetened pastry.”
They said their goodbyes and took the lift to the first floor. An armor-plated Mercedes purred discreetly. The doorman held the door for them while Luci’s security man’s eyes focused outward, making sure the neighborhood was secure.
Even in Paris with the changes to her face, Luke insisted that Luci and her family be provided with around-the-clock surveillance. Maggs was ex-special forces with many interests outside her military training. Luke had chosen her to be both a companion, major domo, and protector of Luci and Alice
After all, one of the world’s most wanted assassins would never truly be able to blend in with the locals in any place around the globe. And Luci knew it.
12
SABRINA WRAPPED A cashmere sweater around herself. It wasn’t really chilly outside, but she kept shaking. The company doctor said it’s a post-traumatic physical reaction to the events of the weekend. But she knew better. She’d always wanted to have a high visibility position that being a network star would bring her. Now, she was totally conflicted. She wasn’t afraid of the events surrounding the attack. It was something else entirely. She hadn’t realized until that night, how much she craved a relationship and a family with a man like Xavi.
Xavi. Every time she thought about him, she cringed. Was this some kind of game he liked to play with women? How could he? For a few hours Saturday night, she’d been enthralled and totally turned on by this man, this Prince! Slumming with the commoners. Did he know who she was? Couldn’t he see her Arabic features?
“Damn! I’m a Muslim!”
She was interrupted by her cell phone.
“Mother. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Sabrina, but your father is very upset. He always worries about you. Your job is, well, it’s not what he wants for his daughter. You could have been killed Saturday night!” Her mother tried to hold back her sobs.
“Mother. We’ve talked about this before. I told you, I won’t be going to war zones or outside Britain on assignment. I was out with friends at the Café Brood. Right place, but the wrong time. It could have happened if I was a doctor, or even a lawyer. That’s why terrorism is so insidious. It has no rules. No honor. It had nothing to do with my profession.”
“Your father wants you to have full-time security. He wants to send Khaled to escort you back and forth from work. Wait, before you say anything. You are now reporting full-time on terrorism. He’s right to say a Muslim woman is asking for trouble, to be so high-profile in the media.”
“Momma stop it. Tell Dad the station is looking out for me.”
Suddenly, there was a knock at her door.
“Look, Mom, I have to go. We will talk tomorrow. And stop worrying. I love you, Mom.”
“Take care, my daughter. I love you too.”
Sabrina sighed and walked toward the door. She hesitated to open it; her mother had made her nervous. Then, she remembered the Chinese food she’d ordered before her mother called.
“One second.” She grabbed her Louis Vuitton change purse and fumbled for the correct change for her order. She opened the door with the money in her hand. And her heart stopped.
“Oh, now you have nothing to say? You sure had plenty to say on the Tele Saturday night!”
She was at a loss for words. She’d cried her heart out when she’d arrived home from the Café. And now, before her was the Prince of England, holding a bag of Chinese take-out.
“Your meal, I assume? I hope there’s enough for two.” She saw two gentlemen standing discreetly by the elevator, watching as Xavi came into her flat.
He closed the door behind him with his foot, placed the food on the nearby table and took her into his arms.
“I’ve been wanting to hold you since you walked into the café on Saturday night. Ms. Sabrina Sayyid, this is not exactly how I planned my first date with the woman of my dreams, but Chinese food it will have to be. I did bring the wine. I hope you like red.”
Sabrina was still speechless and grinning, mortified that she was wearing Victoria Secret yoga pants and a ripped Rolling Stones t-shirt.
“Don’t you have anything to say, Ms. ‘reporting from Café Brood in the middle of a terrorist attack’, or do I need a weapon to get you talking?”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself, Prince Xavi. You could have called first.”
“Nah, I’m not that guy. I like surprises. Like the one you pulled on me when you stared across the room and my world flipped upside down.”
He stood there waiting.
He’s just a guy, she realized, a man unsure if the woman he likes will accept his attention.
She took the bottle from his hands, placed it beside the food on the table, then turned and leaned in for the kiss.
It was closing in on midnight. Who knew a Prince would wash dishes?
“Look, I know this is not going to be easy. But I’m willing, if you are.” His pale blue eyes looked at her like the high school nerd asking the prom queen for a date. He was Britain’s most eligible bachelor, and he wanted to date her. Was he crazy?
“I don’t know. It’s not the publicity or the media. I know what that can be like. But, you do know I’m a Muslim, right?”
Xavi looked at Sabrina with an intensity that made her squirm.
“I’ve been in the military for the last ten years of my life. I’ve fought alongside our troops in the Middle East. If anyone detests bigotry and labels, it’s me. All people are created equal. Religion is merely a way to control or incite the mas
ses. I will not be bound by convention. And that’s all I will ever say about that.”
Sabrina lowered tear-filled eyes. She didn’t know what to say. She was ashamed of the way her culture enforced archaic Sharia laws. She was horrified at the lack of humanity shown by terrorists, all in the name of Allah. And here stood a man, an important man who would one day be the head of the British Empire, who wanted to date a Muslim woman. She was so confused.
“Well, if you’re not afraid to meet my father, I guess we can see where it goes.”
His grin was contagious. They both laughed. Two kids on their first date, defying all the rules and conventions of their families for something neither of them was prepared to put into words.
Sabrina smiled and raised her wine glass in a toast “Bring it on!”
13
Several Months later, Paris, France
THE PARISIAN RETURNED from the bakery with a baguette, a quiche, brie, three croissants, a Le Monde newspaper, and two bottles of red wine, all meticulously organized in the basket of her bicycle. She admired the blooming pink roses surrounding the entrance to Parc Monceau and decided that after play school, she would make a picnic for Maggs and Alice. The three of them could enjoy the early days of spring and take some well needed sun.
Maggs greeted her at the door to the flat, smiling and ready for their morning routine.
“I’ll put these things away and we’re off.”
Luci set out her plan while Maggs followed her into the kitchen and both women put the purchases away. Maggs left the Brie on the marble counters to soften in the sunlight streaming through the high-east facing window.
“Let’s start our run on Rue Prony. We can do the urban run for an hour, then catch the gym at the community center in Lavallois Perrot and work on Krav Maga. I might go out tonight, it’s been awhile since I crawled the roof-tops. I can’t allow myself to get rusty.” Maggs nodded in agreement. She didn’t share Luci’s love of parkour, but she kept her skills in top combat-shape. The gym in the house didn’t offer enough action for either woman.