Come Home

by Patricia Gussin

  For a moment, Natalie hesitated. Should she call her mother? One o’clock Monday morning? Well, she would have had time to review the Zomera data, identify problems, provide suggestions. Then Natalie stopped in her tracks. Her mother would have done all that already, and she would have e-mailed her critique and have tried to call her last night and she’d have been unable to locate her and she would have called her brothers. By now they would be pulling out all stops to find her. This made her feel like a child. Must ask Mommy for help. Her brothers must check up on her. All her life, Natalie had realized that she was the un-dominant twin. She’d never heard that term, but how many times had she overheard, “Nicole’s the dominant twin.”

  “Nicole Nelson, please go to the American baggage claim office.” The public-address system, a loud screechy woman’s voice with a Spanish inflection.

  Natalie did not react at first. Thinking about Nicole. Hearing Nicole’s name. Take a step back. Then the page was repeated. “Nicole Nelson, come to American Airlines baggage office to retrieve an item.”

  Nicole? Here already? Had she misremembered the flight information? Then Natalie smiled. If Nicole was here, so was Rob. She spun around, looking for the American baggage claim area.

  Surrounded by international passengers, Natalie headed for the American Airlines counter. She barged in front of a line of customers. “Where is your baggage office?” she asked. She must have sounded desperate as the clerk suspended a transaction and in English directed her to the escalator. “One floor down. Just follow the signs; they’re all in English.”

  Natalie rushed to the Down escalator, jumping in front of an elderly man, excusing herself. At the bottom, she saw the sign with an arrow pointing to Airline Baggage Offices. She followed the sign, hoping Nicole hadn’t already recovered her lost item and left. American Airlines was the first in the lineup of clearly marked offices. She glanced inside. No waiting passengers. A young man wearing the airline insignia on his crisp blue jacket stood behind a podium. She was about to ask about Nicole when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She spun around. Double take. Ahmed.

  “Natalie?” His voice sounded strained, shaky. “Are you—? Is Nicole with you? I heard her name paged.”

  “Ahmed. Thank God you’re here.” Natalie tore her eyes away from Ahmed. Whirled around. Scanning the daunting space for Alex.

  “Nicole?” he asked again, his eyes, too, searching the surrounding area.

  “Where’s Alex?” Natalie asked, loud enough to turn heads of passengers walking the hall. “Archy, why did you take Alex? Where is he?”

  Her brother-in-law looked ghastly pale. Something was wrong with his eyes. Was he crying?

  “Where is Alex?” she repeated, her voice shrill.

  “No. I have to talk to Nicole,” he said, his hand tight on her shoulder. “Where is she?”

  “Senora, can I help you?” the young agent asked.

  Ahmed released her shoulder, and Natalie turned to face the agent.

  “You paged Nicole Nelson?” she asked.

  The agent appeared confused as he bent to retrieve an envelope. He opened it, pulled out a US passport, flipped to the photo page. “I believe this is yours, senora. Someone found it in the Immigration area. Nicole Nelson?”

  Natalie looked inside her bag. The pocket where she kept the passport was empty. She was Nicole Nelson.

  “Yes. Gracias.” Natalie reached for the document.

  “Recompensa?”

  Reward? Of course. She pulled two twenty dollar bills out of her purse, realizing she had left in such a hurry, she’d neglected to take much cash. She needed to find an ATM.

  The smile on the agent’s face indicated satisfaction, and he released the passport. Natalie turned, held onto Ahmed’s arm and all but dragged him to an empty corner.

  Where was Alex?

  “Ahmed, you took Alex from Nicole. Why? And why are you here? And where is Alex?”

  Ahmed stood beside her, ashen and trembling. “Nicole?” he said. “I must—”

  Natalie touched his arm. Definitely thinner. Maybe she should bring him to the café across the hall. Why was he not answering?

  “Ahmed, Nicole is—”

  “We have to go, Natalie. Now.” Ahmed pulled her by her hand toward the section of the terminal marked “Ticketing.” She still didn’t know where Alex was. Why was Ahmed acting so weird? Did he know Nicole was on her way here? To Uruguay. Had he left Alex in some kind of childcare facility?

