Come Home

by Patricia Gussin

“Everything you need is in that briefcase.” Jafari had pointed to the large legal-size leather bag. “That’s all you think about. No matter what happens …”

  On the way to the airport, Ahmed couldn’t help but dwell on what Jafari might have meant. He’d sounded almost threatening. He hadn’t paid much attention to the details Seth had compiled. Business bored him.

  Why hadn’t he appreciated how deeply he loved his career? How much satisfaction he got when he made a body more attractive, a face look decades younger. And, he realized now, he wanted to get back into more serious plastic surgery, use the reconstructive techniques he had learned in his fellowship. The fellowship he had shared with Nicole, the mother of the little boy who sat next to him, tugging at his arm. The woman he loved—he knew that now—and he was no longer afraid to admit it to himself or to others, his family included. As soon as he got this little family financial business assignment behind him, he and Alex would return to America. No matter what his father and Jafari did to try to keep them in Egypt.

  “Daddy, will we see Mommy tonight?”

  Ahmed told his son the truth. “No, we have to go to another place for just a while.”

  Alex’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Aunt Aurera said we can go home.”

  “Not quite yet. Daddy has to do some work. We’re going to a nice place. A country called Uruguay. Ever heard of it?”

  “No. I want to go home. Daddy, I’ll go to that new school. Mom took me there. It’s okay. I’ll go, I promise.”

  Alex had grabbed Ahmed’s hand, starting to squeeze it. What could he say to make his son feel more secure? The child looked so much older, wiser than he had when they’d left Philadelphia only five days ago.

  The pilot announced in Arabic that the seat belt sign had been turned off. They could get up and walk around. Ahmed obsessively wanted nothing more than to be off this plane with Alex. To catch the first flight out of Montevideo into New York JFK and to deliver his son to his mother. Then he could return to take care of Masud business, as instructed. Ahmed didn’t know what would follow. But he did know now exactly what he wanted: Nicole in his life.

  “Daddy, they were mean to me. My cousins,” Alex said. “They teased me ’cause I can’t talk Egypt. Aunt Aurera hit me when I didn’t say things right. I tried not to cry …”

  Ahmed struggled for calm. He noticed Mohamed—the presence across the aisle—start to take notice.

  “You’re okay now, Son,” he said, unfastening Alex’s seat belt and pulling him onto his lap. “You’ll be going home soon.”

  “I miss Mommy so much.” Alex started to cry, sobs that tore at Ahmed’s heart. What had he done? He had to make this right—get them all in one comfortable space: home. Especially with dangerous upheaval brewing in the Middle East, Alex did not belong in Egypt. Ahmed knew that—finally. How foolish he’d been. His only comfort: he’d seen his father, paid his respects before the old man died, acquiesced to his wishes.

  Soon the Masud family would inherit a new patriarch. Jafari could run things—just not Ahmed. After being all but imprisoned by Jafari in the compound, he wasn’t about to stick around and take orders from his elder brother for the rest of his life. But top priority was to get Alex home to Nicole. If that worked out, he’d come back to South America and follow through on the business in the briefcase—but first his son must be safe.

  And Nicole?

  She’d left a message that she was back in the office, managing their practice. She’d be swamped—old patients, new ones. He needed to be there with her. They could still live their dream. Couldn’t they …?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “WON’T BE LONG now,” Rob said as they waited in a short line to deplane. The Delta Air flight to Cairo landed midmorning, a half hour behind schedule. He looked refreshed, had even managed to shave in the tiny bathroom. Nicole had been unable to sleep, had tried to read, but gave that up, too. She knew now that Rob snored. Ahmed did not, and for that she’d been grateful since their early days … They had been sleep-deprived surgical trauma doctors, called at all hours to fix the major facial trauma results of vehicular accidents, knife and gunshot wounds. The doctors’ nightly menu in an inner-city ER. As often as not, they slept in hospital beds assigned to on-call doctors. They were the only two reconstructive surgical fellows, so they’d alternate call between them every other night. The challenges of that work life had brought them close, stressed, yet happy. And then the joy of Alex … How could that all have eroded … And so quickly …

  She would see Alex today.

