“I hope you’re not going to be like this the entire flight to Cairo,” Suit said.
“Cairo?” Sean chimed in with an unusually loud voice. “What’s in Cairo?”
“A grand surprise,” Suit answered. “Now I suggest you three get some rest. We will be there in around four hours. This will be your best chance to sleep.”
Sleep? How are we going to sleep? Sean wondered.
Emily had remained unusually quiet, but he could see the gears spinning in her head.
“You okay?” Sean whispered to her across the aisle.
“Yeah.” She gave a nod that was as curt as her answer.
“Mad that they got the drop on you?”
“A little.”
Sean knew it. He’d be ticked at himself, too.
“Don’t beat yourself up over it. We’ll be dead soon.”
She frowned and looked at him like he was crazy. He returned the look with a stupid grin that may well have confirmed his insanity.
“What is wrong with you? You do realize they really are going to kill us, right?”
“Yep.” He rocked back and forth in the seat. “Or we’re going to kill them. Either way, this is going to end badly for someone.”
“Well, if you ask me, it’s going to be us.”
The conversation had ended there, and no one said anything else during the flight. When the plane landed in Cairo, the prisoners were moved to the back of a white van and shoved onto the floor. All the doors were locked from the outside, and the tinted windows were covered by metal screens that gave Sean the impression this wasn’t their first abduction.
The ride was less than comfortable and a major contrast to the luxurious seating of the private plane.
“Never been to Cairo,” Sean said. “Always wanted to check it out.”
“You realize you’re going to die here, right?” Emily asked.
“You know, you could be a little more positive,” Fitz interjected
“Yeah, Em… Agent Starks, look on the bright side.”
“Which is…?”
Sean chuckled. “I don’t know yet, but I’m sure there is one.”
He stole a quick look out the nearest window. It was early morning and still dark outside.
“Looks like a nice area out there, though.”
Emily leaned against the van’s interior wall and put her head against the grating. “It’s the Garden District. Wealthy elite live here.”
“There you go,” Fitz said. “We’ll be killed in a nice place, which means probably not put in a dumpster.”
She sneered at him but said nothing else.
Silence settled over the van for the next five minutes. Only the bumps in the road and the engine invaded the quiet space. Sean stole a glance at his bag stuffed between the driver and passenger seats. The men who’d taken the boat relieved him of it and did a rudimentary check of the contents.
He’d watched as they removed the gun and two magazines. Then he had a quick laugh at their expense as they started to remove the smelly shirt and then hurriedly put it back.
They’d returned the weapon and magazines to the bag as well, keeping it a safe distance from the American agent. Salvation was only three feet away, kept out of reach by a thin layer of grated black steel.
The van slowed suddenly and swerved to the left, tossing the occupants in the back to the other side. The driver straightened out the wheel and then drove down a long concrete driveway toward a white mansion.
The structure looked more like a huge compound. It towered over the other homes in the area and was easily twice the size in breadth and length. Palm trees lined both sides of the driveway, interspersed with monkey grass between.
When the van reached the end of the driveway and a six-car garage, he stopped the vehicle and got out. The guy in the passenger seat hopped out as well and hurried to open the side door. He leveled the weapon strapped to his shoulder, waving it menacingly at the three Americans. The driver stepped into view and ordered them to get out. His accent was thicker than Suit’s and had a different sound to the letter “O.”
“Speak of the devil,” Sean said.
Suit appeared around the back of the van, stepping out of a white BMW sedan.
“Nice car,” he added.
Suit didn’t respond. He just motioned for the guards to take them into the building.
The Americans were ushered through the side door. Considering it was just an ancillary entryway, the opulence to the decor was incredible. Plaster lion heads popped out of the wall near the crown molding, jutting out every four feet or so. The tiled floor was made of white marble with the signature black ripples streaking through it.
Sean half expected to see a laundry room on the right with appliances made of pure gold. As he passed the door, he saw it was a closet for cleaning supplies.
The guards moved them quickly down the hall and up a flight of stairs next to a huge kitchen. When they reached the second floor, Sean thought they might stop there, but their journey upward continued until they reached the fourth level. They were then corralled through another door that led into a long corridor. Iron sconces lined the walls, casting artificial candlelight into the space to light the way.
The group passed two doors before turning right at the end of the hall. They walked into a room that was at least six hundred square feet — not little by any stretch.
There were three wooden chairs sitting next to each other in the middle of the floor. The simple seats all faced toward white double doors leading out onto a balcony that appeared to wrap around the entire level. A television hung from the wall between two sets of doors. A news anchor was rambling on about the U.S. economy and asking questions of a politician as to how he would make things better.
“Please, sit,” Suit said, motioning to the three chairs.
The decorations in the room were sparse, to say the least. It was like the owner of the mansion had purposely kept the space just for such an occasion.
Emily and Sean did as told. Fitz hesitated.
“Mind if we watch ESPN instead? I mean, if you’re going to keep us prisoner, the least you can do is—”
His sentence was cut off by Suit kicking him squarely in the back with the heel of his shoe.
Fitz grunted and collapsed to his knees. He grimaced while grabbing at the wounded area. “Jeez,” he said between coughs. “Was just a legitimate question. Now I’m gonna be pissing blood for a week.”
Suit motioned to two of his guards. The men pushed their weapons behind their backs and lifted the injured American to his feet, dragged him to the empty chair, and plopped him down.
Fitz winced again as his butt hit the seat, but he kept his balance.
“Not sure what all this is about,” Sean said. “But we are American citizens. You’re making a big mistake.”
“Huge,” Fitz grunted. His face had flushed red.
“So whatever it is you’re planning, I’d suggest you let us go before we call the thunder down on this place.”
A new voice entered the conversation. “And just what thunder are you planning on calling?” It was a smooth, even tone with just a hint of sinister spice.
All three Americans turned their heads to look in the direction the of the voice. In the far corner of the room, a figure with broad shoulders stood in the shadows. An orange tip from a cigar radiated for a moment and then dissipated. Smoke wafted out from near the figure’s face.
A moment later the man stepped out. He wore a white suit with a black button-up shirt underneath, also unbuttoned at the top like his minion’s.
Sean didn’t know what to say in response to the question, which in and of itself was an achievement on the villain’s part. It was a rare thing for Sean Wyatt to be speechless.
Emily spoke up after another lengthy silence. “Your friend here knows who we are,” she motioned to Suit with a flick of her head. “That means you know who we work for and what we are capable of. If you kill us, they will come for you.”