Veronica – Part Two

 

by

 

Reagan Kavanagh and Diana Walker

 

This work of adult fiction – based loosely on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe – includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned.  Additionally, some content is categorised as NC-17 for graphic descriptions of violence and details regarding the mind and behaviour of serial predators.  The child shown above is a professional model, and her photos and portfolios are available on the internet.  No copyright infringement of original work is intended. Copyright Reagan Kavanagh and Diana Walker 2006.

 

 

MAXIMUS
A week following Terry’s and Cassandra’s return from their journey to the various crime sites, the details for finalising the lease on the villa located by Diana and Cassandra had been accomplished.  There had been documents to be signed by Terry and myself and dispatched via courier to England.  The owners of the villa approved of our references – and our credit report – and affixed their signatures, returning the documents to Birgit Svenson, their agent in Cairo.  All that remained to be done prior to our occupying the villa was filing the jointly signed documents with the owners’ solicitors, an easy matter, as they utilised one of the solicitors at the British Embassy.  Diana had completed her assignment at the American Embassy and returned to Washington for the required debrief, accomplished that in a day, and returned to Cairo on what she termed ‘the red-eye’ that evening.  As Diana and Cassandra had located the villa prior to Diana’s trip to Washington, they began moving our belongings into the villa on the day following her return.  We occupied that night.
 
Dinner conversation our second night in the villa proved most instructive.  Birgit Svenson had arranged to have all three of the staff present late that afternoon in order to meet their temporary employers; Diana had recognised one of them.  The groundskeeper was also employed at the American Embassy. 
 
“God, I wish I was still interim HR Director at the Embassy.  I’d love to look at the pay scales.  Do these guys need to work more than one job?  If the US Government is underpaying them, that’s shameful.”
 
Cassandra tilted her head to the side before speaking.  “Is that a rhetorical question?”
 
“It's rhetorical to a degree, but why would it be different here than it is in the States?  Even middle class people in the States have to have two incomes to make ends meet today …but go on with your lecture, because you’re going to anyway.” 
 
“In reality, it isn’t uncommon for support staff to have multiple jobs.  The guy likely has a wife and six kids - which is not that common in the States – and he couldn’t support them on what he’s making at the Embassy, so he’d have to work at least one more job.  He probably makes more from this job than he does at the Embassy.  The difference is that in the States, he would be working for things.  Here, he’s working for food and shelter.” 
 
Terry seemed thoughtful as he spoke.  “That makes me feel a bit better about delaying security checks on all of them.  Given that the staff has such good references from the owners, and you,” nodding at Diana, “know one of them, perhaps we can relax a bit.” 
 
Diana shook her head.  “I’ve never liked doing reference checks, but they’re part and parcel of my profession.  I really think we should do them on the other two.  I’ll head over to the Embassy soon and talk to the Consular Officer.  You know, it still seems silly to me …having three full time staff for the four of us.  This is a bit more decadence than I can stand.”  Decadence?  Why would staff be considered decadent? Prior to moving into Cassandra’s home, I had retained a housekeeper who came to my flat each week; Cassandra employed a housekeeper who came twice weekly – keeping the dog hair vacuumed and off the furniture took most of one day – and we thought nothing of her presence; she was a convenience for both of us and quite a pleasant woman into the bargain.  I digress.  We agreed that Diana’s checking on all members of the house staff was the wisest course of action.
 
I had spent the bulk of our time in Cairo thus far at the Forsythe villa – returning to the hotel and now the villa late in the evening just in time for bed - as we knew the first contact from the kidnappers would be to Veronica's home.  We were beginning to despair of receiving a second contact – it had been more than a month since the initial call – when we had a late evening radio contact with a demand for USD $10 million for the safe return of the child.  I advised the speaker – who was clearly not Malek Khalid al-Ramzi, but one of his hired lackeys – that whilst we would work with them toward an amicable figure, they would have to reduce their price.  The man seemed surprised, and his pause gave both Cassandra - who fortuitously happened to be at the Forsythe house and was listening as I spoke to him – and I assurance that the child was still alive.  Had she been dead, he would have demanded the full amount and hung up after promising to call again later, a call that would never come.  Three days later the man called again and indicated he was ‘speaking with his superiors’ and would call me in one week’s time.  During that contact, we set up a schedule so that I knew when to expect his calls.  On moving into the villa, we had installed both a house line and a dedicated telephone line for the kidnappers to utilise should weather conditions make radio contact difficult.
 
