Come Home

by Patricia Gussin

  “No games, Mohamed,” Berk said. “Ahmed is here. He’s assimilating the news. I’m sure you’ve heard …”

  Berk looked for a response, got only a confused expression from Mohamed. “You need to tell us how to locate Alex Masud. Where is he?”

  “I take my orders from Jafari Masud. I don’t know where the kid is.”

  “Do you know about Jafari?” Berk asked.

  “He’s head of the family now that the elder Mr. Masud is …”

  “Jafari was blown up in an explosion today. A number of your Masud security colleagues in the vicinity …”

  Mohamed slumped, his chin hitting his chest, his body rocking slightly. The loyal bodyguard, yes—credible, Rob thought.

  Berk turned to Nicole and Rob. “Please step outside for a few moments. Maybe Mr. Mohamed will be more cooperative now that he knows that Jafari is no longer of this world. Maybe he’ll consider that Ahmed is now the eldest brother. If so …” Berk nodded to his associates and got up to accompany Rob and Nicole into the hallway.

  Rob had kept silent. His mind obsessed with the question: Where is Natalie?

  “My guys prefer no audience,” Berk explained, closing the door behind him. “Besides, my phone has been vibrating. Mike Nelson. Something must be going on.”

  They found another small, empty conference room, and Berk called Mike in Philadelphia.

  “She what?” Rob heard Berk say. “Here?”

  Why was Berk looking at him like that as he continued his conversation? “No,” Berk said. “Nicole and Rob are with me now … Interrogating Mohamed … No, he didn’t know about Jafari … Still nothing on Ahmed … We’ll know more soon. And yes, we’ll look for her, too.”

  “Rob, it’s about Natalie …”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  SETH HAD STARTED three years ago to prepare for the moment he would assume leadership of the powerful Masud family.

  He’d bided his time, never exposing to the family his animosity toward his eldest brother. Jafari had been a bully from the first moment of Seth’s memory, kicking him around, and Ahmed, too. Jafari, now dead at age forty-seven. Ahmed, the middle brother, had been a non-factor as far as Seth was concerned. He’d gone off to join another culture. Nevertheless, he’d have to be dealt with. Seth, the youngest—the one always written off—so compliant, so obedient, so deferential—now at age forty, ready to take complete, ultimate control by whatever means necessary.

  He was confused, Seth had to admit, about the political condition of Egypt. Jafari had warned for some time now that rumblings on the so-called social media, mostly Facebook, should be taken seriously. His brilliant sister Merit therefore had been tasked with orchestrating the elaborate financial relocation scheme whose groundwork was being laid right now by Ahmed in South America. How fortunate for Seth that Jafari sent Mohamed with Ahmed, as enforcer. The parking garage car bomb wouldn’t have been so easy under Mohamed’s vigilance.

  The Facebook rumors were best understood by the younger generation, and Seth planned to convene an update with Jafari’s two older sons ages eighteen and fifteen and Merit’s two sons, now back in the compound from university for Jafari’s funeral. Speaking of … he had to at least go through the motions of contacting Ahmed. Father was not dead yet, and the old man kept insisting that Ahmed and the child Alex be present for the funeral. Unlikely, since the service was scheduled for Tuesday—tomorrow—the latest day possible, according to Islamic tradition, and already it was too late for Ahmed to travel from Uruguay and get here in time. Seth wanted to locate Ahmed anyway, so Father could speak to Ahmed in person.

  In the meantime, Tebu had tried repeatedly and failed to contact Mohamed either via his secure satellite phone … or the hotel they’d reserved in Punta del Este. Seth checked the time. Noon in Cairo; seven a.m. in Uruguay. Where the hell was Mohamed? As far as anyone knew, Mohamed had not even heard about Jafari—his main man—being dead. Something was very wrong with that picture.

  Ahmed’s absence was a double-edged sword. If he were here with the family, Seth could go about implementing his Plan A. On the other hand, Ahmed’s absence made it easier to establish to the Cairo power elite that he would be the new head of the Masud family once Father had passed on. But not knowing where Ahmed was—and Mohamed’s disappearance—both were troubling.