  “You okay?” Rob said.

  “Yeah. I was just thinking how embarrassed Alex will be when I pick him up and hold him so tight that he can’t squirm away.” I will never let go of my son again. The passengers started to move forward.

  She would hold him like a baby. She could feel his little hand in hers, feel his silky black hair, feel his soft cheek. She wouldn’t let go. The vision felt so real that she grinned.

  “Got Natalie’s passport?” Rob checked as they made their way through a series of corridors to Customs.

  “Yes, dear.” A cute response, but Rob truly was a dear to be here with her, for her. God knew he had his own problems. On the flight, he’d told her of Natalie’s dilemma. How torn she was trying to do her job for Keystone in a crisis while doing everything she could to help get Alex back. Natalie had offered up her husband—how sisterly was that!

  They made it through passport control without incident, collected their luggage, and found the man with their name handwritten on cardboard. He led them to a parking garage. Forty minutes to their hotel, he said.

  Central Cairo. Berk rode shotgun. Nicole and Rob in the middle and the three Hunks in the third seat in the back. For most of the ride, their driver kept up a tourism patter in adequate English. The cool weather. The top tourist attractions. He could arrange tours. Where to go to eat. What local foods to try. Seemed like a normal driver, Nicole thought, but connected, no doubt, to Berk’s network of professionals.

  When the vehicle made the turn onto the hotel property, it came to a stop behind the car in front of them. From positions near a guard booth, two men in crisp tan hotel uniforms approached, one to each side of the Land Cruiser. Berk looked unconcerned. Just a security inspection. Nicole watched curiously as the men risked messing up their sharp uniforms by kneeling on the concrete driveway. Each of the two men used a wand, mirrored at the end, to scrutinize the Cruiser undercarriage. Then the partner who seemed to be in charge motioned for the driver and front seat passenger, Berk, to step out. Both men entered the front seat, peering under the dashboard, snapping the glove compartment open and closed and clinking some small parts Nicole couldn’t see. Apparently satisfied; the second partner gestured for the driver to open the latch in back. No need to disturb the three physically imposing Hunks during this perfunctory piece of the inspection. Returning to the front, the lead guy gave the Cruiser hood a smart slap. “Okay,” he said at last, eyeing the driver: “On your way, man.”

  They were met at the portico by liveried bellmen who ushered them inside and attended to their luggage.

  As Rob and Nicole entered the hotel lobby, Nicole looked up at her “husband,” touched his bicep. “Rob, what about that whole routine back there—” affectionate, wifely smile. “This really is—routine?”

  “Beats me,” he said, with a shrug. But just perceptibly, he winked.

  When the Johnson couple checked in, they were shown to a suite on the tenth floor. They ignored the king-sized bed that dominated the space, because if all went well, Rob and Nicole and Alex would be leaving Egypt by private plane later this evening.

  Their suitcases were delivered shortly, suitcases that were just for show and would be abandoned here in the suite when they left the hotel. Nondescript tourist clothes, nothing that could be traced to them.

  Soon a knock on the door announced Berk and his men.

  Nicole—complicit with Rob—identified them by the color of their cre
w-cut hair. Hunk Ginger was her favorite, always sneaking her a reassuring smile. Hunk Black averted his eyes when they were face-to-face. Just shy, Nicole thought; she was convinced he would come through when the chips were down. Hunk White had a surly temperament, which made her think rescuing a small boy might be beneath his pay level. When this was all over, she’d share her Hunk impressions with Berk.

  Berk wanted the team to go over once again Nicole’s hand-sketched map of the Masud compound. They’d be infiltrating late in the afternoon, once they’d confirmed as best they could the whereabouts of the family. Berk trusted his surveillance specialists and technology.

  As Berk explained the plan, Hunk Ginger handed Nicole a backpack. “Nicole, you wear the wig, okay? The hijab, loose slacks, and a long-sleeved top; your radio communication is in there, too. Just like we’ve rehearsed.”

  Nicole nodded, anxious to get started. Rob slung a supportive arm around her shoulders.

  As soon as Berk and team left, Rob suggested they try to nap. “I’ll take the couch,” he said. The bed actually occupied most of the room.