 
VERONICA
They’ve taken off the blindfold.  Well, kind of taken it off.  The man who sleeps in the room with me takes it off when there’s no one else in the house but us.  He said not to tell the others that he’s done that; he said that if they knew it, they would hurt me.  It’s like our secret.  I don’t think he likes this …the kidnapping part.  He said he has a daughter about my age, and he knows my mom and dad are worried because he would be.  The sun’s coming up …I can see it through the windows up at the ceiling.  The man – his name is Mohammed – is awake now and says he has to put the blindfold back on me now so the others don’t know.  He’s nice to me and doesn’t scare me like one of the others does.  Most of them are okay - kind of dumb, really - but the way one of them looks at me is really scary.  He makes me think of the kind of person my mom always said I should run from and scream at the top of my voice while I’m running.  I don’t think screaming would do me much good here.
 
 
DIANA
I’m turning into a fucking hausfrau, not just to Terry but for all three of them.  There was no reason for both Reags and me to go villa-hunting; I could have done that on my own.  Did she think I was going to accept one running over with rats or whatever the hell they have in the Middle East?  The guys at the Embassy had set me up with a realtor when I mentioned that we were looking for a villa; I cancelled his services.  Well, hell.  Maybe Reags just needed the hunting as a diversion from the seriousness of working this case.  Who knows?  I haven’t been around her when she’s in working mode anymore than I have Terry, so I’ve no idea as to how she handles this kind of stress.  I do know she doesn’t have the shopping gene …maybe the house-hunting gene got slipped into her DNA code instead.  It would have been nice if, when Terry and Reags returned from their trip, they had told me that they had come to the decision that both of us would be villa-hunting.  At least I could have backed out of my arrangements with a shade more grace.  Of course, I suppose I should have told them that I already had the situation under control.
 
Is this what it’s like to be in a committed relationship – putting up with situations that are uncomfortable for the greater good?  Oh, geeze, I used the “C” word.  I guess I don’t mind the going and doing for Terry when we’re at home because I’ve integrated him into my life so easily.  At home, I have to grocery shop for myself, so I add a larger quantity into the shopping cart.  I have to take my clothes to the dry cleaners so I take his along at the same time.  I do my laundry and the barn laundry, so I toss Terry’s wash in with mine.  Of course, trying to sort out which red t-shit is whose has been challenging, but it’s not a big deal.  As long as I don’t put the one with the Anne Klein monogram in his drawer, it’s not a problem.  Since we’ve moved into the villa, we have ‘staff,’ and I can’t even do any of those every day things for myself; I am not comfortable with having ‘staff.’  Reags is comfortable with having three extra people in the house – the household workers that came along with the lease on the villa – because she lived in this culture and had live-in help, even though she and Bill were in a modified BOQ apartment; she and Max also have someone come in twice a week at home.  Max is comfortable with it because he had servants.  Terry lived in hotels for years, and he’s accustomed to the concept.  I’m not, and I hate the intrusion into my – our – privacy.  Because this isn’t even my staff, I'm not in the position of being able to work out a compromise with them.  Everyone else is so at ease with their presence, and I'm not ...and that makes me morer ill at ease because I don't feel that I can even talk to Terry or Reags about it.  It isn't an issue for them.  I think coming back to Cairo was a bad idea; I feel like excess baggage.   
 
