Finding Patience

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 1

  Spinning the Web

  Lincoln, Nebraska – October, 1996

  In those days, a magical transformation swept over the central plains of North America each autumn. The wheat and corn by then harvested, the farmers were flush with cash. The winter weather having not quite set in, the promise of the reunion of families at Thanksgiving was on the minds of everyone. The trees abruptly turning to shades of burnished orange and deep crimson, they somehow harkened the coming of Christmas, that time of year that was devoted to the renewed commitment to moral principles.

  Sometimes, the silent cascade of an early snowfall would gently settle on the soon to be hibernating verdure, leaving a distinct impression that the world was indeed fashioned from the whimsy of a being of supreme benevolence. Such sanguine vistas, like a poorly preserved Da Vinci masterpiece, have lately begun to slowly fade with the passage of time. With the hastened pace of our modern existence, the commitment by the human race to common human decency has slowly but inexorably grown sadly uncommon.

  On this day, Patience regarded herself in her bedroom mirror. Having just turned twenty, she was at an age of profound fear and uncertainty. Unbeknownst to her, she was endowed with an exquisite appearance. Although her soft and feminine features were in keeping with her introverted nature, she was nonetheless strikingly tall. And the combination of her pale green eyes, accented by her jet black hair and pale complexion, gave her a distinct air of elegance and sincerity.

  Still happily ensconced within that first phase of life when parents are taken for granted, Patience was yet oblivious to the reality that they will not be there forever. Thus, given the surrealistic scene outside her window, Patience’s naive sensation that all was right with the world was a completely natural perception. She could not have known that it was fleeting, rushing away from her reality at a breathtaking speed that would soon test her convictions to their very foundation.

  “Patience,” her mother called to her, “Time to get up, dear.”

  “Yes, mother, I’m awake. I was just glancing out the window at the snowfall. It’s so peaceful.”

  “Yes, dear, I know, but there is no time for that now. We must go and visit your father in the hospital. Now, please get ready to go.”

  “Yes, mother,” she replied offhandedly.

  The drive to the hospital was horrendous, the traffic creeping along at a near standstill. It seemed that each year the populace somehow misplaced their driving skills with the arrival of the first snowfall. Convinced that they would have done better to walk to the hospital, mother and daughter arrived unharmed but nonetheless exasperated by the less than welcome adventure they had just survived.

  Shortly thereafter Patience pushed her way into her father’s room, exclaiming, “Good morning, Daddy,” and, leaning forward to give him an affectionate embrace, she inquired, “How are you feeling today?”

  “Just fine,” he lied, “What’s it like outside, Patience? I hear it snowed last night.” Patience’s mother followed and, silently embracing her husband, she patiently awaited the completion of his conversation with the pride of his life.

  “It’s just gorgeous, Daddy. Well, except for the traffic, that is. I love it when it snows this time of year, because it all melts within a single day. That way you don’t have three months of ghastly brownish snow mountains that only grow larger and more repulsive with the passage of time.”

  “Yes, dear, I couldn’t agree more,” he commented and, turning toward his wife, he requested, “Brenda dear, would you mind going down to the cafeteria to get me a cup of coffee? I’ve been waiting for two hours for them to bring my breakfast.”

  “Certainly, dear. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she replied, promptly departing the room in her newfound quest.

  Her mother having left them to it, Patience asked, “So what gives, Daddy?”

  “What do you mean, Patience?” he asked in apparent confusion.

  “Don’t fool around with me - I saw the breakfast tray on the floor outside the door. You’ve already eaten breakfast.”

  At this, he smiled and replied, “There never was any fooling you, my dear. I could tell it when you were two years old. Even then, those pale green eyes of yours were a dead giveaway – the little girl with the grownup awareness.”

  Listening patiently to his attempt to distract her, she responded pointedly, “Good try, Dad, but I’m onto your ways. Give it up.”

  “Okay,” he replied and, heaving a sigh of acceptance, he proceeded with, “I just wanted to talk to you alone for a few minutes.”

  Her suspicions now confirmed, Patience replied doubtfully, “Ok-kay…”

  “Dear, please promise me that you will take care of your mom if anything happens to me, okay?”

