“I have to say, Ali, your friend is not much for manners,” Robert said.
“But he makes sense,” Trish said. “I would like us to have an early start tomorrow, too, Robert. So I think I will retire to my room.”
“Oh, not until you taste this wine, my dear,” bin Muzzar said. “It’s been aged to perfection.” He poured some wine into a silver goblet and handed it to her, and then filled his and Robert’s goblets.
“To a very pleasant evening that can only become more delightful,” he said.
“Here, here!” Robert said in agreement.
Trish’s gaze swept the room over the top of the silver goblet as she took a sip of the vintage wine. Bin Muzzar’s palace was a mixture of wealth and tastelessness.
Exquisite Oriental rugs embellished the fastidious marbled floors. Stained glass beautified most of the windows. In direct contrast, gold-encrusted nude figures of males and females in various stages of congress lined the sixteen-foot-high dome ceiling supported by ornamental pillars and columns adorned with leafy vines of woven gold.
Pure decadence! At best it resembled something out of a cheap Hollywood Arabian Nights production, or the garish interior of a Las Vegas hotel.
She shifted her glance to Robert. He’d already had too much to drink. So had the sheik. Old classmates! Birds of a feather! No wonder they got along so well.
Trish had met Ali only once before when he had come to the United States to be Robert’s best man at their wedding. The night before the wedding the loathsome little toad had tried to hit on her, even though she was to become the bride of his dear classmate the next day. When she had complained to Robert about it, he’d merely laughed and shrugged it off. That should have been the warning sign to her. On their wedding night, Robert had suggested a ménage à trois with Ali. When she refused, he and his dear classmate left to spend the night with one of Robert’s former girlfriends.
Trish thought of the painful days that followed. Of course Robert had claimed he had been too drunk to know what he was doing, and had begged her to forgive him. She had naively believed him.
Now, finally, after two miserable years of having to bear the embarrassment of being his wife legally, she’d have her divorce. Signed, sealed and hopefully filed—by the time she got back. She had honored her word and accompanied him here, but why it was so important to do so was still a mystery to her.
Trish took another sip of the wine. As soon as she finished it, she would go upstairs to her room. The two old classmates could stay up all night drinking and talking about old times as far as she was concerned.
“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a headache, so I’ll retire for the night.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, darling,” Robert said. His concerned look was a convincing act, but it was wasted on her.
Trish stood up, and her knees buckled. Robert grabbed her arm before she could fall. “Let me help you, darling.”
“I’m fine,” she said, jerking free from him. His touch repulsed her.
“I insist.”
Robert took her arm again. The room began to spin and she found herself unable to walk. Ali came over and took her other arm.
“Let me be of assistance, my dear.”
Trish had never felt like this before. She had no strength in her arms and her legs could not support her. Unable to walk, she was forced to allow the two men to literally carry her.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I don’t understand. I feel as if I’m drug—”
The truth hit her and she felt the rise of panic. “No, let me go,” she cried. “What are you doing to me?” She tried to struggle, but it was useless. By now she couldn’t even raise an arm.
Robert laughed, and lifted her into his arms. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint our gracious host, darling. He’s been looking forward to this evening for the past day and a half. Haven’t you, Ali?”
Bin Muzzar laughed. “More like two years, my friend. Normally, Patricia, I’m not this patient waiting for a mere woman, but Robert promised me the wait would be worthwhile. Despite your current condition, I am sure, my dear, you will enjoy what is to come as much as we will.”
She tried to scream, but even her vocal chords were paralyzed. Her voice was barely louder than a murmur. “Let me go. You can’t do this. Robert. Please.”
“Since our marriage will be severed, darling, I can’t think of a fonder memory to carry with me when we go our separate ways.”
She managed a weak scream when they reached her room, but it was drowned out by the laughter of the two men as Robert carried her to the bed.
Trish felt herself slowly begin to slide into unconsciousness and prayed for the merciful darkness to overcome her swiftly. But for now she could only lie helplessly, staring up, horrified, into the lascivious faces of the two men who had begun to strip her of her clothing.
They pivoted in surprise when the door suddenly burst open. Through her drugged haze she imagined the face on the tall figure in the entrance—an image that had haunted her conscience, as much as her dreams, for the last six years. Was he real or was this just a wishful figment of her imagination again?
Dave! her heart shouted joyously.
Help me, Dave. Please help me, Trish cried out in a soundless murmur before blackness enveloped her.
Chapter 2
Dave stared at the two men. He recognized bin Muzzar from his picture at the briefing, but the other man was not McDermott. From his coloring and clothing, Dave figured the second man had to be the American, Robert Manning. He was aware of a woman on the bed but ignored her. None of these three people were his target.
Up to now, there was no way bin Muzzar would know he was an American. He wore dark clothes and his face was covered with greasepaint in the hope of not revealing his nationality, since the British government was after the terrorist as well as the CIA. The sheik would have no way of knowing for certain who was behind the raid. The less said, the better.
In Arabic, Dave asked bin Muzzar which room McDermott was in.
Bin Muzzar turned on Manning and issued a string of curses accusing him of betrayal. Manning attempted to deny them, but bin Muzzar did not believe him and warned Manning he’d pay for his treachery. He then strode from the room and Cassidy followed.
The sheik was further incensed when he saw the rest of the squad. Their presence set him off into another tirade and, ranting violently about the armed invasion of his home, he led them to a closed door at the end of the hall.
Dave didn’t like the situation at all. The mission was taking too long. It was too noisy. The whole damn palace had to hear bin Muzzar shouting at them. And they were on the second floor—a definite disadvantage if the sheik’s army became involved and put up a resistance.
To shut bin Muzzar up, Dave made a threatening motion with his rifle, and the sheik drew back and quieted. However, by this time the damage had been done. There was no doubt in Dave’s mind that McDermott couldn’t have helped hearing the commotion, and would probably be waiting with a weapon in hand.
Dave turned the handle. The door was unlocked. He shoved it open and then ducked back. When there were no shots fired, he cautiously peered in. The room was dimly lit, but it appeared empty.
One by one the men slipped into the room. The bed showed signs of having been used, McDermott’s backpack was still in the room, but there was no sign of the Irishman.
“Dammit!” Dave cursed when he discovered that bin Muzzar had slipped away, too. A quick check of the remaining rooms on the floor produced the same results. No McDermott or bin Muzzzar. They were all empty except for the one