Right now, I feel as if my primary function is being Terry’s arm candy, and God knows, I’m not what anyone would consider arm candy. I define myself by what I do, not by how I feel or how I look.  At present I’m not doing anything, so I have no definition.  We’re not going out on social forays because if we were doing that, at least I would be doing something.  I’d be chatting up possible business contacts for Terry or solidifying the ones he currently has.  I’d be pulling my weight to some degree.  Since I don’t have model looks, I could at least impress someone with my conversational abilities.  These days I don’t even get the Trib until mid-afternoon so when the others come home for lunch, I sit there like a bump on a log with nothing to talk about.  I couldn’t accept an outside invitation for lunch – assuming one was forthcoming – because I’d have nothing current to say. 
 
I feel guilty about feeling this way.  I could have gone home to Dallas instead of coming back; I should have gone home to Dallas.  Coulda, shoulda, woulda …but I didn’t.  I’m here now so I can’t whine about it without sounding like a spoiled, ungrateful brat.  I love Terry, but I wish I were home rather than here right now.  This is the insecure side of me that I don’t want Terry to see.  I fear Terry would never remain in a relationship with someone this unsure of herself.  All I can hope is that these thoughts don’t come out in my actions and words before I can shake myself out of this mood.
 
*
 
The early morning prayer call woke me; that’s a beautiful sound.  I slipped out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweat pants under the t-shirt I slept in, leaving Terry snoring softly.  I went downstairs to make the coffee.  No luck there …the staff had already made it, and as I took a cup from the cabinet, the cook walked in to ask if he could get my coffee for me.  I thanked him but said no, I’d get it myself; he left the kitchen.  I stood there for about five seconds then slammed the cup down on the counter so hard that it broke, sending shards flying everywhere before bursting into tears.  I heard Max’ voice over my shoulder.
 
“Diana, what is wrong?  Have you cut yourself?”  He was at my side, taking my hands in his and turning them to look for blood.  His eyes moved to my face.  “Why are you weeping …what is it, Diana?  What troubles you?  You are not this concerned over a broken coffee cup.”
 
“It’s what this damned coffee cup represents, and it’s my own damned fault.”  He turned to the cabinet and got two cups, poured for both of us, and motioned me to the kitchen table.
 
“What is your own damned fault, as you phrased it?”
 
“I’m not even sure.  If you’ll just sit there and be a face for me to rant at for a while, that would do me a lot of good.”  I shook my head as he sat across from me.  One large hand reached across the table and covered mine.  Like Terry, he has that comforting bit down well.
 
“I think you are sure but believe I will not understand.  And rant away if it will help you clarify your thoughts; if I can survive living with Cassandra during the preparations for our wedding, I can likely withstand your ire.”  Well, why not?  I could at least vent with Max and not worry that he’d run tell Terry or Reags.  It isn’t as if he wasn’t good at keeping secrets.
 
“I’m turning into a fucking trophy wife with absolutely nothing to do.  I’m not a trophy, nor am I a wife.  All I’m good for right now is fucking Terry.  And I feel guilty for taking up his time doing that!”  He smiled and took a swallow of his coffee.
 
“I believe those are the words you attach to what you feel.  I suspect you are chafing at the lack of privacy here, and coupled with the lack of meaningful activity, your humours have turned ill.”  I started to speak, and he shook his head, stopping me.
 
“Diana, I know you do not enjoy the presence of the house staff.  For one who has never employed full-time household workers, they can be most annoying.  As close as you are to Cassandra and me, you are unaccustomed to our being about on a continual basis, even though we have chosen each other as family members.  For those who are accustomed to domestics, they vanish into the walls, and we are unaware of their presence until such time as we wish them to do something.  Terry is accustomed to always having someone about; he has spent much of his adult life in hotels.  Cassandra is accustomed to the presence of non-family members, as she had a full staff when she lived here as well as our housekeeper at home.  I had servants in my former life and am accustomed to the presence of others who are not of my family.  This is a new experience for you and – clearly - not a welcome one.”  He looked into his coffee cup before continuing.
 
“I suspect I alone actually can understand how you feel with the intrusion and lack of control you experience with the household staff.” 
 
“Max, that was an excellent analysis, but talking about it isn’t going to fix it.” 
 