  “Why? Nothing’s going to happen to you, Daddy.”

  “Oh, just promise your old dad, okay? You know I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

  “Whatever, Daddy,” she replied dismissively, “I promise.”

  Gazing steadfastly at her, he announced, “My dear, you remember what I’ve always told you - that the true meaning of life is love.”

  “Yes, Daddy, of course I remember,” she responded, perplexed as to why he was acting so maudlin today.

  At that moment her mom walked in with the sought-after cup of coffee and inquired, “So, what have the two of you been up to while I was gone?”

  “Oh, nothing,” her husband replied, “Just chatting idly about the weather, dear.”

  It was the last conversation that Patience ever had with her father - he died two days later.

  Las Vegas – February 1997

  The trio sat together at a table in the corner, well removed from the other patrons within the bar. One of them was dressed completely in white, his black-banded white headdress identifying him as Middle Eastern.

  Leaning forward to one of his associates, he inquired, “Is everything in place, Wassim?”

  “Yes, sir, it’s all completed and ready to go.”

  “Are the explosives already prepared?”

  “Yes, sir, just as you directed.”

  “So all we need do is deliver the package…” he murmured to himself, adding, “Alright, Wassim, I believe all is prepared. Meet me at the airport tomorrow morning at 7 A.M.”

  Wassim and Navid responded simultaneously, “Yes, sir,” and so saying, the trio clinked their glasses together.

  Lincoln, Nebraska – The Same Day

  Patience inched her car out of the driveway, slowly testing the slickness of the icy roadway. It was a beautiful sunny day in Lincoln. An overnight cold front had dropped two inches of blowing snow and quickly moved on. Unlike most mornings, on this day she was on the way to visit her mother in the hospital. It seemed like it had only been a few days since she had visited her father in the selfsame hospital, three winter months having already raced by.

  The previous day Patience’s mother had quite suddenly fallen down. Fortunately, Patience had been at home at the time and, pouring her mother into her aging Pontiac, she had raced to the hospital.

  The doctors had insisted on keeping her overnight for tests. Under the circumstances, Patience had been forced to wait out the night at home alone, something that she was not accustomed to doing. She had so wanted to live on campus at the university but, her father’s passing having laid all hopes of that dream to rest, there simply wasn’t enough money.

  Now in her third year at Nebraska, this unexpected development with her mother terrified her. What if, due to her health, her mom was unable to work? The money that Patience made working part time on campus being woefully inadequate, her college education would come to a screeching halt.

  She thought about her studies for a moment. Dr. Rohani had been very kind to take her into his study group. The other students, each and every one of them brilliant graduate students, filled her with a profound sense of insecurity. With so many smart people in the world, she wondered how on
earth she would ever be able to complete a degree in computer science. But her adoration for the discipline was so strong that she was determined to somehow gut it out. And perhaps, if she could learn enough along the way, she might even be able to get involved in something useful, something that might even change the world.

  Lincoln wasn’t quite in the Midwest, more like in the plains, but the values were there – strong Midwest scruples. There was a strong sense of commitment to family, a universal belief that everyone has an equal chance to succeed. Patience was committed to working hard, confident in her heart of hearts that she would one day find success.

  Still, despite the unusually gorgeous weather this morning, on this day her happy future looked to be little more than a distant dream, casting a pall over her usually sunny disposition. Arriving at the hospital, she quickly went straight to her mother’s room. Finding her hospital room unoccupied, she felt a sudden ominous pang. Rushing to the nurses’ station, she inquired stridently to no one in particular, “Where’s my mother? She’s supposed to be in room 232.”

  Emerging from behind a half-open door, a nurse responded pleasantly, “Oh, she’s okay, miss. They’re just doing some tests at the moment. She should be back within the hour. You can wait in her room or, if you want, there’s a cafeteria on the first floor.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Patience thanked her and decided to try the latter option. Having breakfasted lightly, she was back at her mother’s room a short time later. Finding the room still empty, she stepped into the hallway. Seeing her, the nurse promptly came towards her, exclaiming, “Oh, there you are. The doctor came by. He wanted to talk to you. I’ll call him. Can you wait here, miss?”