  Nicole thought she could take advantage of the three-hour stretch before the ride to the compound. During her medical training, she’d learned to drop into a deep sleep at a moment’s notice, a knack that now failed her completely. Since Ahmed had taken Alex, she felt her life had been stolen. She had only one thought, one goal—get her little boy back. When she allowed herself to think about what Alex had been going through—without her—this past week, she tried to paint a pleasant picture. Sure, he’d miss her, but Ahmed was a pretty good dad and would do all in his power to make Alex feel safe and happy. But what would Ahmed tell him about her? About returning home to Mommy? Surely, he wouldn’t terrorize their son by hinting that Nicole would no longer be part of his life? Or would he? Ahmed had not been himself for the past several weeks. Was his family applying that much pressure on him to return to Egypt? Permanently? Could he possibly plan to keep Alex permanently?

  Her brothers thought yes. Berk thought yes. But they didn’t know Ahmed. She believed Ahmed did still love her. So why was he doing this?

  Not the point now, she told herself. By this evening, she’d have Alex on a plane heading home with her. Ahmed could figure out what came next for him. Would she take him back?

  Never.

  Well, it depends …

  * * *

  A knock at the hotel room door. “Ready?” Berk asked, as Rob let him in. “It’s three o’clock. We want to arrive at the compound at four.”

  “Where are they—the family?” Nicole asked.

  “The women are off the set, gone to the market. All but your mother-in-law.”

  “Merit and Aurera and Neema,” Nicole said. “Merit and Aurera would be trouble, but Neema has always been cordial.” Might Ahmed’s youngest sister actually take her side?

  “Harere Masud has been staying home mostly, perhaps to take care of her husband. We have intelligence that your father-in-law is quite ill. Had Ahmed mentioned anything?”

  “No,” Nicole said. No reference by Ahmed to any Umi Masud health issues. He’d been on all those Sunday family calls. “Ahmed never mentioned any family illness.”

  “Arab men,” Berk said. Nicole thought she knew what he meant, but didn’t comment.

  “Did the men go to the Shooting Club?”

  Berk seemed to hesitate. “Jafari and his oldest son, Tadeo, yes, they went there. And Osiris left early this morning for his office. And …”

  “Ahmed?” Nicole prompted.

  “He has not been seen leaving the house today.”

  “I guess that’s good. What about Jafari’s other kids, Alex’s cousins?”

  “The women took the little girl with them. The fifteen-year-old is at a sports event. The eight- and ten-year-old boys are at home.”

  “I doubt that they’d be anywhere around Alex. They’d think they were too old to hang out with a little kid. Those two are roughnecks. I hope to hell they haven’t been bullying Alex.”

  “About half the servants have the day off,” Berk said. “There’ll be four bodyguards-slash-security. We’ve got six men. Two more will join us at the compound. Plus me and you, Rob.”

  Rob smiled. He seemed to be enjoying this mission, Nicole thought. “Still,” she said, “that leaves a dozen in the compound.”

  “You weren’t kidding—these people are rich,” Rob said with a low whistle. “Two dozen servants? Holy shit.”

  “Wait till you see the place, Rob. It’s big.”

  “Yeah. Maybe I’ll pick up some building design tips. That is if I ever …”

  “Let’s hope we won’t be there long enough for an architectural inspection.”

  “So I’ll give you a hand inside?”

  “We’ll make that call when we get there,” Berk said.

  Berk turned to Nicole. “From what you’ve told me about your son, he’ll come along with us, right?”

  “I think so,” said Nicole, praying she was right, that Alex would be her sweet, obedient young son. If he hadn’t been terrorized—too scared to do what she told him.

  Nicole and Rob exited the hotel via the main lobby, as instructed; Berk left separately but waited for them at the portico. She and Rob climbed into the middle seat of the Land Cruiser and Berk took the passenger seat. He already had sent on the three Hunks.