“I know what it is to chafe under the constraints of others.  I was a slave in the purest form of the word; each moment of my day was regulated, commanded by others.  I had nothing to do that mattered to me, and not even a modicum of control over my life.  I suspect what grieves you now is having nothing do to that makes you feel worthy.  The staff see to your every need before you can voice it.  You are accustomed to being in charge of your life and your home.  You run a large and successful horse farm and do so exceptionally well.  You are a competent woman in all respects, but here you have nothing to do.  Of course it chafes you.”
 
“You guys all have something constructive to do.  I feel guilty even talking about this.”
 
“At present, the staff take their long-term orders from Birgit Svenson and from Cassandra on a daily basis.”  I interrupted him.
 
“Why in hell didn’t Reags tell me that?”
 
“I suspect she was thinking that as this is your first visit to the Middle East, you might wish to take the time to sightsee and become acquainted with the culture.”
 
“For four people who are so good with words, we don’t do a very good job of articulating who’s responsible for what, do we?”  He chuckled and nodded.
 
“Unfortunately, you are correct in that assessment.”
 
“Well, at the risk of turning myself into that hausfrau that I’ve complained of, how about my taking responsibility for the staff and running the household?”  If he gives me that benevolent smile again, I swear to God, I’ll slap it off his face.
 
“Diana, you have never managed household staff.  I can assure you it is not an easy task.  Domestics fight amongst themselves much as do the employees you have worked with so studiously all your professional life.  Running this household will be akin to the most dysfunctional corporation you’ve ever experienced.”
 
“As for your question, Cassandra accepted the responsibility because I asked it of her.  I believe she would be delighted and relieved if you would take responsibility for the domestics and the running of this household.  I suspect you will be surprised at how much of your time that will occupy.  It will not be an answer to all your frustrations, but it will be a start.  It will give you some purpose here, other than being Terry’s bed mate, as that does not occupy more than moments of your day.”  I looked up at him …moments?  Had Max just made a sex crack to me?  I think he had and was waiting to see if I’d rise to the occasion.

"Max?  Was that a sex crack?”  His smile and suddenly downcast eyes followed by a look back up at me told me it was.  Max really is comfortable with me. 
 
“OK.  When Reags comes down for breakfast, I’ll tell her that effective immediately, I’m taking over the staff and running the household.  And if it becomes a fucking disaster, I’ll come kick your royal Roman ass!”  He smiled; I didn’t slap him.
 
“And as for that moments comment?  Speak for yourself, Max!”  Our mutual laughter filled the kitchen.
 
 
REAGAN
It began in total innocence and good fun, as do the majority of misadventures.  Terry dared me, implying that if I wasn’t bragging, I needed either to put up or shut up.  Dee kept giving Terry looks that said ‘Do NOT dare her to do something,’ which he totally ignored.  So I did …put my money where my mouth was, so to speak.  More precisely, I put my body on the line and proved it to him.  The problem is that I’ve never in my life been able to resist a dare, particularly when I knew I could win, and that night?  I could win; there wouldn’t even be a contest.  I was better than anyone out there, and I’d had just enough to drink to be foolhardy.  Maximus was at our villa waiting for the scheduled contact and wouldn’t be joining us for hours.  Hubris can be such a bitch. 
 
I’d never told anyone other than Dee and Maximus that I know how to belly dance and was damned good at it, though I suspect Maximus may have passed that knowledge on to Terry and Dino.  When I was living in Saudi Arabia and still dancing on a regular basis, I had managed to beat out every Middle Eastern female I knew at the art.  I was taught by a professional belly dancer, and still practise a couple of times a week, for a couple of hours each time …Maximus enjoys that quite a bit.  My teacher was Egyptian, and Egyptian women are the acknowledged best at the art with the Turks coming in a close second.
 
When I’d first told Dee about belly dancing and described how raunchy men can get in a setting with half-clad women shaking their breasts and butts in men’s faces, she’d laughed and said it sounded like a strip club only the women stay clothed. 
 