  “Sure,” Patience replied, fear suddenly driving her heart into her throat yet again.

  Shortly thereafter a middle-aged bald-headed man came walking down the hallway towards her, his white coat and stethoscope visibly announcing his profession. As he approached her he made eye contact, inquiring solemnly, “Are you Miss Walker?”

  “Yes,” she replied and, his excessively serious demeanor distressing to her, she inquired, “Is something wrong?”

  “Your mother is resting comfortably at the moment, Miss Walker. I’m Doctor Matthews. Could we step into her room for a chat? Please, this way,” and, touching her elbow sympathetically, he guided her within.

  Once inside, he suggested politely, “Please, sit down Miss Walker.” Paling noticeably at this, Patience dropped into the lone chair within. Coming directly to the point, he posited, “I’m afraid that I do not have good news for you. Tests show that your mother has severe heart disease. Because she was experiencing considerable angina last night, we took some X-rays this morning and, I’m afraid that unless she has replacement surgery within the next few weeks, she will not survive.”

  By this point in a state of shock, Patience found herself asking, “Replacement? Replace what, Doctor Matthews?”

  “Why, her heart, of course. I assure you, Miss Walker, there is no alternative at this point.”

  Her mind now racing, Patience inquired, “I’m sorry to be so crass at a time like this, Dr. Matthews, but how much does a heart transplant cost?”

  “It depends on quite a few factors - at least twenty thousand dollars. Still, I wouldn’t worry, Miss Walker. Your insurance will cover most of the cost.”

  Her shoulders slumping in dejection, she replied, “I’m afraid that we have no insurance, doctor. We lost it when my father passed away three months ago.”

  “Oh, my, that is indeed troublesome. Are there any family savings? Or perhaps significant property value in your home?”

  “We rent,” Patience replied flatly. “No, there is no family money at all. Expenses associated with my father’s cancer consumed what little savings we had. I’m afraid that my mother and I are alone and quite poor. I am barely scraping my way through college at the moment.”

  “Alright, I see,” Doctor Matthews replied pensively. He contemplated a moment and offered reassuringly, “Don’t you worry about that at the moment. Just give your mother all the love and support that you can. I will inform the hospital administration, and they will look into alternatives for financing a heart transplant.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Patience replied politely, but her mind was already spinning out of control in abject fear and uncertainty.

  “You rest easy, Miss Walker. We’ll take good care of your mother. One of the nurses will take you to her new room if you check in at the nurse’s station. We have transferred her to intensive care.” Having said this, he subsequently left her alone to contemplate this new crisis.

  Patience did her best to comply with Dr. Matthews’ suggestion, but the news nevertheless came hard to her mother. Accordingly, the mood remained somber as the day dragged on. Patience eventually found it necessary to depart for her afternoon classes. Since she simply could not afford to miss the events planned for today, she regretfully gave her mother a kiss and informed her that she would be back in the morning.

  In flight over Kansas – The Same Day

  Mitch scanned the horizon, the private jet streaking through the air at thirty-seven thousand feet. It was a perfect day for flying and, Mitch and his co-pilot chatting aimlessly, the flight progressed without a hitch.

  “What are you going to do when we get back home, Mitch?” the co-pilot queried.

  Mitch replied, “I dunno. I suppose Sandy will have something cooked up for the weekend. That is, if Mr. Al-Wadi doesn’t have another unexpected trip in the next couple of days. How about you, Bill?”

  “I was thinking of driving down to the canyon if the weather holds up. Might do some hiking.”

  “How long does it take to get to the Grand Canyon from Vegas, anyway?” Mitch asked.

  “Depends on what part you go to. It’s real big, you know,” Bill replied, overstating the obvious. Examining the gauges before him absentmindedly, a frown suddenly came over his face, eliciting, “Uh oh…Mitch, we’ve got a warning light. It’s engine number two.”

  “Damn…just our luck. We’d better land somewhere and take care of it. It’s too far to go back to Chicago. See what’s the closest place with private jet service, Bill.”

