by Lilya Myers
Hashim and Dan spent a lot of their time together planning where their own futures might take them. There was never a question that they would attend the same university or join the same fraternity. And if all was right with the world, the boys decided they would marry twins. Well, not really. But it was fun to dream, and joke, and enjoy the good times forever. At least, that was the plan.
***
Dan’s father, Les, had first been introduced to the Island of Capri, a small island on the south side of the Gulf of Naples, Italy during a brief military leave many years before. The minute he laid eyes on the dazzling, shifting turquoise-blue water, and the peaks known collectively as the Faraglioni rising from the sea, he was enveloped in awe by this magical island. He knew that he had to return to Capri.
Due to some political and environmental obstacles one summer, Les and Sharif were free to take a two month hiatus from their project. They decided to surprise their families with a summer in paradise. And Les knew just the place, one that would become a tradition for many of their years to come. Ever since Les had booked their first trip to the island of Capri, with its extraordinary and rugged beauty, it was love at first sight for all of them. Summers were endless days of laughter, imagination, and dreams by the seaside.
“Come, Hashim, we must explore! There are caves and grottos. Maybe we can find some ancient scrolls and become famous!” Dan liked details gathered on foot. Up close and personal. He was strong and athletic and he climbed the rocks as though he were leaping on clouds.
“I’m coming! I will fly and spot the scrolls from above, Daniel.” Hashim had a fascination with planes and being able to examine the world from above. He would use the unabbreviated version of Dan’s name when he wanted to sound serious and official.
Dan was a tall and lanky kid who promised to reach or even surpass his father’s six-foot-two frame. It was predictable that Hashim wouldn’t make it to six feet and might have to spend every day of his life in the gym to make up for it. Still, he was just as enthusiastic as Dan. Hashim claimed that his body was built to accommodate his mind – a sturdy frame to support all those important synapses taking place in his brain. They were both their father’s sons in mind and body, which served to weld a friendship as strong as steel, just as their fathers had developed years before.
After looking at real estate on that first trip, the two families jointly purchased and shared a luxurious villa on the Amalfi Coast of Capri. It had been built by a famous Italian architect who spared no amenity, not even when it came to the villa’s strategic position that took full advantage of a second-to-none view over the Mediterranean. Neither the boys nor their parents ever tired of the breathtaking views, the island’s history, or the renowned works of art.
Their summer tradition continued long after the boys were grown but waned considerably when they went off to college. Young men with dreams, aspirations, and girlfriends whose parents wouldn’t allow them to run off to Europe for the summer with their boyfriends, no matter how nice the young man or his family was. Dan showed up a few times over the years by himself but he found that the simplicity of his childhood and the demands of a rising career with the CIA no longer gave him the freedom he had as a boy.
Hashim’s fascination-turned career with aircraft promised him a bright and lucrative future. His interest – no, his obsession – with the way of politics in Egypt seemed to dominate many conversations. While no one disagreed with the desire for democracy in the region, no one but him seemed to hold out much hope for it….ever. And then there was that dark time. Hashim’s reasons for staying away were more intentional. It was a subject everyone seemed to skirt and never question out loud.
And so the years rolled by. Dan married Marie in 1978 and not long after, Hashim took Hasne to be his wife. They didn’t marry twins but they married the women of their dreams. Unfortunately, Dan and Marie’s third wedding anniversary would be forever remembered as the year Hashim became a widower and father.
CHAPTER 3
NONE OF ASWAD’S three sons shared the same mother. According to Islam, Aswad was entitled to multiple wives, if he chose. No one dared question who the birth mothers were or what happened to them, especially not the boys. They all became imposing men like their father; tall and muscular, dark searing eyes, and an inner storm that never calmed. Only one of them bore a resemblance to his natural mother.
Aswad kept his circle small when it came to matters concerning his coup. His life played out his motto, though. Trust no one. Not even his sons, though they were in his most inner loop.
