Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
July 11 th
10:32 A.M.
He was walking around the pyramids— the Pyramids of Giza—a place on many people’s bucket list, and yet Cooper could barely give it any of his attention.
It wasn't that the pyramids weren't spectacular, they were, and you could spend an entire day walking around, taking pictures from different angles, capturing their size and magnificence. The problem was him.
It didn’t matter how amazing the pyramids were, he felt like he should be doing something productive. This was no vacation, he wasn't there to marvel at the wonders of ancient Egypt, he was there to get answers on who set his mom up to look like a traitor and why.
That wasn't all that was on his mind.
The person in black in the corner of Mahmoud’s kitchen was as well.
Cooper couldn’t seem to get them out of his head. The body was too small to be an adult male and too big to be a young child, so it was either a woman or a teen boy. Given where they were and the big, baggy clothes the person had been dressed in, he was leaning toward a woman.
Who was she, and how had she gotten mixed up with a man like Tarek Mahmoud?
Was it possible that the professor was wrapped up in more than just whatever happened to his mom? Could he be into human trafficking? Prostitution? Was the boy or woman a slave? A prisoner?
His brother’s words kept echoing in his mind. He shouldn’t worry about it, he was there for a reason and one he had to focus on. He had to keep his mind on the ball and not allow himself to become distracted.
But …
What if the person needed help?
If they were in trouble, could he really just ignore it because he had his own issues to deal with?
That wasn't who he was. Wasn't who he had been raised to be. While he and his siblings had believed that their mom worked for an aid agency and that’s why she had to travel sometimes, they’d always known that she was strong and tough. To travel to dangerous countries and build a successful marriage with a special forces operator who was away sometimes for months at a time, you had to be. Learning she was actually in the CIA was a huge shock but had also filled them all with pride.
Their mom had been an amazing woman which was why he and his siblings were determined to clear her name.
It was the least she deserved.
So stop thinking about the person in black .
Whatever was going on there wasn't his business. There was every chance that the person wasn't in any trouble, and even if they were, it wasn't like he had many options to do anything about it. Sure, he worked for Prey, and he had his boss’ okay to be there, but this was no official mission and he couldn’t just barge into a respected professor’s home and demand that he hand over the person in black. What if they were there of their own free will? They might not even want to be rescued.
Best to just let it go.
There was enough to focus on without adding to the mix .
To that end, he did his best to shove all thoughts of the huddled black figure in the kitchen corner from his mind.
This might not be a vacation, but he was in Egypt, and he was walking around the pyramids, he really should take in their grandeur and make the most of it. As he wandered around, heading toward where the Sphynx was situated, he even pulled out his cell phone and took a few photos. No selfies, they weren't really his thing, but he did snap some great pictures of the Sphynx with the pyramids in the background.
It was only when he was turning around to walk over to the other side of the pyramids, that he noticed it.
A man who seemed to be paying a little too much attention to him.
There was nothing outwardly suspicious about him. He looked like all the other tourists wandering around, only at the same time, he didn't. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, he had a pair of sunglasses on so there was no way Cooper could confirm that he was looking at him, but he felt eyes on him. The man was angled so he could watch Cooper, and he didn't have a cell phone in his hand.
Almost all the tourists had phones in their hands, laughing and smiling as they took photo after photo.
Only this man just stood there, staring.
At him.
Cooper would bet everything he owned on it.
To test his theory, Cooper started walking. Keeping his pace slow and even. He headed back toward the pyramids. Walking around them, he headed across the large sandy area to another good photo opportunity spot. It was where he was heading anyway, but it would give him proof that he was being followed. There was a road that most of the buses were taking to drive to the second spot, and only a handful of people were walking it.
As he walked, he stopped regularly, snapping more pictures, he may as well take as many as he could and make his little sister jealous since the pyramids were indeed on her bucket list.
Every time he stopped, he spotted the man.
Following.
If he was doing his best to look unobtrusive, he was doing a terrible job. He still hadn't pulled out a cell phone and at least attempted to look like just another tourist.
Why, if you were going to follow someone, would you make it so obvious?
Did they want him to know he was being followed?
Was it one of Professor Mahmoud’s contacts?