  “I don’t have to look. It’s Lincoln - Duncan Aviation. I’ve been there a couple of times. Good clean airport, excellent outfit.”

  “Okay. Well, at least we don’t have to land in that cornfield.”

  “It’s not a cornfield, Mitch. It’s just a small airfield with no services.”

  “Why do you suppose Mr. Al-Wadi wanted to land there, Bill?”

  “Dunno, and I don’t want to know,” Bill responded dryly.

  “You got that right,” Mitch put in, “The less we know about Mr. Al-Wadi’s dealings, the better. Anyway, what with that engine light, the cornfield is out of the question. How far is Lincoln?”

  “It’s only about seventy-five miles west of us. We can coast that far even if we have to shut the engine down.”

  “Okay, get a clearance and tell them we’ve got engine troubles.”

  “Will do,” Bill replied.

  A few moments later the co-pilot opened the door to the main cabin and, stepping through the door, he squatted within in the low-hung space of the small cabin. “Wassim! Hey, Wassim. Wake up!” he called to the nearest passenger.

  Lurching awake, Wassim responded groggily, “Huh? What?”

  “Where’s Mr. Al-Wadi?” Mitch asked politely.

  “He’s in the back cabin playing patty-fingers with the girls.”

  “Better get him. I need to speak to him.”

  “No, I’m afraid that is quite impossible. Mr. Al-Wadi doesn’t like to be disturbed when he is with the girls.”

  “Okay, whatever,” Bill replied, “Just tell him when he’s done with those two that we have a mechanical problem with one of the engines.”

  “What sort of problem? Anything dangerous?” Wassim replied.


  “No, it’s nothing like that. Just an engine light, but we have to deal with it - FAA regulations.”

  “Okay, thanks Bill,” at which point he got up to go aft, in the process murmuring to himself, “I’d better tell Mr. Al-Wadi.”

  Mr. Al-Wadi and his entourage landed in Lincoln twenty minutes later.

  Lincoln, Nebraska – Mid-Afternoon

  Brandt was ushered to the appointed door and, knocking softly, he heard a voice from within announce, “Come in!” at which he pushed the door open.

  Rising from his desk, the person within exclaimed, “Ah, here you are at long last, Dr. MacCauley. I am Nemat Rohani, Professor of Computer Science here at Nebraska State University. Welcome to our campus!”

  “Thank you, Dr. Rohani,” Brandt responded pleasantly, “Please, call me Brandt.”

  “With pleasure,” Dr. Rohani replied, “My friends call me Nick, if you will. Although I was born in Persia, I’ve lived in the United States for more than half my life.”

  “Ah, so you must be one of those unfortunate former students who were forcibly expatriated by the fall of the Shah in 1980.”

  “1979,” Nick corrected, “Yes, but it all turned out in the end. You see, I am now a U.S. citizen.”

  “Congratulations,” Brandt rejoined and, moving on to the subject at hand, he offered, “Let me say what a distinct honor it is to be invited to give today’s seminar.”

  “Oh, the honor is ours, Brandt. Your reputation precedes you, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Thank you. And may I say how impressed I am with your campus. Lincoln is a lovely city, and Nebraska State far surpasses anything I could have imagined.”

  “Thanks, but you wouldn’t want to spend an entire winter here, I can promise you!”

  “Perhaps you are right, Nick, but having grown up in Scotland, I’ve seen my share of inclement weather.”

  Chuckling convivially at this pronouncement, Dr. Rohani now announced, “Well, as we are pressed for time, I suggest we get you set up to give your seminar, immediately after which we shall meet with my graduate students.”

  “Excellent!” Brandt responded, and with that, the pair set off for the auditorium.

  Shortly After the Seminar

  Patience entered the conference room and, noticing that she was the last student to arrive, she took a seat in one corner. All six students waited in silence, and shortly thereafter Dr. Rohani entered, accompanied by his visitor.

  “Students,” Dr. Rohani announced, “I want all of you to meet Dr. Brandt MacCauley, from Cal Tech. Dr. MacCauley has in a very short span of time become one of the leading experts in the world in the extremely complex field of pattern recognition. Please, Dr. MacCauley, have a seat here by me,” at which the pair took their seats.