Omar was the oldest of the three, only by a few months, officially making him the first born son. Male children, in general, were esteemed in their culture. Aswad wouldn’t care one way or the other if it hadn’t been for that nagging fear which was inherent in the nature of Egyptians. He, like many Egyptians, were an exceedingly superstitious lot. It was Aswad’s deeply rooted superstitious convictions that enabled all three boys to live under his roof. It didn’t mean that he was a loving and doting father. There was nothing in his playbook for that.
The first born son was a revered position in the family chain by way of Middle Eastern culture. To be a first-born son was to hold a place of privilege. Aswad decided that the gauge by which Allah would make him successful had direct correlation following custom in how he regarded Omar.
Omar was the first son whom Aswad had shaped early on. His compliancy to his father did not destroy the qualities he showed as a leader. As his oldest matured, Aswad placed fewer demands on him while passing on more responsibilities. This made Omar the best choice to groom for succession after he died. He had been brutally trained and had made him least resistant to his father’s instruction. Omar’s youth had taught him how to temper his moods, and how to calculate and plan his strategies for a situation. For revenge. Above all, Omar became a master of how never to show his hand, especially not to his father.
Saib was the middle son, just a few months younger than Omar. He was moody but predictable. “Predictably stupid,” Aswad would tell people. “Like his mother.” He liked to remind Saib of that, too. Often. They seemed to know how much one hated the other, yet they were drawn to one another in a way that neither understood. It had to be something in their shared genes. They tolerated each other; Saib had grown accustomed to the rich and lavish lifestyle that living under his father’s roof provided him, and if nothing else, Aswad had his own personal punching bag to humiliate and degrade. The results were denial and co-dependency.
Aswad’s two oldest sons had eliminated any desire of attending college in Egypt in favor of attending college in the U.S. On opposite coasts, of course. Even before they left, it had become a rare occasion for either of them to spend much time at their father’s opulent compound unless Aswad summoned them for one thing or another. If they wanted their tuition paid, which meant freedom for the most part, it was mandatory to spend school breaks in Egypt. Mandatory wasn’t always likely where Saib was concerned. Unless he had his own ulterior motives. Like today.
Saib arrived in Cairo a day earlier than he was expected. He usually hung around Oakland for a day or two after the start of a semester break from school. But a coed had recently been murdered off campus. The investigation was heating up and the cops were looking at everyone who frequented the place as a suspect. Better to avoid any hassles and leave a day early, was his thinking.
Before announcing his arrival, Saib decided to take his bag directly to his old room, which was one of the three separate villas on the compound. His brothers occupied the other two. The grounds seemed deserted as he entered through the rear side of the compound. This was one of the few trips to Cairo he hoped he’d have to make now since he was out from under Aswad’s daily and ever-pressing thumb. Saib took the private entrance and walkway that snaked around through a garden and alongside the portion of the main house where his father kept his office. The windows were set a little high so no one could look in, and the shrubberies were thick and lush to
help block direct sun from the west in the afternoon.
As Saib cut through the path, he heard two voices coming through the open window of his father’s office. Aside from the dust, noise, and smells, it happened to be one of those uncommonly fine days that a Cairene would dare to open a window. He drew up short to stop and listen, happy to be wearing rubber-soled tennis shoes. He was sure he heard Omar’s voice. Hmmm. Omar also wasn’t due in until tomorrow. Saib wanted to shrug it off since he too arrived earlier than anyone expected. However, something in the few words of conversation turned his eavesdropping into a matter of self-preservation.
Aswad was talking again. “The only thing you need to know right now is that I am building support from Gaddafi. We’ve struck up a little deal which will assist my efforts here.”
“You mentioned money and guns – so what do you need from me?” Omar had to be careful to disguise his annoyance. The mention of money calmed his outward contempt. Inwardly, he was sick to death of his father’s plans for a coup. He was sick to death of being his lackey. He was just sick to death of him.
“I want you to go to make the buy. A quick trip to Morocco, after your brother leaves. I have a North Korean contact there. I am already moving funds so you have access.”