  He led her to an enormous overhead departure board, electronic, ultra-modern. She stared at him as he stared at the board, searching—for what?

  “Air France flies there,” he finally said. “But I don’t have a credit card.”

  She adjusted her shoulder bag, turned, and with her left hand grabbed his. “Ahmed, what is going on? You have to tell me. What are you talking about?”

  “We have to find Alex. Please. Will you help me?”

  “That’s why I came,” Natalie said. “I heard that you and Alex were flying here—”

  “He is in Monrovia. I have to go there. Can you help me?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  ON THE WAY from the business headquarters building to the Masud compound, Seth visualized the scene ahead, wondering with a smirk: Which first? I arrive home—surprise, surprise—everything else normal; or, the news of Jafari’s assassination precedes my arrival—the household in shock?

  Judging by the casual greeting at the gate, Tebu chatting it up with his pals as his security colleagues checked under the hood, checked the trunk, the undercarriage—the news of the explosion had not yet reached Giza home front. Good. He’d witness firsthand the tragic announcement.

  Seth had last been in Egypt ten months ago for a meeting on world cotton markets. Father had been thinner, less energetic, but ambulatory, active in business affairs. Mother had been her usual matriarchal self, but seemed to hand over more and more household decisions, not to her daughters, but to her daughter-in-law Aurera. That would change: with Jafari dead, his widow would be powerless, sidelined.

  Tebu proceeded up the long, manicured driveway. Neither of them spoke, the bond between them requiring no words. Seth had known Tebu would jump at the chance to assassinate Jafari—and replace Mohamed as top security boss. Ha! Wait until Mohamed found out that his former boss-protector had been blown to smithereens while he was off in South America doing whatever with wimpy brother Ahmed. Why the hell had Jafari sent Mohamed with Ahmed?

  Manservants met the van at the main portico. Tebu stayed with the vehicle as Seth’s carry-on was unloaded, and Seth walked into his home. He would locate his parents, be with them when the news hit. He wanted to play the hero. To take over immediately—overpower Sister Merit and Sister Neema—not that his younger sister would try for any control. But mostly, to leave no role for Aurera, Jafari’s domineering wife and mother of his four sons—and daughter. For forty years, I have been treated as the afterthought of the family. I will show them what I am and just who is in control.

  Without a word of greeting to the impassive staff, Seth headed for his parents’ quarters. He did not knock or in any way ask permission to enter their secluded living quarters. He wondered if Jafari asked to enter their sanctuary or whether he barged in at will.

  He had not thought much about his father’s illness—other than how to manipulate control of the family wealth when the patriarch passed. Now he stopped in his tracks, facing a hospital bed occupying the center of the large anteroom. All the other furniture had been pushed back against the walls. Three chairs stood on one side of the bed. In one of them, his mother slumped forward, dozing.

  “My son,” Umi Masud said. Hooded, tired eyes signaled recognition.

  Lying on the bed, propped to a thirty-degree angle, now the gaunt figure with sagging, yellowish skin, turned an almost hairless head toward the doorway, where Seth stood, immobile. His father had been tall, muscular, with lustrous black hair—and so vibrant, energetic.

  “Umi, w
hat’s wrong?” His mother had awakened, her head snapping upward; her eyes, bright with concern, reached Seth’s.

  “Oh, my son.” Mother rose, extending her arms to him. “Umi, it’s Seth,” she proclaimed.

  Seth struggled to overcome his shock. Sure, he knew that Father had cancer, but this? So feeble, so helpless? He let his mother come to him, to kiss him on both cheeks, to lead him to Father’s side.

  “Father,” he began. “I—”

  A rapid beat of footsteps approaching the room, cut him off. News of Jafari?

  Seth reached for his father’s thin, veined hand. A loud knock on the door interrupted.

  Mother turned toward the door, annoyed. “I will make sure no one disturbs you and your father.”

  A louder knock. “Mother, I’m coming in—” Merit’s voice, loud, with a hysterical note. The door opened, and his sister rushed inside, heading for Father, stopping abruptly on seeing Seth.

  “What are you doing here?” she said, her mission momentarily sidetracked.