  From her vantage point Patience could see that Dr. MacCauley was surprisingly young for one so famous. Not only that, he was quite striking in appearance. At somewhat more than six feet, he carried himself well, and he was possessed of a rather rakish smile.

  Dr. Rohani now cleared his throat and observed, “As you are all aware, Dr. MacCauley needs no introduction. Let me simply say this - Dr. MacCauley has introduced a radically new approach to pattern recognition, one so ingenious that his research will undoubtedly change our world dramatically over the next quarter of a century. But before we start, why don’t we go around the room and each of you can introduce yourselves. Amit, suppose you start.”

  At this one of the students jerked his head back, stammering, “Yes…of course, sir…” and nodding toward Dr. MacCauley, he announced, “Sir, I am Amit Patel, from India. I am studying for my Ph.D. in neural networks.”

  “Excellent!” Dr. MacCauley responded, “And where did you study in India?”

  “At IIT Madras,” he responded.

  “Fine school,” Dr. MacCauley volunteered.

  “Have you been there, sir?”

  “Yes, and a lovelier campus I doubt you’ll find in that part of the world,” and with that, he glanced toward the next student.

  Seeing his turn had arrived, the student said, “Sir, my name is Constantinos Stefalos, from Lebanon. I am also studying neural networks.”

  “Ah, Beirut, I trust!” Dr. MacCauley put in.

  “Yes, sir,” the student responded pleasantly.

  “Excellent!” Dr. MacCauley replied, turning thereafter to the next student.

  The student now introduced himself, saying, “Sir, I am Richard Goldman, from Laramie, Wyoming. I am studying artificial intelligence.”

  “Ah, an American!” Dr. MacCauley observed. “I wish you luck with artificial intelligence, Mr. Goldman. As for myself, I shall stick to human intelligence. Heavens knows, far too few people seem to exercise their own in this world,” at which the group snickered convivially.

  The next student now exclaimed, “Hello, sir. My name is Ahmed Safjani. I’m from Egypt. I did my undergraduate studies at The University of Cairo, and I’ve been here in Nebraska for four years now. I am working on my Ph.D. in large scale computing.”

  “Very impressive, Mr. Safjani,” Brandt complimented, “And where are you from in Egypt?”

  “I’m from Edfu, sir. Do you know it?”

  “Ah, the Upper Nile,” Brandt put in, adding, “No, I’ve not been there, but I’ve seen much of Egypt, including Assyut, Luxor, and Aswan. Lovely country, if I may say so.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Ahmed responded politely, at which Brandt turned his attention to the final student.

  She now proffered, “Sir, I am Rebecca Chandar, originally from India. I am studying for my Ph.D. in pattern recognition.”

  “Oh, excellent!” Dr. Mac Cauley exclaimed, “And where did you study in India, if I may ask?”

  “Actually, I studied in Christchurch, New Zealand, at the University of Canterbury. My family moved there when I was quite young.”

  “My, you are a long way from home,” he interjected, “And just how did you come by the name Rebecca?”

  At this she smiled and explained, “Ah, well, my given name is actually Radhika. My fellow students couldn’t seem to get it right, so one day Richard called me Rebecca, and the name somehow stuck.”

  “I see…” Dr. MacCauley murmured, adding mirthfully, “Sounds quite reasonable to me!” at which the group twittered yet again.

  The introductions completed, Dr. Rohani suggested, “Dr. MacCauley, suppose you tell us a bit about your research on pattern recognition?”

  “Of course,” his visitor volunteered, “But first, perhaps the young lady in the corner should introduce herself.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” Dr. Rohani exclaimed in obvious embarrassment and, turning toward her he said, “Please, Miss Walker.”

  Having hoped that she might be overlooked, Patience squirmed within her seat and, clearing her throat, she announced, “Hi, Dr. MacCauley. I’m Patience Walker. I’m just an undergrad trying to find my way in the world. About the only thing I know at this point is Morse code,” at which the other students snickered patronizingly.