Omar’s mind began to tick furiously. He’d waited a long time, deserved to get his hands on that kind of money. It would give him the capital he needed when he was ready to get his business off the ground. A couple more years of some in-depth training and he’d have enough knowledge to start mixing the drugs that would be his jackpot to the American dream.
Aswad went on, “All the details have been consummated. My contact will make the arrangements for the shipment. You just need to be there to broker the final transaction. We’ll go over the specifics once Saib is back among his element at Berkley.” He went along with his father’s attempt at a joke. Almost instantly, his father’s demeanor turned serious.
“I believe we still have an understanding about what is said to you in this room.” It was a statement of warning and not a question requiring a response. “I’ll be leaving for Alexandria shortly and I will return before Saib arrives tomorrow.” Omar gave Aswad a clipped nod.
Outside, Saib’s hands clenched into fists ready to pulverize the wall. But he stood quietly, seething from within, on an internal battlefield he had long since learned to control. It was to his benefit. The money his father had hidden and he had tracked for some time belonged to him for the ridicule he had always endured. That’s my money! He’s going to give away money I’ve suffered for! There was no question that Omar had an agenda of his own. He assumed the money wouldn’t get further than Omar’s pocket, once he had it under his control. Just what was Omar up to?
Once Omar moved to Connecticut for school, he’d become like a ghost. The two eldest boys were never close and their relationship was not a brotherly one. They didn’t make time to spend in each other’s company or each other’s lives. No one knew that Saib made regular trips to the east coast, in a fruitless attempt to find out where Omar lived, prick the inaccessible bubble he lived in, and get a look inside. He always made the best of his trips even though he hadn’t been able to track down Omar. But one of these days, he would.
Saib decided to leave the compound the way he had come in, unseen, and show up as he was expected to arrive the next day. In the meantime, he’d wait for the opportunity to do a little snooping after dark. Saib knew a little bit about his brother’s habits that he guessed would take Omar outside the walls of the compound. The only ones Omar would suspect of intruding into his villa were his brothers or his father. Aswad was leaving for Alexandria and Kafele was off somewhere. As always. It was anyone’s guess where he was, or with whom. He could turn up when they least expected it. Like a phantom. That gave Saib a little bit of concern.
Saib returned around dusk, dressed in dark clothing. Blending in with the deep gray shadows of the people and the buildings, he hunkered down against a wall in a dark corner to wait.
Saib could be patient and methodical when necessary. Finally, just as he predicted, the door of the villa opened. It was 10 p.m. sharp. Omar could be very predictable, he had to give him that much. Shortly after, a tall, powerfully built Omar hesitated in his doorway before disappearing around the corner. The nose of one of Aswad’s Mercedes pulled out to the edge of the street and idled there long enough for Saib to confirm the driver’s identity. Omar’s car pulled out and disappeared into the throngs of cars dispersing like ants.
Saib looked in the direction of Kafele’s villa. Everything was dark. He headed quickly for Omar’s villa where poor locks made for easy entrance. Omar, such a considerate man, had left a light on in the bathroom. It was dim and not much good for anything. But for Saib, it was just enough and couldn’t have been more perfect.
The villas were comparatively large, given that they were not attached to the main house. Unlike Aswad, his oldest sons had grown up with a sense of western culture. Each had modeled their individual spaces after the design of a more modern decor, to satisfy their own comfort and tastes. Formal visitors and guests were still always received in the main house. None of the boys ever gave either of their brothers an invitation into their little domains. The meaning of “keep out” was an unspoken threat among them. In spite of the contemporary touches and conveniences, Saib found that Omar’s villa housed the type of furnishings that were common to traditional Egyptian culture. In his opinion, they looked out of place with the rest of the decor. Ancient culture. None other than Aswad’s archaic influence. The foyer mingled with an open room decorated in heavy, ornate wood furniture that he knew wasn’t particularly comfortable.
