“Don’t you touch her,” snarled Harvath.

“You are commanding me?” said Hashim as he ran his hands over Meg’s body.

“You will not defile that woman here. Not in my presence,” said Adara.

“I will do what I like, where I like,” replied the brother as he lowered his blade and ran it along the inside of Meg’s thighs. Tears were now streaming down her face. The nightmare had once again returned.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” warned Harvath. This was a torture worse than anything they could have dreamed for Meg, and Scot knew it. He strained against his captors with all of his might, but they held fast.

“Mr. Harvath, you are in no position to tell me what to do. As I told my sister, I do as I like, where I-”

His rant was interrupted by Adara, who, slipping unseen across the room as her brother’s attention was riveted on Meg, landed a searing blow to the side of his head.

Enraged, the man spun on his sister, but she spoke first. “Your indiscretions have cost us dearly. I will not permit another. Agent Harvath will tell us what the Americans know about our plans. I guarantee you.”

“You forget yourself, sister,” said Hashim. His eyes smoldered and his face was flushed with embarrassment at being so demeaned.

“I forget nothing. Your place is not to disagree with me. Our father made clear-”

“Our father was a sick old man.”

“How dare you?” hissed Adara. “You have sworn your loyalty and obedience.”

Hashim Nidal hated to be seen taking orders from a woman, but he backed down. There was no question left as to who was in charge. He glared at his sister, who never broke eye contact. She commanded the guards in Arabic, and as Scot and Meg were herded out the opposite door, Hashim called after them in English, “We have only just begun. I will come for each of you later.”

And I’ll be waiting, thought Harvath.

48

The minute the guards locked Harvath in his room, his evasion-and-escape training took over. He needed to find something, anything, that could be used as a weapon or aid in their escape, and he needed to find it before Hashim Nidal came back for them.

Whoever had retrofitted the guest room as a glorified holding cell had done an extremely good job. Everything was either bolted to the floor or the wall. The holes that served as windows were barred from the outside, there were no accessible light fixtures, no springs in the mattress or the bed frame, and there wasn’t even any glass in the bathroom.

An hour later, Harvath’s search was interrupted by the sound of his door being unlocked. His time was up. He would have to face Hashim empty-handed.

When the door opened, he saw Meg standing in the hallway flanked by the same guards from earlier that day. “Where are we going?” he asked in Arabic. One of the men just motioned him outside with his assault rifle. Harvath shook his head, No.

The other guard grabbed a handful of Meg Cassidy’s hair and yanked hard, causing her to cry out. Harvath gave in and came out of his room.

He and Meg were paraded down several hallways to an elaborate dining room. Muted frescoes adorned the walls, and a large chandelier hung from the arched ceiling. Two candelabras on a sideboard provided additional light. Sitting at the head of the long, rough wooden table eating her dinner was Adara.

“Quite lovely, isn’t it?” she asked as the guards marched Scot and Meg to the head of the table and then took up positions behind them. “This whole complex was once a secret stronghold of the Knights of Saint John of Jerusalem. Colonel Gadhafi presented it to my father as a gift.”

“Pretty generous guy,” said Harvath.

“You’ll find that generosity is a cornerstone of our culture. In fact, I am prepared to make you a very generous offer. But first, you must be hungry. How would you like something to eat?”

Adara Nidal rang a small silver bell next to her wineglass, and a servant appeared. She gave him instructions in Arabic, and he quickly set two more places at the table.

“Please, sit,” she said.

“We’re not interested,” replied Harvath.

“Please do not be impolite, Agent Harvath. You would do well to take advantage of my generosity. The alternatives are not very pleasant.”

A rifle barrel jammed in his back encouraged Harvath to accept the woman’s hospitality.

“Excellent,” she said. “Yes, you sit there, Agent Harvath, and Ms. Cassidy will take the seat here next to me.”

As Meg took her seat next to Adara, she noticed, a faint scent that she thought she recognized. Her thoughts, though, were disrupted when their hostess raised the bottle in front of her and asked, “Ms. Cassidy, may I pour you some wine? It’s quite nice. A Frascati. Wine of the popes, they say. This is a Santa Teresa Superiore, one of the best.”

“No thank you,” replied Meg.

“That’s too bad. What about you Agent Harvath?”

“I’m not thirsty, thank you. Besides, I thought alcohol was forbidden by the Muslim faith.”

“It is,” answered Adara as she refilled her glass. “But there are certain pleasures in life which I am unwilling to forgo.”

“Did your father know you drink?” asked Harvath.

“I don’t wish to talk about my father. I would much rather talk about us. It has been quite an odyssey, hasn’t it? You have followed me around the world.”

“Indeed. Macau, Bern, Cairo, Chicago,” said Harvath, rattling off the cities.

“And let’s not forget Jerusalem,” added Adara.

Harvath was taken completely off guard. How did she know about Jerusalem? The icy grip of death had been on the back of his neck, and he hadn’t even felt it. He tried not to show his surprise. “Jerusalem? I haven’t been there in a long time.”

“Please, Agent Harvath. Let’s not play games. At one point I stood right behind you. Had you been paying attention, you could have smelled my perfume. What were you doing there? What was your assignment? Were you sent to kill me? If so, you did a very bad job.”

“If I had wanted to kill you, you would be dead, believe me,” said Harvath, trying to use the illusion that America knew more than it did to his advantage. “I wasn’t there to kill you. We wanted to know more about your operation. Why don’t we talk about what you and your brother are planning.”

“We have many plans, Agent Harvath. Many of which are the same, and many of which are not. We are two completely different people.”

“You don’t seem that different to me.”

“Oh, yes, we are. And we always have been. When we were very young, my father used to play a game with us called Alquerque. I was quite skilled at it. Hashim was not. It demands a mind adept at strategy, which my brother does not have. I beat both my father and my brother repeatedly. Eventually, Hashim refused to play. My father spent nights on end playing Alquerque with me, virtually ignoring Hashim. It drove him mad with jealousy, and he tried to find other ways to impress my father and gain his attention.”

“Did he find anything?”

“No. I always ran faster, jumped farther, and even shot better than he did. The point of the matter is that the only thing my brother surpassed me in was his love for Islam. My father saw it as a means of uniting people. I saw it as a boring, profitless pursuit, and had no time for it.”

“It would seem your ability to speak English is another area in which you surpass your brother.”

“My father sent me away to private boarding schools and eventually on to university at Oxford. By living in the West, I learned the ways of the West. Understanding the disposition of your enemy is one of the most necessary elements in conquering him.”

Something clicked in Harvath’s mind. Like picking a lock, a tumbler had fallen into place. It had something to do with Ari Schoen, but he didn’t know what it meant. He just felt he was onto something. “Your father seemed to think of everything.”