  As for the Masud women, Bastet had arrived from Brussels with their two daughters. She understood that she had to insinuate herself as the new matriarch. Her preference, of course, would have been to remain in Brussels, in the luxurious house. Distance herself from the other females in the family—far away from their interference or competition. But a Muslim woman accepts her duty, and now she had to support Seth by unseating arrogant Aurera, for so many years the female heir apparent.

  That left one looming problem. I have to eliminate Ahmed. Would have been easier right here, but I’ll find a way …

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  MONDAY, JANUARY 24, 2011

  FLIGHT FROM MONTEVIDEO, URUGUAY, TO MONROVIA, LIBERIA

  NICOLE HADN’T NOTICED at first, but during an update call to her brothers in Philadelphia, Rob had moved to the back of the plane—the seat next to Mohamed. As the Falcon 2000 winged smoothly toward Monrovia, she tried to read the Masud security chief’s expression. Did he mourn Jafari, his boss? Not even Mohamed’s body language betrayed any emotion. Arms cuffed to the seat, he kept an upright posture, all the while looking quite engrossed in whatever Rob was saying.

  Bone tired, Nicole only briefly wondered what could be the subject of such an intense conversation. Her lone thought: Ahmed left our five-year-old son in … Monrovia. She still couldn’t believe the unbelievable. Disturbing images of Alex obsessed her. Destroyed her concentration. During the lengthy on-board satellite call with her brothers in Philadelphia, the news they shared—however bizarre—still barely registered. Natalie had gone to Uruguay without telling anyone in the family. In the middle of a crisis at work. Natalie and Ahmed now were together. Could they have planned to meet in Uruguay? And then to travel together to Liberia? Together?

  Berk broke through her fuzzy thoughts. “Nicole, before we end the call, any more questions for your family?”

  She accepted his satellite phone. “If I could just make even a little sense out of …” Exhaustion slowed down her usual crisp delivery. “I know Ahmed was stressed out about malpractice suits, and some anti-Muslim crap—discrimination—but to abduct Alex? To leave him in such a terrible place?”

  She paused for breath, and Kevin repeated her brothers’ theme. “We’re ready to be there with you,” he said. “Berk keeps telling us to stay where we are.” He sounded pent up, literally. “But the three of us all want you to know …”

  She felt tears gathering. “I just want to say thank you …”

  Nicole probably had missed a fact or two, but the point was, no one on her team knew where Alex was. With the possible exception of Natalie, who was with Ahmed on a commercial flight to Monrovia—which, Berk said, had been a fueling stop for the private jet that had flown her son and her husband out of Cairo. None of it made sense. Nightmares don’t make sense, even if you’re living them rather than dreaming.

  And in Cairo? Another waking nightmare, another conundrum. Who was responsible for the car bomb that had killed Jafari? Was the rest of Ahmed’s family at risk?

  If she cared to think about it, each member of his family must bear some responsibility for—Alex’s captivity. They all seemed complicit. Except one—Ahmed’s younger sister, Neema, couldn’t have been in on any plan that would harm Alex. Of the entire Masud clan, Neema was the only one Nicole trusted. When they’d been together during Nicole’s trips to Egypt, and the time Neema had visited them in Philadelphia, the two women had bonded with mutual respect.

  Everything kept recycling, again and again.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  DURING THE FLIGHT from South America to Africa, Rob felt like he was playing a role in a spy movie. Only he was caught in this reali
ty, not watching a thriller on a screen. His nephew was missing. His wife on the way to Monrovia. This Falcon aircraft had communication access via satellite, and he’d heard Berk talking to his contacts in Spanish, French, Arabic, and what sounded like German—or maybe Flemish.

  They’d had a forty-five-minute conference call with Nicole and Natalie’s brothers—Mike and Kevin in Philadelphia; Patrick in Vegas. They’d all offered to come to Africa—Liberia or Egypt—but Berk had convinced them that there was nothing that they could do there. For the first time since he’d known Natalie, Rob felt a tickle of superiority. The three Nelson brothers always exuded a level of confidence and machismo that he’d envied. For once, he was in the macho hero role, rescuing their nephew, traveling with a former black-ops ace, in a dangerous foreign backwater.

  During the call, Nicole seemed to Rob to be on the edge of emotional collapse. She had been so sure that they’d find Alex in Uruguay—only to discover that Alex had not arrived with Ahmed—and that Ahmed had left on a flight to Liberia with Natalie, his wife. Liberia—a country that Rob hadn’t dreamed he’d ever set foot in—and yet, that’s where he was heading.