There was a large area rug squared off at the entry which covered nearly all of the room. It was woven with a once-lively color palette of an ancient design motif used in Cairene rugs of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It was now faded and worn like the ancient city. An oversized desk sat at an angle. It was situated so that the person sitting there could look out the window while not having his back to the door. Omar’s computer lay on the desk unopened. There was no point in trying to log on. He didn’t have the luxury of time to even attempt to figure out the password.
Saib quickly scanned papers that had been carelessly scattered on the desk but found nothing useful. There was one paper in particular that caught his interest. It could be nothing and then again, it could be of value. Quickly jotting the information onto a small pad he took from the hotel, he stuffed his notes into his pocket to decipher later.
There were two drawers on each side of the desk. One by one, he opened them. He really wasn’t sure what he was looking for other than an address but he thought he would know when he found it. Next, he went into the bedroom to do a quick search of the dresser and nightstands. The dim light was too scant to reach the bedroom. He was pleased with himself for having the forethought to bring a small penlight. Saib dug inside his pocket for the light and clicked it on. He made a quick scan of any flat surface for paperwork or files, then clicked the light off again.
The search seemed to be in vain and was mounting the campaign for his frustration. It looked as though all his efforts, and the only opportunity to find something useful, were in vain. So consuming was his hunt that he lost track of time. It didn’t seem possible that not one small clue could be found. As he came out of the bedroom, a glint of metal caught the corner of his eye. A sliver of light exposed the combination lock of a bulky object wedged between the desk and chair. Pushing the heavy chair aside, he yanked out a leather briefcase.
Al-Hamdu lillah! Praise god! It wasn’t locked. Was Omar getting careless? Although Saib asked himself that question, he really didn’t believe it. It may have been a false sense of security knowing that his father was off the compound and his brothers weren’t there to pose a threat. After making a mental note of the exact position of the briefcase, he picked it up and took it into the bathroom where the light was better.
Rather than pull out t
he contents and run the risk of not getting everything back in the way he found it, he carefully leafed through the contents with the pen light between his teeth to shine inside the briefcase. Since time was an issue, he only skimmed the papers to see if they would yield anything about his brother’s life in Connecticut.
He came across a receipt with Omar’s name for a rental car with a Connecticut address. He jotted down the address and continued to leaf through the papers. There was an inside pocket that bulged slightly with a zipper on one side of one of the dividers. Saib reached for the zipper when he heard the lock of the door. Click!
He froze. His only chance was to surprise Omar with one solid smack of the heavy briefcase to the head and face. At least that would stun Omar long enough for Saib to escape without being recognized. It was worth a try – he had nothing else.
Before he could back up further into the shadow of the bathroom door, he heard an explosion that rocked the small villa. Almost immediately, footsteps could be heard retreating from the front door. Saib came out of the bathroom where he quickly slid the briefcase back as he had found it, moved the chair carefully into its original place, and gave their placement a satisfied nod. With a few long strides, he was at the door. Cautiously, he opened it and looked out.
Saib’s heart pounded in his ears above the screams and chaos on the street just beyond the compound. Remembering the click only moments before, he pulled the unlocked door closed as he made a hasty escape around the garden and through another entrance that spilled onto the east side. A black plume of smoke, illuminated by flames, topped the second story on the west side of the main house as he turned onto the street. He could hear the wailings and screams of the crowds that were gathering to witness what had obviously been some kind of an accident.
The animalistic screams, along with his curiosity, drew him back to where he could see the source of the cries firsthand. It was a chaotic scene that Saib could watch comfortably from the shadows. There was a group surrounding a charred mound on the ground. Women wailing. Men shouting. Another group seemed to be chasing a ball of fire, slapping whatever they could at the flames to extinguish them. Several others were laying on the ground, charred heaps of bone and melted flesh. He spotted Omar pushing in from the outside of the crowd that had gathered, until he disappeared among the sea of people and Saib could no longer distinguish his silhouette from the others. The explosion had spewed raw flesh and cooked meat everywhere. Such a pity. Emerging out of the smoke from the explosion was the overpowering stench of burning flesh and car fumes, mingled with a distinct aroma that was familiar on the streets of Egypt.