Being in pedagogical mode, I’d gone on to say that it was worse at places like the Mena House with multiple dancers than in private club settings where men are inclined to behave themselves so as not to be tossed out and forbidden to return.  At the private clubs there was the added moderating influence of a few Middle Eastern wives being in attendance.  Dee had said that, to her, the private clubs sounded more like American strip clubs, where women start off more or less conventionally clothed and then take it all off.  The public belly dancing venues seemed to her more like private strip clubs, without the brothel aspect.   Wherever they were, the men behaved like Shriners at a convention …all bets were off.  The Mena House, where we were dining, is one of the public belly dancing clubs; it's located in what is popularly referred to as Sahara City, and some of the better belly dancers in the world work there.  The majority of tourists visiting there are Middle Eastern, with a few westerners tossed in on occasion.  The male-to-female ratio in the room when we walked in was about three or four to one.
 
So, Terry, Dee, and I went to dinner at the Mena House as planned earlier in the day, and the first dancer came on while we were on the hors d’oeuvres.  I’ll give her this …she was good, more than good actually.
 
Belly dancers are an interesting group of women - exhibitionists, and that’s rare in Middle Eastern women - and are all at least fifty pounds above what Western men (translate that as Australian and American …Brits seem not to object to a few extra pounds on their women) consider fighting weight in their females.  In short, belly dancers tend to be a bit chunky.  They eat like elephants, and the staple component of their diet is carbohydrate.  You expend an unbelievable amount of calories in belly dancing, and as Middle Eastern men tend to prefer their women hefty, the dancers have to eat like a bull elephant in rut in order not to lose weight – and thus, their ‘figure’ - with all the calories they burn dancing.  Someone considered normal size by Westerners would dwindle to wraith-like proportions within two months unless she started packing in the amount of calories the dancers consume.  So, back to dinner and the floor show at the Mena House.
 
While we were enjoying our before dinner drinks and accompanying hors d’oeuvres, Terry was, of course, comparing the dancers’ attributes with Dee's and mine.  His normal cocky facade was even more in evidence tonight; he was seated between the only blonde females in the room.  He saw the admiring glances passed our way and correctly interpreted those glances as envy on the faces of the respective men.  He might as well have been a visiting sheik.  That had to be a contributing factor to what happened.
 
“Go easy on the food, ladies.  You’re fine the way you are.  I'd hate for you to get as chunky as the dancers.”

Dee took an exaggerated bite of the tabouli on the table; she was no less than five inches from Terry’s nose as she bit.  Our figures came out maybe one jump ahead of the local talent in Terry’s estimation simply because we happened to be sitting at the table with him.  If either of us had already been on the list of the evening’s dancing entertainment, Terry would have been delighted.  As regards the locals, we would have lost ground because no slender woman looks truly good when she’s belly dancing.  Part of the allure is the movement of flesh, and slender women don’t have that much of it, nor do they fit the Middle Eastern ideal of femininity. 
 
All it took for Terry to forget about weight was the first dancer.  He forgot food, drink, and our presence with her 'crotch display' as she leaned back and undulated her pelvis in his face.  His words, not mine, not Dee's.  If he was this bad during the first five minutes, what would he be like later?  I thought he had been in the Middle East at some time aside from his trip here with Maximus; from his current behaviour, I had to be wrong.  I leaned over to whisper in Dee’s ear.
 
“Terry seems to be talking through a stiff dick.”
 
She would have laughed at my comment if we hadn't been sitting in a nice, public restaurant.  “At least he’s still making a little sense.  I'd find out if it's going to get worse, but I don't dare touch his dick except maybe to feed it to him.  Do listen for a little grunt.  If I hear that, you’re on your own.  I'm taking a separate cab.”
 
Terry was still ogling to the point that his eyeballs were almost out on stems.  His behaviour was completely adolescent.  Surely, this wasn’t his first ‘near nude’ experience. 
 