  When Nicole slipped away to the restroom, Rob approached Berk. “I went back to chat with Mohamed when you were on the call,” he said. “Tried to build some rapport. He’s got to be conflicted now that …”

  “Mohamed’s tough. Fanatically loyal to the Masud family. He’s been security top dog, personal bodyguard to Jafari. But with Jafari dead, where will he put his allegiance? When the old man dies, Ahmed is next in line.”

  “He’s burned that bridge,” Rob said. “Forcing him to leave Alex.”

  “The only scrap of information Mohamed finally gave up is that Ahmed was sent to Uruguay on a real estate deal, supposed to look at property for Jafari to buy for the family.”

  “What about your crew on the ground in Uruguay?”

  “The report says”—Berk’s tone verged on the skeptical—“Ahmed did visit a mansion, but skipped out on his real estate agent, took off in the parked limo. We know he drove said limo solo to a church. It’s Sunday, remember. He parked it there, and probably stole a vehicle—got himself back to the Montevideo airport—”

  “Where somehow he met up with Natalie,” Rob interrupted. “Was their meeting planned? Too much of a coincidence that they just ran into each other.”

  Rob reviewed the scenario as best he could, with the facts he knew; Alex had not been at the Masud family compound. Thin intelligence suggested he was in Uruguay. They took the bet, flew to investigate. Naturally, they shared their progress with the Nelson family back home, including Natalie. So—telling nothing to anyone, deserting the Keystone Pharma crisis—Natalie boards the first commercial flight to Montevideo. Leaves after less than an hour—on a flight to Monrovia. With Ahmed. Coach class, two fueling stops. Incommunicado. This was not the Natalie anyone recognized. Did he even know his wife? How did she end up with Ahmed?

  “We know,” Berk was saying now, “that Masuds’ charter Bombardier refueled twice during the flight with Mohamed and Ahmed for this Montevideo real estate errand. A Brazil airport and Monrovia. Since Ahmed apparently took off for Monrovia, we assume—”

  “With my wife—why did she go with him?”

  Rob suddenly got up from his seat and paced the aisle, holding his head with both hands.

  “Oh, shit, Berk. I just thought of something. May not be important. But Monrovia, Liberia, rings a bell.”

  “What?”

  Rob understood Berk’s nonplussed expression. Nelson family ties to Liberia did sound incongruous.

  “I actually know a guy who lives in Monrovia, a general in the Army. Haven’t seen him for years, but we still stay in touch—old-fashioned Christmas cards, even if he isn’t Christian. Powerful guy in Liberia. But what do we talk about? American basketball.”

  “Rob, you’re fucking amazing. I’m putting agents out all over Monrovia and you know the goddamn general in command. Shit, the generals control the country. What’s the deal? Don’t leave anything out, details can be vital.”

  Rob told him about growing up in Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, near Valley Forge Military Academy. His dad had been friends with the academy Commandant, and the Johnson family had enjoyed hosting international students over long holiday breaks. Yusef Azer often had stayed with them. Rob and Yusef were avid basketball fans, and liberally funded by Yusef’s home country, they’d junketed to the NCAA playoffs during Yusef’s junior and senior years at Valley Forge.

  “So this guy comes to the US for high school military training?” Berk clarified.

  “Every year students attend from Liberia. Yusef became the regimental commander of cadets. Led the parade. I can still remember the loudspeaker announcing him: ‘Yusef Azer, from Monrovia, Liberia.’”

  “Contact information?” Berk asked. “Let’s see if he knows anything about a little American boy in his city!”

  Rob entrusted Berk with his worn but intact leather address book.

  “Two more hours’ flight time. It’ll be around noon on Monday in Monrovia. Let me have my guys track down Yusef Azer. Then I want to have another go at Mohamed.”

  Rob had noticed Berk glancing from time to time toward Mohamed, secured to his seat in the back row.

  “He must know,” Rob said.

  “Certainly, he knows where they left Alex,” Berk said. “But he’s not saying shit. Short of waterboarding—”

  “Now that Jafari is dead,” Rob said, “Mohamed could reconsider. Based on who now controls the family. Who will be his boss when he gets back to Giza.”