  At this, Dr. Rohani interjected, “I apologize yet again, Miss Walker,” and, turning toward his guest, he announced, “Miss Walker is absolutely the very best undergraduate student I’ve ever had here at Nebraska State University. I am expecting great things from her,” at which Patience blushed noticeably.

  “Well, I wish you all the best, Miss Walker,” Dr. MacCauley offered, “You certainly seem to have chosen the right field of study,” at which the group broke into laughter yet a third time. He now launched into a discourse on the subject of pattern recognition that had everyone’s brains swimming within a matter of minutes.

  At the end of their meeting, Dr. MacCauley approached the young ladies, volunteering, “I wish you both well here at Nebraska State,” and, turning toward Patience, he suggested, “And if at the completion of your undergraduate studies, you are interested in trying your hand at graduate studies, I would welcome contact with you.”

/>   “Why, thank you, Dr. MacCauley,” Patience responded, “But to tell you the truth, at the moment I’m just trying to get through this semester.”

  “Certainly,” he replied empathetically, “Nonetheless, the offer stands,” and so saying, he handed her his business card.

  “Thank you, sir,” Patience responded and, taking the proffered card, she announced, “And now, Rebecca and I must be off. We are performing at the International Festival tonight in the campus theatre.”

  “Ah, that sounds adventurous,” Dr. MacCauley responded, “Well, then, I hope you have a good time.”

  Early Evening

  Patience’s mood only worsened as the day dragged on toward nightfall. Still, there was nothing she could do about it until the following day.

  Rebecca arrived at her study carrel right on time, suggesting, “Ready?”

  Patience replied, “Yes, of course.”

  Rebecca announced, “I brought the items I mentioned,” and so saying, she handed them to Patience. The pair then departed.

  Arriving a short time later at the theatre, they headed backstage, Rebecca exclaiming, “Thanks ever so much for agreeing to do this, Patience.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” Patience responded morosely, “To tell you the truth, I needed something distracting to get me through today, and this international festival might be just the thing.”

  “Why? What seems to be the problem?” Rebecca inquired.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just that my mother is quite ill,” Patience volunteered.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Rebecca responded, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “That’s very kind of you, Rebecca, but I can handle it.”

  At this moment an attendant came up and announced, “Time to put on your costumes, ladies.”

  “Okay,” Rebecca responded and, turning toward Patience, she offered, “So here is how you put on a berka,” and so saying, she demonstrated by donning her own.

  “My goodness!” Patience exclaimed, “It’s sort of like a tent,” and placing the hood over her head, she added in a muffled voice, “I feel like I’m in a tiny closet or something. I can see out, but no one can see in.”

  “Yes, that’s the general idea,” Rebecca agreed, “A woman’s body is considered quite sacred in the Muslim world,” and observing Patience’s appearance, she reached forward to adjust her apparel to its proper look.

  The pair were called forth shortly, at which they followed others onto the stage, the announcer saying, “And here we have the traditional clothing worn by women in Saudi Arabia,” at which a smattering of applause was heard from the audience.

  Within the Audience

  Watching from his vantage point in the third row, Brandt thought he recognized the two young ladies before him but, he couldn’t be certain, their costumes having concealed their identities quite exceptionally. But then he noticed the green eyes of the one on the left, and his doubts vanished.

  The Airport – Later that Night

  Mr. Al-Wadi checked his wristwatch impatiently, subsequently glancing up in search of the anticipated arrival. Seeing an approaching vehicle, he heaved a sigh of relief.

  The car pulling alongside the jet moments later, Wassim emerged and said, “I have the package, sir.”

  “Excellent, Wassim,” he responded. “Did she give you any trouble?”

  “No sir, I did exactly as you said. The rufilin did the trick in no time at all. She is sleeping like a baby.”

  “Alright,” Mr. Al-Wadi responded and, turning on his heel, he mounted the stairs to the interior of the plane. Reaching the top step, he turned and instructed, “Get her aboard, Wassim. We must be going. Had we not been diverted by that damned engine light, we should have been out of here much earlier. We must try to get back on schedule if at all possible. Otherwise, we shall miss our window of opportunity.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wassim responded, setting to his assigned task immediately thereafter.