That would be the only thing that made sense. He wasn't there for Prey, so there was no reason for anyone to follow him around because of his job. And he didn’t look like he was wealthy, and given his size he clearly wasn't an easy target. He was definitely not who you would pick out if you were there to rob someone, even if he was alone.
When he reached the other spot, he stopped for a moment, took more pictures, then angled his phone and zoomed in, snapping as many pictures as he could of the man following him. From this distance, he couldn’t get a clear picture of his face, and the sunglasses definitely made it even more difficult, but he’d take what he could get. Once he had a whole range, he tapped out a quick email to his brother, attached all the pictures, and asked Cade to pass them along to Prey’s computer people. Maybe there was something they could pull from them to help identify him, and even if they couldn’t, at least they’d have them for reference if the man tried anything.
Which so far he hadn't.
Other than following Cooper wherever he went, the man didn't try to get too close, and from what he could see it didn't look like he was armed. It was like he had just been hired to tail him and see where he was going and what he was doing.
If it was Mahmoud, could it be because the man wanted to see if he was going to meet up with anyone?
After their meeting yesterday, Cooper had the feeling there was more to Tarek Mahmoud than the man was letting on. He just had no idea what it could be.
Again, the image of the figure in black huddled in the corner filled his mind.
Could that be related to him being followed?
If the figure was a victim, perhaps the professor was worried that he’d been caught red-handed, and Cooper was there for more than just to ask questions about his long-dead mother.
It wasn't true. He was there for no other reason than to find out what Professor Mahmoud might know about what was more than likely his mother’s last job with the CIA. Verifying the date Tarek Mahmoud had gotten married, it was just a month before his dad was killed, and then just six months after that his mother was arrested and died.
Whatever had happened in Egypt had to be related to what happened to his mom, all seven of them agreed on that, but that didn't actually bring them any closer to finding out what exactly it was that had happened.
If the man following him really was here at Tarek Mahmoud’s orders, then it confirmed that the professor was more deeply embroiled in the plot to set up his mother to look like a traitor. Whatever the man was hiding, whatever he didn't want Cooper to discover, whatever reasons he had for having him watched, there was no way he wasn't going to uncover those secrets.
July 11 th
5:02 P.M
It sounded silly, but the worst part of being held prisoner on Professor Mahmoud’s property in this tiny little underground cell was the heat.
The pain from constant beatings was awful, and the unexpected claustrophobia those first couple of days had been as terrible as it had been confusing, given that Willow had never worried about small spaces in her life.
But the heat …
It was inescapable.
It clung to her body in a horrible sheen of sweat.
It was stifling and made it feel like every ounce of air had been drained out of this dark space.
It made her feel like she was being slowly cooked alive .
Of course, the temperatures in here weren't actually hot enough to kill her. If they were she’d be dead already. But they were hot enough that they kept her in a constant state of dehydration. What little water she was given, she always drank too quickly because she was so thirsty her mouth felt as dry as the desert outside. No matter how many times she coached herself to go slow, take sips, and make it last, as soon as that water touched her tongue, she lost her mind and guzzled it down as quickly as she could.
Which only served to start the process all over again, and by the time the next bottle of water was delivered she was so thirsty she couldn’t think straight.
This was a horrible way to live.
In fact, a lot of the time, Willow just wished the professor would hurry up and do it already, end her suffering, and put her out of her misery.
The rest of the time she remembered why she had to fight.
The promise she’d made to her dad on the day of his funeral hadn't been fulfilled yet. Even at eight years old, she’d felt the injustice of what had happened to her father so deeply that it was forever ingrained in her soul. That day, as she’d stood beside his coffin in the church empty but for herself, her mom, and the pastor, she had promised her dad that she would do something with her life to make him proud.
At eight, she hadn't known what that thing was. All she’d known then was that the people who should have trusted and believed in her dad had failed him, and somehow, she had to make it right. The church they’d attended every Sunday had been empty only because she’d refused to go to the funeral if the people who had let her dad down were there. They knew him, and yet they had refused to allow his funeral to take place there until he was cleared.
Then they cried crocodile tears.
But it was already too late. The damage had been done and she never stepped foot inside that building after the funeral.
As she grew older and thought more about the journalist who had written the lies that led to her dad’s death, she realized that was the way to honor the father she adored. To take what had killed him and make it mean something important .
