Friday, October 13th
One Week after the Christening of the Jacob R. Hope
“You are still distressed, Miss Lily?”
The words were delivered as a question. But they hit her with the force of a statement speaking the bold truth.
Delilah Hussein lay on the beach lounge chair with a tall, exotic libation sitting on the glass table beside her, untouched. The warm tropical breeze was strong this late afternoon, whipping the silk sari. The wind on the secluded, well-secured, mountaintop villa was a constant.
Hussein looked up at Oliver with a distant gaze. Despite her distraction, she could see true concern etched on her manservant’s face. They had been through a lot together. And he had stood by her without a hint of trepidation.
“Would you like a cool wet towel?” he asked.
Hussein did not speak. She simply looked up at him with unfocused eyes. The trauma of the events of a week ago was still too painful to bear.
Oliver extended the white towel toward her. Her eyes moved lower to see it clutched in his dark-skinned hand. The fingers were long, all except the pinky which was nothing more than a stump.
Hussein was responsible for its loss. She had snipped off both pinky fingers on separate occasions. She could never remember which one she’d amputated first, the left or the right. Each time he’d let her down, failed her in a mission. And on both occasions, Oliver paid for his incompetence with the loss of the smallest digit. The most recent failure was not more than a few weeks ago—though his mistake did not have any effect on the outcome of their calamitous failure.
“Thank you,” she replied in a whisper barely audible over the wind. “You are a good man, Oliver. A true and valuable companion.”
Oliver was a tall, muscular specimen. His silk shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, revealing the sculptured muscles of his chest. Adept in many forms of hand-to-hand combat, he was also deadly at medium distances with many small arms. He had killed countless times for her. And, Hussein knew, he could kill her quickly if he so desired.
Hussein sighed. “I can’t believe we failed. The last three years had been planned to the smallest detail.”
“It was a bold mission, Miss Lily. Very risky.”
“And they’re both gone now.”
“Unfortunately, it does seem that is the case.”
“Are you sure, Oliver?”
“Yes,” Oliver replied. “Hammon sent the message twenty-four hours after the christening. Jasmine was killed. Your son was taken into custody. He does not know where he is being held or if he is even alive.”
Hussein closed her eyes and tilted her head back, shaking it slowly. She pushed out a long breath. “Mon Dieu, I still can’t believe it.”
“It is not good for you to lie around like this. You must move about. It will make you feel better, get the blood flowing.”
Hussein smiled. “Are you worried about me?”
The tall manservant smiled and nodded. “We must get you back into circulation, n’est-ce pas?”
“I suppose so.”
Oliver kneeled beside her chair, looking deeply into her eyes.
“You have been despondent for a week now,” he said. “We must move on. I will help you forget.”
Beginning at her bare foot, he gently ran his hand along the inside of her leg. When he reached her knee and his hand began to disappear under the cloth of her garment, Hussein held up her hand.
Oliver’s hand froze in place. She could see the confusion in his eyes. They were asking a question: Have I gone too far?
Hussein knew Oliver was only trying to help. He would not kill her. He would never raise a hand against her. He owed her too much. She held a marker Oliver could never repay. One she would always hold over him.
She had saved his life from her lover and dictator, Saddam.
His four fingers remained against her soft skin, the pads of each digit connecting with the inside of her thigh, just above the knee. They were four electrodes, pulsing current into her, bringing her flesh back to life. Hussein tilted her head back again and slowly sucked the Caribbean air into her lungs. She held that position for a long time, weighing the events and trying to kill the pain.
Was it too soon?
Hussein felt her nipples become erect and a warm flush swam over her body, back and forth like a violent, storm-laden tide.
“Oliver, help me forget.”
Hussein reached for him, clutching the fabric of his shirt in her clenched fist, pulling him to her. His hand resumed its trek inside her sari, inching higher.
When it reached the confluence of her thighs, Oliver spread his fore- and middle fingers gently as a cue. Hussein responded and separated her legs, elevating her knees. The length of silk along her leg drifted toward her abdomen as the warm breeze caressed her exposed womanhood.