  In Flight over Utah - Midnight

  Drifting into consciousness, Patience gradually tugged the cobwebs from her mind. Eventually opening her eyes, she mused to herself, “I must be dreaming,” but then, observing her surroundings, she asked herself, “Where am I?” Closing her eyes, she thought back - the last thing she could remember was talking to that guy at the festival. Hearing voices, she opened her eyes a second time.

  A male voice exclaimed, “Sir, she’s coming to. What do we do?”

  “Shut up, Wassim,” Mr. Al-Wadi replied rudely. He rose and, crouching as he came aft, he said, “Here, let me get by you. I need to talk to her.”

  Climbing over to where Patience lay, he cooed pleasantly, “Hello, Miss Walker.”

  Peering woozily up at him from her prone position, she could only think to say, “Where am I?”

  “Oh, you’re in the hospital,” he lied.

  Something, perhaps it was the low hum in the background, made his reply seem not quite right to her, but she couldn’t quite place the surroundings in her fuzzy semi-conscious state.

  “Here, please sign this, Miss Walker,” he suggested.

  “What is it?” she responded woozily.

  “It’s the papers for your mother’s hospitalization.”

  “Papers?” she queried in confusion.

  “Yes, for your mother’s operation. You recall, she needs a heart transplant. These papers will take care of everything.” He handed her a pen and helped her to sit up far enough to sign the paper. He subsequently thrust the paper toward her and, propping herself precariously on one elbow, Patience scribbled her name.

  Flopping back down in exhaustion from the effort, she thought to herself, “I wonder who he is. Such a nice man,” and then she drifted back into unconsciousness.

  Seeing her listless state, Mr. Al-Wadi instructed, “Give her another injection, Wassim, but not too much. We need her ready for tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, sir,” Wassim responded.

  Mr. Al-Wadi now exclaimed, “Tell me again how the pickup went.”

  “She was in that berka, but I talked to her as soon as I got to the festival, so I knew I had the right person. A few minutes later I slipped her the rufilin, and when she began slurring her words, Navid and I hustled her out of there. The rest will be taken care of by tomorrow.”

  “Alright, Wassim. Double check everything as soon as we get back to Las Vegas. The plans are all in place, so we must move along quickly,” and, shaking his head in disbelief, he murmured to himself, “Patience Walker…what a strange name…”

  He glanced back toward her prone body and, still shaking his head, he ordered, “Get her back into the berka. We’ll be landing soon. We need her to be disguised.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wassim said, rising to do his bidding.

  “Oh, and one other thing,” Mr. Al-Wadi said, “When we get to Las Vegas, get me the dossier on this woman.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Up front in the cockpit Mitch turned to Bill, saying, “Not bad, we should be in Vegas in less than an hour.”

  Las Vegas – The Following Morning

  Patience opened her eyes again, this time feeling rather restrained and uncomfortable. Somehow unable to move her hands and feet, she sensed that she must be stretched out on a table. Immediately terrified, she screamed in terror, “Help! Help me!”

  “There, there now, Patience,” a spinsterish-looking woman cooed softly to her. Stroking her arm gently, the woman added, “Everything is okay. You’re just a bit surprised at being bound. But don’t worry, you’re not injured. You’ll be just fine.” Glancing over her shoulder, the woman exclaimed to someone that Patience could not see, “Wassim, go tell Mr. Al-Wadi that she’s awake. She’s gonna be just fine for her performance.”

  “Excellent!” Wassim replied, immediately departing for his assigned task.

  The woman turned back to Patience, inquiring considerately, “How are you feeling? Still dizzy?”

/>   Still disoriented, but somehow soothed by the woman’s reassuring voice, Patience replied, “A little, yes. So where am I?”

  “You’re in Las Vegas,” the woman responded reassuringly. “My name’s Bernice, and you’re Patience. That’s a nice name.”

  “What am I doing here?” Patience blurted in utter terror.