He was mesmerized by the second dancer.  It was clear he was no longer in the same universe as Dee and I.  We’d been left behind with the third hip roll.  His eloquent eyes had bidden the dancer to come to him; she had.  Maximus would have invited the dancer over as Terry had, though he would have extended the invitation in Latin.  Terry leaned forward and said something to her; she laughed and tossed her waist-length hair in his face before dancing away from him without ever missing a beat.
 
I think she saw Dee's angry glare at Terry.  That was a very wise dancer to get out of that battle.  Terry was so engrossed he never looked Dee's way.  In an odd way, I felt happy for him.  Dee is in love with him and is willing to fight for him even though he doesn't know it.  If she didn't love him, if all they were doing was sharing a bed, she would have withdrawn and let him go at it; instead, she’s getting pissed.  My practical side says Mr. Thorne will be in for a rocky night.
 
The testosterone level in the room increased with each dancer, and Alpha Male Terry’s was higher than that of the other men in the room; the testosterone was literally oozing from his every pore.  God, I'm glad Maximus isn’t here because the two of them at the same table would be compelled to outdo each other. 
 
With the next dancer, Tio’s soto voce comment, “I’d love to taste that,” ended whatever chance he had of charming his way out of what I knew would happen when Dee got him home.  I could only shake my head; he was in such deep shit that he was going to need hip boots to wade out of it. I had never suspected or anticipated Terry to be that crude in front of us and in reference to another woman.  Dee sat quietly now.  She was obviously saving her energy for the battering she planned on giving Terry once she got him alone.
 
Terry was still ogling the dancers’ every move, and my annoyance was increasing.  Annoyance, my ass.  I was pissed.  Trust me when I tell you that pissing me off and then daring me to do something is not an intelligent choice on your part because even though I may live to regret my behaviour, you will have cause to regret yours as well. 
 
After the third dancer left the floor, the master of ceremonies suggested that perhaps some of the ladies in the audience might like to try the art of belly dancing themselves, saying that his ‘girls’ would be happy to teach any of the ladies in the audience a few simple moves right then and there.  Terry looked at me, eyebrows raised.  I looked back at him, left eyebrow raised.  Terry inclined his head toward the dance floor then looked at me and nodded, as if to say, “I dare you.”  I shook my head.  I think Dee kicked him under the table.  He moved into my side, put his arm round my waist and his lips at my ear, whispering softly.
 
“Reags, you show me what you can do and I promise I’ll more than make it worth your time and energy.”  Bastard!  It never occurred to me to ask what he planned doing to ‘make it worth my time and energy.’  At that moment, I really didn't care.  For what it’s worth, I now have my own TEO AmEx card.  Of course, I am a part-time operative for them; this just got the card for me a bit earlier than might have otherwise been the case.  As I said, when the gauntlet has been thrown, it’s damned near impossible for me not to pick it up and run with it.  By that time the MC was answering questions from various expatriate women in the audience who were exhibiting interest so I raised my hand.  He walked over to our table and held out the microphone to me.  As I spoke, I looked at Terry, enjoying the sight of his nostrils flaring when I asked my question.  Jesus, he looked like a stallion scenting a mare.  Smart woman that she is, Dee shut up once she realised how determined I was to prove my point and just sat there quietly.
 
“I was wondering …if I decide to try this, do I have to do so in what I’m wearing now, or do I get to try it wearing the costumes like the dancers are wearing?”  I heard Terry’s sharp intake of breath along with shouts of approval from other men in the room.  The announcer seemed taken aback at first but recovered quickly.
 
“Pretty Lady, if you wish to wear the costume of one of our dancers, I am sure we can find one that will fit you.”  That was all I needed to hear as I stood up and smiled at him.
 
“I’m in!”  He motioned to one of the dancers to escort me to the dressing rooms as Terry finally seemed to realise what he’d done and tried to grab my hand, talking fast as I pulled loose and walked away from him, leaving him to Dee’s wrath.  She was already glacial, and I could feel the temperature dropping another 15 degrees; it occurred to me that she might be as annoyed with me as she was at Terry.  What she didn’t understand was that for me, dancing tonight was a method of stress relief, a way of releasing the pent-up frustration of the work trying to get Veronica home safely.  Terry’s voice was a distant echo as I walked away.  Just because he’d suddenly come to his senses in no way implied that I’d come to mine.
 