  Rob didn’t know the facts, but he had the impression that in the Arab world, power would pass to the male lineage. Did that mean that once the old man died, his Americanized brother-in-law, Ahmed, would be in charge? Where would that put Mohamed in the security service pecking order?

  “While you locate Yusef,” Rob proposed, “I’ll go back and talk to Mohamed. So far, I haven’t alienated him. Maybe I can get something useful out of him.”

  “Okay.” Berk gave him a solid pat on the back. “You go play ‘good cop.’”

  On his way to the back of the plane, Rob filled a tall glass with water and stopped by the galley for a plate of bagels and cream cheese. As he passed Nicole, the plane lurched and he sloshed drops of water on her arm. “Sorry,” he said, but she slept on.

  Mohamed was cuffed to the armrests, but his feet were unshackled, and he used them as leverage to shift in his seat as Rob approached.

  Rob pushed a button to position a tray in front of them. He set the plate of bagels down. “Not sure you eat bagels,” he said, “but it’s like your basic bread. Got cream cheese. Sorry, no feta. Isn’t that popular in Egypt? Or only in Greece? Heck, I’m a building contractor, I’m not so great on international cuisine. But I know you need one hand free or you can’t eat this stuff. Just a minute.”

  “Berk,” Rob called. “Over here, please?”

  When Berk stepped to the back of the plane, Rob said, “Unlock the right-hand cuff? This man’s hungry.”

  Berk did as requested. “You okay back here?”

  “Good,” said Rob. “While you’re up, would you bring us some fresh fruit from the galley?” Rob wanted to establish his player status in his missing nephew investigation. Mohamed should be aware he wasn’t just a ride-along.

  Berk delivered an assortment of berries and citrus, apples, pears. “Here you go. Anything else?”

  “Tea, perhaps?” Rob gestured to Mohamed. Or did they drink coffee, espresso? He had no idea.

  “Tea,” the big man said. Mohamed seemed intrigued by Berk’s new role as server.

  “I’ll have a cup of tea, also,” Rob said. This spy scenario was a winner. He was a player.

  Berk had disappeared forward. Mohamed took his first sip of tea and bit into a slice of apple. He gave Rob a look that Rob was willing to interpret as grateful.

  Rob took the seat across the aisle from Mohamed and swiveled tow
ard him. “How long have you worked for the Masud family?” he asked.

  A grunt. Followed by a heavily accented, “Twelve years.”

  “That’d be 1999,” Rob said. “I met Ahmed in 2001. Same year Natalie and I got married, matter of fact.” Rob smiled, realizing he sounded like Chatty Cathy. His instinct was to come at this tough-guy bodyguard with a softer touch. “Ahmed already had been living in the United States for several years.”

  A grunt. But Mohamed’s body language did look positive.

  “So you knew him from his visits home. How about his wife, Nicole—my sister-in-law?”

  “She came with him to Giza sometimes to visit the family.”

  “She and my wife are sisters,” Rob said. “That’s why I’m here, to help find Alex. He’s only five years old and Ahmed brought him—”

  “I just follow Jafari’s orders,” Mohamed said.

  “And Jafari?” Rob asked. “What will the family do now that he’s dead?”

  “I don’t believe what you say about Jafari!”

  Mohamed jerked his head toward Berk. “The family needs him. He’s the only one …” Mohamed did not elaborate.

  “Will Ahmed be the head of the family now?” Rob asked.

  “What?” Mohamed squinted.

  “Won’t he return to Egypt? I don’t know much about law, but you Egyptians don’t give much power to women, do you? Or will the eldest sister be—”

  “Jafari has sons …” Mohamed began, then stopped. “Merit …”

  “Well, would you agree we need to help Ahmed find his son? Why wasn’t Alex with you when you landed in Montevideo? Is it true you left him in Monrovia?”

  Mohamed picked up a strawberry, placed it in his mouth. Followed by a bite of bagel.

  “This is cream cheese.” Rob pointed to the mound. “I’ll spread some on the bagel. It’s very good.”

  Mohamed took the remaining bagel half, now covered with a liberal scoop of cream cheese.

  “Did you leave Alex in Monrovia?” Rob asked.