  “Hello, Merit. I’m here to see my parents … and my brother and sisters, of course.”

  “You didn’t tell us you were coming.”

  “I haven’t seen Father and Mother for months. And so, I—”

  “Is something wrong, Merit?” Mother asked. “You sounded upset. You know this is Father’s time to rest.”

  Merit gave Seth an unreadable look, then put her arms around Mother and drew her closer. And then she started to sob. Uncontrollably, from deep inside. Her sturdy body heaving.

  “Merit, what’s wrong?” Seth asked. “You’re scaring Mother … and Father.” Mother had gone ashen; Father stared straight ahead.

  “Did something happen to one of the boys?” Mother managed through Merit’s sobs. “I heard Jafari tell them not to go out. That the streets were too dangerous. But … at that age …”

  “No. They are here. They are safe. It’s … Jafari. There was an explosion—”

  “No!” Mother screamed, cutting her off. Her body sagged and Seth grabbed her. With Merit’s help, he lowered her into a chair.

  “Jafari. My son. No! No!”

  “My son?” Father’s voice barely audible. Seth saw a lone tear on his wrinkled cheek.

  “He’s dead,” Merit repeated. Seth wondered if she were pleased—assuming that as the eldest living sibling, she would take the helm. Figuring that little brother Seth would remain banished in Europe and middle brother Ahmed would go happily back to America. How little she knew about little brother Seth.

  “Merit, tell us what happened,” Seth demanded.

  “A bomb—in the garage in our office building. That’s all I know. An explosion. The car—”

  “When?” Seth asked, grasping his mother’s hand, the loyal, supporting son.

  “I don’t know. I just got a call from Amir. He was Jafari’s driver today. He wanted to let us know. Before the police. Before the news. I came right here. Seth, I didn’t know you were here. You didn’t tell us.” Did he detect a tinge of accusation? “I have to call Osiris. He doesn’t know. I must find Aurera—”

  Mother had dissolved into tears, and Seth tried to pull her closer to him, but she resisted, sitting rigidly upright. He let go of her hand, stood, and placed himself next to his father.

  “Father, I am sorry you are so ill. I am sorry that I did not come sooner. I did not know how … sick you were. But do you understand what Merit just said? That Jafari is … dead?”

  “Where was Mohamed?” his father asked.

  Seth had no idea who in the family knew Mohamed’s whereabouts—with Ahmed—but he decided to divulge what he did know. “He’s with Ahmed in South America.”

  “What?” Merit interrupted her sobs. “Why would Jafari allow that? With all that’s going on in Egypt. He always keeps Mohamed close.”

  “Was Tebu with Jafari today?” Father asked. “When Mohamed is away, Tebu is Jafari’s security.”

  “Only Amir. He was in the garage when … it happened,” Merit said. “He called just after to …”

  “We must tell Aurera,” Mother said.

  “I will go to her now,” Merit said. “I came directly here.” She fixed her gaze on Seth. “When did you get here anyway?”

  “Bring her and all the children here,” Mother said. “Merit, you tell them.”

  “Seth, let Ahmed know,” Father’s raspy voice interrupted. “He must come home.”

  “But, Father, he needs—”

  “He needs to come home,” Father said. “And we must find out who is behind the explosion.” And then he turned his head toward the opposite wall, his frail body began to shake, and a sob escaped before he said, “We must prepare my son’s burial.”

  Seth tried to step up, demonstrate leadership. “I will take care of—”

  “Osiris will handle the burial,” Merit announced. “He will arrange with the imam.”

  The nearby mosque boasted a wealthy local congregation from the Mohandessin section. Seth no longer even knew who was the imam.

  Seth still stood by his father’s bedside, but the old man had turned his head to the wall, his body trembling. The thought did fly through Seth’s mind—what if Father died right now? Right here. That would not be good. Ahmed had to die first. Egyptian law of inheritance may be arcane, but as the sole surviving male, Seth would inherit the lion’s share of wealth, as well as control of the business.

  Father had ordered him to get Ahmed home, and so he would.

  “Harere, get my doctors,” Father said in a faltering voice. “I must attend the burial of my son.”