“Reags, I’m not sure this is a good idea ….”  Too little, Thorne, and way too fucking late.
 
 
TERRY
Christ, will I never learn not to wind Reags up like that?  I know better, because the couple of times Dino and I have in the past, she’s always risen to the occasion.  I stood as she did and watched her walk away, following one of the dancers toward the dressing rooms.  I looked at Diana; she just shook her head at me, her hissed “Now you’ve done it,” somehow getting through to whatever poor excuse I was using for a brain that night.  Too late for it now …might as well enjoy the show.  There would definitely be a lot of skin on display.  Even if Reags fell on her arse, I’d still get a chuckle from it.
 
Ten minutes later, Reags reappeared with the dancer, and they walked to the centre of the small dance floor where a small blue spotlight pooled its focus on them.  Somehow, they’d found a costume to fit her, else someone was very good with safety pins.  The blue light on Reags’ wheat blonde hair made it look like spun silver as she pretended to mimic the posture the dancer was so intently showing her.  The woman put her left hand on her hip, and Reags did the same.  She moved her right foot about 15 inches from the left one and about six inches forward, and balanced on her toes. Again, Reags copied the motion.  The dancer nodded at the musicians, and the music began slowly.
 
The dancer began to undulate her pelvis forward and then back, a gentle rolling motion, flexing the muscles of her abdomen in time with the music …very fluid, very graceful and, I would imagine, an extremely difficult movement to emulate.  Somehow the sexual nature of the dance that I had responded to with the prior dancers completely eluded me now.  Reags gave every appearance of watching her closely and with apparent concentration.  The tell that she wasn’t doing so was in the flick of her eyes across the dance floor to Diana and me and the small smile that played across her lips.  She gave a very credible imitation of someone trying very hard to learn an art that Max had already told me privately had taken her years to perfect. 
 
I guess I neglected to say what she was wearing.  Suffice it to say not a great deal, simply because belly dancers just don’t wear much clothing.  I suppose it gets in the way.  There was this sort of bandeau top, rather like the top of a bikini with very thin straps, with bangles attached at the top edge and falling about 18 inches down her body.  Below the waist she had on a tiny little pair of shorts, also with bangles that fell from the hem almost to the floor.  Her legs were covered – though I suppose that’s a very loose interpretation of the word – with billowing diaphanous material you could see straight through.  Her legs, arms, torso, and anything above the top of the bandeau except her face, all appeared to have been covered with a very light sheen of oil with something sparkly mixed in …she literally glowed in that blue spotlight.  On the thumb and middle finger of each hand, she was wearing tiny cymbals that she was now tapping together as she moved in time with the beat of the doumbek.  I looked about at some of the men sitting close to Diana and me and saw one of them lick his lips and adjust the dinner napkin on his lap.  I knew how he felt; I had done the same with the second dancer.  It’s hell when your suit pants suddenly get so tight that you’re about to rip out of them, and you’re just sitting at a table, isn’t it?  Well, I suppose I asked for it that night, and that isn’t a good reaction when your sheila is sitting next to you, her face looking as if it had just been carved into the side of Mount Rushmore along with the Presidents’.
 
The music began to increase in tempo, and the dancer shifted her weight to the other foot, repeating the motions from before, and Reags did the same.  By that time, the MC was telling everyone what a great job she was doing and saying that if she worked at it for a few years, she might actually be as good as the locals were.  That’s when Reags’ head snapped up, treating all of us to that brilliant smile she has, as she motioned to the band and threw that blond hair – it’s growing out again - back off her face and pivoted 360 on the toes of one foot, startling the dancer and the MC; they just backed away and got out of her path. 
 
