CHAPTER 14

Lucien’s face was grim as he stepped out of the hotel and into the rear door of the waiting SUV. Seated in the back of the vehicle was Hamid, his face dour. Bending to enter the vehicle, Lucien gave Hamid a cut nod and slid next to him. There was an overwhelming stench of body odor in the vehicle. It was an odor that came from the front passenger seat, the source a large Bedouin man. His head was wrapped in a shumagg, his body covered by a desert dishdashah. Next to him was the driver, dressed in a suit and tie, wearing a chauffeur’s hat. In between the pair stood an AK-47 rifle, its barrel held by the Bedouin, its potent muzzle visible from the back seat.

Lucien bent forward and acknowledged his traveling companions with a polite dip of his head.

“Good morning,” said Lucien.

He tried to smile but was too nervous. His mind was clear, centered on the task ahead. He could feel his legs shake uncontrollably, a manifestation of his fear.

The driver looked in the rear view mirror, tipped his hat in response to the greeting and returned his focus to the road.

The Bedouin’s name was Abdul-Nasser, meaning “Servant of the Victorious One.” Abdul slipped an elbow over the seat and smiled at Lucien. His breath was pungent, a harsh smell, as harsh as the body odor that filled the vehicle. There was a large gap between his two front teeth and a greenish-brown substance covered the remaining rows. Unlike the traditional black ogal used to hold a headdress in place, his was red.

Not a good omen for Lucien.

Abdul replied to Lucien’s greeting with a grunt. The grin remained. The knowing look on the Bedouin’s face, as if he were privy to a special secret, troubled the passengers. Hamid kept his hands on his lap and did not move. He watched as Abdul looked Lucien up and down, sizing him up. It was obvious to Hamid that this man had been summoned for something, and that something involved the fate of the two men seated in the rear of the vehicle.

Lucien knew he was taking a chance by going to Mohammed’s office, but he had to try. There was too much at stake. Besides, he reasoned to himself, there were no alternatives. Mohammed’s tentacles stretched across the globe. There was no place Lucien could hide. The planet was filled with men like Abdul in the front seat, who were anxious to do Mohammed’s bidding.

The wealthy Arab had not given Lucien any verbal instructions, other than he was to come to his office immediately. The instructions came within hours of Mohammed learning of the failed abduction. He was livid, and the messenger sent by Mohammed did not give Lucien any indication of what to expect. If Mohammed’s history was any indicator, Lucien knew he was teetering on the brink. Depending on the meeting ahead, he would either come away with a new set of instructions or end up like so many of Mohammed’s other abortive projects: A carcass cast into the desert, picked apart by vultures and left to rot under a blazing Middle Eastern sun.

Painfully evident to Lucien was the fact that the Bedouin in the front seat had just come from the desert. It was either a not so subtle message from his benefactor, or a harbinger of things to come.

Resolved to whatever his fate might be, the scientist leaned back in his seat and watched the desert scenery pass him by.