  According to Egyptian tradition, burials should take place before sunset on the day of death. Impossible for Jafari—what was left of him—but it must take place within three days.

  Aware that his parents’ attention had strayed from him to his dead brother, Seth walked out of their suite, leaving them to mourn an unworthy son.

  Much remained to be done.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  THE FALCON 2000 circled in the queue above Montevideo’s Carrasco International Airport. Eleven a.m. local time. Nicole had caught only snippets of sleep during the tedious flight, leaving her mind with a nightmare residue. But this nightmare had come to life. Her husband had taken her precious son—to Egypt—and to somewhere else—maybe South America.

  Returning from the airplane bathroom after an attempt to freshen up, she’d detoured to the galley to score two coffees, one for her and one for Rob.

  “Where’s Berk?” she asked as she handed Rob the coffee mug. Their leader had been sacked out across the aisle for the past few hours, but now his seat-turned-bed was empty.

  “Pilot called him up front,” Rob said, between slugs of coffee. “Hope everything’s okay for the landing. This airport is supposed to be something else.”

  “Like primitive?” Nicole asked, figuring Uruguay to be just a halfstep up from a third-world country.”

  “Oh no,” said Rob. “Ultra-modern. You’ll see.”

  Her sister’s husband hadn’t said much over the course of the long flight, but Nicole could feel his support, his solidarity. Natalie was lucky to have a man like Rob. “Designed by Rafael Vinoly Architects,” Rob, the builder, noted. Nicole felt saddened, again, by what had happened to his business back home, but her attention redirected to Berk as he left the cockpit, a concerned expression on his face, a detectable hesitation in his gait.

  No matter how frightening to her, Nicole could understand on a basic level why Ahmed had taken Alex to Egypt. He was Egyptian. But Uruguay? Had they even really gone there—or was Uruguay a deliberate false lead? Had Berk’s methods failed to intimidate the servants into telling the truth—if they even knew the truth? The Masuds’ style had always seemed clandestine, but then, their business affairs were none of her concern. She and Ahmed jointly managed their plastic surgery practice, no secrets. Or, that’s what she’d thought. Before … this …

  “What’s wrong?” Nicole unclamped her seat belt and ro
se, spilling hot coffee on her pants. “Shit.” If ever she had the right to swear, she had earned it now.

  “Sit down, Nicole.” Berk took a few steps back to the galley, grabbed a handful of napkins, and held them out to her.

  “You okay?”

  She and Rob dabbed at her dark-blue pants. “Berk, what’s going on?” she demanded.

  Berk sat across the aisle from them and began, “First, my men were in the Montevideo airport when Ahmed arrived in a private plane. With him was Mohamed, the Masud family head of security.”

  “I know Mohamed,” Nicole said, intimidated at the thought. “A big man. Never says much. Totally loyal, Ahmed always said. I feel better if he’s with Alex. At least he can keep him—safe.”

  “Meaning—” said Rob, “the Masuds have Alex?” He’d adjusted his seat for landing and had to lean forward to be heard.

  “Alex was not on the plane with Ahmed.” Berk answered as if he needed to get it out before she—what—totally dissolved in anguish.

  The jet roared through its landing trajectory closer and closer to the ground. Rob grabbed Nicole’s arm protectively. “What are you saying, Berk?”

  Nicole felt her body go limp, she heard an agonized scream. Hers.

  “Alex did board the plane with Ahmed in Cairo. We now know the Bombardier Challenger made two stops. Monrovia, Liberia, and Fernando de Noronha in Brazil, same airfield where we refueled—”

  “So, when did Ahmed get to Montevideo?” Rob asked.

  “A little after four a.m. local time.”

  Rob withdrew his arm from around Nicole to look at his watch. “Seven hours,” he said. “You’ve known this for seven hours.”

  Nicole, numb with fear for her son, was not sure what Rob meant, but she knew he was on her side. He’s only five years old. Where was her child? Who was he with? Was he safe? He must be so scared. What had Ahmed done to their son?

  She’d not realized the plane was on the ground. Two pairs of hands were urging her out of her seat.

  She’d blanked out. She had to get control. Why wasn’t Alex with Ahmed?