So, she’d begun on this journey.
One that had already given her a well-respected name and sustainable career. One that had shown her that not all journalists cared solely about being first to break a story, about ratings and views, about fame and fortune. Some cared about gathering evidence and sharing with the world stories that needed to be told.
Those people were her tribe, and she was clinging to hope that they would alert the authorities about her disappearance.
Not that she was pinning all her hopes on anyone else to come swooping in on a white horse to save her.
If she wanted to live, she had to find a way to save herself.
Which was exactly what she planned to do.
The American would be back, she was sure of it. She’d studied human behavior, and even from the little she knew about the man, she was confident she could predict at least that aspect of his behavior. His mom had been gone for eighteen years, he had to be around her age, probably a couple of years older, which meant he’d lost his mom as a kid.
There was no way that hadn't shaped the person he had become.
She knew, she’d lived it, too.
Her dad’s death had shaped her entire future, and she believed it was no different for the American man. For whatever reason, he believed that Professor Mahmoud knew something about what happened to his mother, so he’d come back to try to get more answers from him.
When he did, she’d be ready.
This time she wasn't keeping quiet.
It was obvious the American wasn't there for her, and despite the professor’s guilty conscience, she doubted he was there for him either. This was all about his mother, which meant there was no team waiting in the wings to rescue her. There were no plans to risk messing up, so when the man returned, she was going for it. She’d find a way to alert him to the fact that she was in trouble and needed help and pray he would be willing to give it to her.
Don’t let me be wrong about this.
Please.
The familiar clank of the padlock being unlocked had her closing her eyes. It was the best way to deal with the onslaught of light when the trapdoor was flung open.
Even with her eyes closed, she felt that light cut straight through her skull.
“Get up,” Professor Mahmoud ordered, and she sensed him standing before her even though her eyes were still closed.
Normally, she’d shoot back some sort of retort, but today, she just didn't have the energy. It was becoming increasingly evident that her body had already given pretty much all it had to give. Her tank was almost dry, and once it was, it was only a matter of time.
A foot connected with her hip, and she had to bite on her lip to prevent a moan from falling out. Almost empty or not, she was not going to give Professor Mahmoud the satisfaction of breaking her.
“I said, get up,” he ordered again, delivering another blow to her hip and making the entire left side of her body feel like it had caught fire.
Gathering what scraps of strength she could find, Willow managed to drag herself to her feet. As soon as she was standing, the metal cuff on her wrist was unlocked and she was picked up and thrust up into the arms of one of the men who worked with the professor.
From the voices chattering around her, she knew this was going to be bad. Most of the time it was just the professor who doled out his torturous beatings alone. But sometimes, he invited his friends along. Those days were always the worst, and not just because more people meant more pain.
It was how much it reminded her of the worst night of her life.
Somehow, the universe seemed to get off on continuing to torture her with her father’s death, even twenty years later making her life turn into an echo of his murder.
Before anyone could get to her, Willow managed to scramble to her feet. She swayed precariously, almost going back down again, and with nothing to reach out to and use to steady herself, she had to cartwheel her arms a couple of times to remain upright, but she managed it.
The men surrounded her, looking at her with curiosity. She wasn't like the women they were used to, she didn't cower, didn't blindly obey, and had a role beyond what they believed women should have, and she loved that all of that angered them .
“I know who you really are, professor,” she said, her voice weak from pain but still confident. “I know what you do. I know what all of you do,” Willow added, letting her gaze roam the gathering of men in this dusty yard. “I know that you’re recruiting as many young men as you can so that you can groom them, convert them, then instill them in positions of power in the countries of your enemies. I know you're planning a Trojan Horse kind of thing and that you want to destroy everything that doesn’t align with you and your beliefs. If I survive, I'm going to shout it all from the rooftops and bring you down.”
The men laughed like that declaration was the funniest thing they’d ever heard, but they knew she had enough intel to destroy them if she really should manage to escape or be rescued.
It was why she had to keep fighting, even when they converged on her and blows began to rain down on her already broken body.
Why giving up wasn't an option no matter how much her injured body pleaded with her to do so.
When the American came, she was going to do whatever it took to make contact with him.
Because it was her last hope.
If the American didn't save her, nothing else would.