  On the drive to Giza, Nicole didn’t allow herself to be distracted by the street scenes she’d always found so fascinating. The colors, the smells, the sounds. The unusual cultural mix of Arab and Western garb. Men in suits, in shorts—even though the temperature wasn’t quite sixty—intermingled with men wearing the classic jellabiya with or without the striped kaftan bound by a fabric belt—she couldn’t think of the name. She remembered “innocently” asking Ahmed whether they wore anything under the long shirt-like jellabiya. Trousers, he’d said, deadpan—sometimes.

  Her mind was on one goal only—to hold Alex in her arms. She would never let him return to Egypt, not even to see his paternal relatives. She didn’t care if he never saw them again. But what about Ahmed? He loved his parents …

  Nicole snapped to attention when Berk announced, “We’re fifteen minutes away. All tracking well. No activity at the compound. That’s helpful. Remember, once we gain entrance, Nicole, we want you to go directly to the kids’ play area in the west wing. Grab your son, hand him over to me, then we’re out the same side entrance. If he’s not there, use your judgment and lead us either to the east wing where you think Ahmed will be staying or toward your in-laws’ apartments in back. Any interference—bodyguards, servants—we have stun guns and drug darts.”

  “What about Ahmed?” Nicole asked, but she knew the answer.

  “Your job is to find Alex. We’ll neutralize Ahmed. Whatever becomes necessary to get the hell off the set with your son. Shouldn’t take more than three minutes.”

  As they navigated to the Ring Road, every second bringing them closer to the Masud compound, Nicole realized how tightly she was gripping Rob’s arm.

  She looked at her watch. If Berk was right, in minutes, she’d be holding Alex on her lap. A private plane waited at the airport—an eleven-hour flight and a seven-hour time difference—and she and Alex and Rob would be home by eight p.m. Philadelphia time, and Natalie and all her brothers would be there to welcome them back.

  Their convoy made another turn and Nicole saw the Mori Sushi & Grill and Robiems. They were on Sudan Street. Traffic was light. They’d be there momentarily.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  ON THE FLIGHT from DC, after yesterday’s abysmal FDA session on Zomera, Natalie scheduled an all-hands-on-deck meeting of her medical and regulatory staff for the next morning, Saturday. She wanted to review with them all options left open by the FDA. She was adamant about finalizing the Zomera labeling immediately—they couldn’t allow cancer to come raging back in so many suffering patients. She told the team they must find the root cause of the reported deaths and develop an exp
licit warning to prevent any further unnecessary fatalities. A simple warning wouldn’t fly—they needed something specific. Her team had to find that something specific, and articulate it clearly in an effective warning for patients. Keystone needed to make available to cancer patients this drug—Zomera—that saved lives by killing cancer cells; the Zomera package warning needed to inform doctors and pharmacists and patients how to safely deal with constipation.

  She knew that each manufacturer of a constipation drug would lobby to keep their drug off the “not safe to use with Zomera” list. But no time for lengthy debate. Yes, Keystone needed rapid action to preserve shareholder value—no doubt her boss’ priority, but for Natalie this was all about keeping Zomera patients’ cancer in check. Concurrent goals certainly, but not necessarily shared by makers of laxatives. And among the types of laxatives made by many, many manufacturers, her team had to identify the dangerous ones and out them.

  The devil would be in the painstaking details of data analysis.

  She asked for a breakdown of each constipation-related death, with details on exactly what laxative and at what dose those patients had been receiving. She wanted details on all other medications—prescription and over-the-counter—and all natural supplements. She knew already the patients who had died had been taking narcotic analgesics—which she thought odd because as their metastasis decreased, so should have their pain. Could the root problem be that cancer patients had become dependent on narcotics and their doctors kept increasing their doses—not based on pain, but on their evolving addiction? That alone would account for a high risk of severe constipation.

  She asked for a sensitivity analysis of tumor shrinkage versus pain reported—stratified by opioid doses. If her hypothesis was right, the patients at risk had improving cancer and less pain, but were still being given larger and larger doses of narcotic painkillers. This message would be an easier one to get through the FDA. Everybody—prescribers, regulators, patients, relatives—was concerned about excessive use of narcotic pain medications. But the concern so far had not included cancer patients. Natalie was pretty sure that in Zomera patients it may be the concern. But she needed data to prove it. She told Dan Booker to bring in all necessary staff overnight, to evaluate the data.