Slowly, with the deftness of a master craftsman, his fingers crept toward their goal. They dipped slightly, touching the skin just beneath the moist haven.
Hussein arched her back and sucked in a loud sharp breath. The electricity of his touch arced with mounting voltage. She reached up with her other hand, desperately clutching another fistful of cloth and pulling his lips to within an inch of hers.
Oliver moved his fingers higher, touching her moist mound with the gentleness of a moth landing on a leaf. Hussein’s body spasmed. His lips made contact with hers as he pushed two fingers inside her.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Oui, mon ami,” Hussein replied. Her head rested on his bare chest as they lay naked in bed. “Much better.”
Hussein ran her hand down his belly under the sheet. His skin, coated with a patina of perspiration, was taut and firm.
“Thank you, Oliver. I needed that.”
“Pleasing you is my only mission.”
With the blood coursing potently through her veins again, Hussein’s mind began to race with more coherent thoughts for the first time in seven days.
As if sensing her impatience, Oliver asked, “You are thinking of something, Miss Lily?”
“Oui, I am.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Nothing yet,” she answered. “I am still upset. I’ve lost a daughter and my son is gone. And even more, the failure was my fault.”
“The pharmacist?”
“You realized my mistake was allowing the pharmacist to get involved?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing?”
“It was not my place.”
Hussein rose up and looked into his eyes. “You are right. It is not your place. And the pharmacist was the problem. It was my fault that I allowed him to come so close to our operation. I misjudged him.”
“Again, what should I do?”
“Nothing. I will need your help in the coming months. Our compatriots in Washington are, no doubt, in a state of crisis. Have you been able to contact Hammon?”
“No, Miss Lily. The secure phone number is dead. I have tried each of the last three days.”
“I feared as much. They are going deep underground. Word of the assassination attempts has spread quietly through the American government…”
“I have been monitoring the newspapers and news shows. There has been no mention of anything.”
“Nonetheless, the FBI, Secret Service, and CIA are tracing all clues. And, I fear, they are torturing my beloved Sharif, trying to extract any shred of information from him.”
“I fear you are correct,” Oliver replied, running his fingers across her naked back.
“They will come after us.”
“Yes, they will.”
“I want you to contact Damascus. I will need to meet with them in the coming days. Arrange a meeting for a month from now. They are probably most concerned. I must smooth the waters and make them understand that this was only a temporary setback. We must continue with the mission. We must strike at the Americans again.
“Just as bin Laden did after the first attacks on the World Trade Center, we will strike them once more. They will beef up the security of all government officials. But we will hit them in a different way … in a way they will never expect.”
Hussein pulled herself up to Oliver’s lips and kissed him deeply as she reached for his groin. She massaged him and felt him growing firmer in her hand as her tongue probed his lips. Hussein ripped the bed sheets from his body and straddled him.
Without warning, she slapped him hard across the cheek, whipping his head to the side. She leaned in and hovered over him, her breasts caressing his chest. “Make love to me again once more. Then we have much to do.”
“What?”
“I will fill you in when the time is right. The details must be worked out. But, trust me, the Great Satan will feel our wrath and we will not fail. I want you to track the movements and communications of Jason Rodgers, the pharmacist. I want to know everything he does and everywhere he goes. Every aspect of his life is to be scrutinized. When we strike again, I will avenge my daughter and my son. And Jason Rodgers will know the pain I have felt and will feel for the rest of my days. He will suffer as I am suffering. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss Lily.”
“He doesn’t know it yet. He is, no doubt, recovering right now. When the time is right, I want him to know that I am the one who has rained down vengeance upon him.”
“Yes, Madame.”
Delilah Hussein slapped Oliver once more, on the opposite cheek. With her hand still stinging from the blow, she reached down and grasped his swollen manhood.
“Make love to me, Oliver. I need to ease the pain but not forget the mission.”
She lowered herself onto him as she whispered a verse from the Qur’an to herself. “Help me ease the pain.”