  “There, there, just you rest up,” Bernice soothed, “Mr. Al-Wadi will explain everything. In the meantime, take a look at the hairdo I done for you,” and, as if intending to accentuate her supposition, she held up a mirror for Patience to see herself.

  Glancing in the mirror, Patience lurched in shock, immediately attempting to wrench herself free, “My God, what have you done to my hair? I look like a biker babe!” Glancing again, she could see that her head had been shaved, with the exception of her bangs and a large rectangular patch on top. A barrette had been employed to make the patch stand up, causing it to splay out dramatically in every direction.

  “Don’t worry, Patience. It’ll grow back. It was necessary for your performance.”

  “Performance?” Patience blurted, but added somewhat ludicrously, “How did you get it to stand up like that? It must be ten inches long, standing up in a fan shape, sort of like a horse’s mane.”

  Bernice responded with, “Oh, that. It’s my job, you know, to make the girls look special. You make it stand up by using egg whites. I’m real proud of it. I think it’s my best ever!” Seeing Patience’s doubtful look, she added, “It’ll wash out, you’ll see.”

  At that moment Mr. Al-Wadi sauntered into the room, asking in a commanding voice, “How’s our newest recruit doing?” He came over to the table on which Patience was resting and exclaimed with an engaging grin, “Hi. I’m Mr. Al-Wadi. Welcome to our organization, Miss Walker.”

  Scrutinizing him with obvious irritation, Patience spat out vehemently, “Why am I being held against my will, Mr. Al-Wadi?”

  At this, he glared at her and replied, “You’re not being held against your will, Patience! We appreciate you agreeing to do this for us on such short notice. I am quite confident it will all work out in the end. As we discussed, all we need for you to do is deliver the package for us, and once that is completed, we will have you on your way back to Nebraska in no time at all. And, as promised, the funds for your mother’s operation will be paid to you in cash.”

  “I don’t remember anything after talking to that guy over there at the festival last night. I didn’t decide to do this,” she croaked, “You kidnapped me!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Patience. When Wassim brought you onboard the aircraft, you begged me to let you come along. You said you needed the money for your mom’s operation, remember?” and, turning to Bernice, he murmured, “She’s just a little confused. She signed the contract. You saw it, Bernice. Give her a double shot of whiskey before we leave. She’ll be fine.”

  Turning back to Patience, he cajoled, “Now, Patience, you signed the contract, and you promised to deliver the package. So you are contractually obligated. You must adhere to the terms of your contract, okay? If you do this, then the money for your mother’s operation will be in your hands in short order. But if you fail to deliver the package, then I shall be unable to pay for your mother’s operation. It’s just business, you understand. I must protect my interests. You agreed to all of this on the plane, so just go with the flow, okay?”

  All further thought of disagreement now put out of her mind by the sinister look on Mr. Al-Wadi’s face, she replied in abject fear, “What’s in the package?”

  “Let’s just say, it’s none of your affair.”

  “Ah, so it’s something illegal,” she suggested and, contemplating momentarily, she added suspiciously, “Oh, I get it – it’s a drug deal. Must be worth millions to go to this much trouble.”

  He eyed her noncommittally and, gently squeezing her arm, he said, “It’s nothing at all like that, and I assure you, you shall be rewarded with your fair share, Miss Walker.”

  Attempting to quell her mounting terror, she inquired, “Okay, but what do I have to do?”

  “Just do as Wassim tells you,” he responded supportively. “Now, let’s get everything ready. You leave in five minutes!” And with that he strolled from the room.

  Squirming in an attempt to free herself, Patience asked herself aloud, “What the heck am I doing here? How did I get into this?”

  Ignoring her questions, Bernice said, “Here, drink this. It’ll calm your nerves.”

  Patience gulped down a whole lot of whiskey, quite enough to make her tongue thick within a matter of seconds. “What am I supposed to do, Bernice?”

  “What do you mean?” Bernice asked in confusion.

  “The delivery!” Patience asked doubtfully.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that, Patience. Wassim will tell you where to deliver the package when you get there. Just follow his instructions.”

  “Okay,” Patience whimpered, but it was clear that she was anything but okay.

  Moments later Wassim unclasped her manacles and drew her from the room.