I suspect the guys in the band thought she was flaunting it and went into one of the serious dance numbers to see what she would do, clearly expecting her to give up and sit down.  The looks on their faces when she began to move across the floor in perfect time with the beat of the doumbek was priceless as, I feel quite sure, was the look on mine.  Within 30 seconds, there was no doubt in the minds of anyone in the place that Reags knew precisely what she was doing and had clearly been doing it for years.  I held my breath as she spun on the toes of one foot, one arm above her thrown back head and the other arm out to the side for balance, then leant backward until – even no longer than it was now - her hair swept the floor beneath her.  The muscles of her belly rippled like waves on the ocean even as her hips shimmied so fast that they were a blur, the bangles moving so fast you could scarcely see them.  Her body moved in a side-swept arc as she came back to a vertical position, turning, undulating, swirling, hips grinding in a way to evoke every man’s fantasy, the diaphanous material round her legs almost snapping and the bangles shivering in time with her movement as the drumbeat increased with each move she made.
 
She was clearly enjoying herself more than she had in quite some time, as was every man in the room.  One thing I’ve not mentioned is that belly dance numbers are long …usually 15 to 20 minutes, sometimes longer, and she clearly intended taking this to the end.  By now most of the men were on their feet, clapping their hands, and shouting.  I was so stunned that I just stayed where I was, but Diana was clapping along with the rest of the people in the room, a big smile on her face.  She may be a female, but that doesn’t imply she’s above appreciating the talents of another member of her gender.  I also suspect she was having a bit of a laugh at me; she was doing the lady-like version of flipping me off.
 
Reags swirled, tossed her hair, spun on her toes, shimmied her breasts and hips with arms held wide in invitation, moving across the floor and leaning over the tables at ringside, in open invitation to the men there.  She wasn’t deliberately playing the tease, at least I don’t think she was … but that’s how the dance goes.  By its very nature, belly dancing is an invitation to the erotic; it plays to men’s fantasies and fuels them even higher.  I had to give credit where it was due.  I couldn’t but wonder how often she danced for Max.
 
MAX!  Fuck!  I’d gotten so entranced in her performance I’d forgotten that he was joining us here after he concluded his evening contact and subsequent trip to the Forsythe villa to debrief the family.  I could only pray that Reags would be offstage before he walked in.  But you know what that old philosopher, Sod, always says, don’t you?  If anything can go wrong, it will, and at the worst possible moment.  Diana, Reags, and I were just about to get an example of that.  The roar of his voice – a most displeased General in full command - rang out above the clapping and whistling, the beating of the drums and clashing of symbols, and no one could mistake the fury driving it.
 
“WOMAN, GOVERN YOURSELF!”  Reags fucking froze in mid-spin, still on the toes of one foot, head back and arms spread wide.  Her head snapped up and she opened her eyes, looking the direction of his voice.  Even in the blue spotlight that was still trained on her, I could see the blood rush from her face before she spoke.  The music stopped as suddenly as if someone had pulled the plug on the sound system …well, in a manner of speaking, someone had.
 
“MAXIMUS!  What are you doing here?”  There was no immediate answer forthcoming, as he strode onto the dance floor, literally picked her up, swung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and stalked past Diana and me where we sat.  I could almost hear his teeth grind as he spat out the words at me.
 
“I will deal with you later!” 
 
The room had gone totally silent.  Diana and I jumped up, and I tossed a handful of bills on the table as we took off after Max, praying that he would let us explain before he killed one or all of us.  For the first time ever, I was actually concerned about his ability to do bodily harm.
 
 
MAXIMUS
I was weary from spending yet another evening comforting the Forsythe family, having answered the same questions for what seemed to be the hundredth time, but as I had promised Terry that I would join the three of them at the Mena House for dinner, I made my way there.  On prior occasions, Cassandra had been with me during these contacts but for the past few weeks, all that had transpired was to maintain the lines of communication.  In view of that fact, I had told her to go with Terry and Diana to the Mena House, and I would meet them there.  When I entered the hotel lobby, I could hear the music from the dining area where Cassandra had told me belly dancers plied their art for the enjoyment of the diners as they supped.  I was familiar with the art both from my own time as we had similar entertainment, as well as from Cassandra having danced for me; in truth, she is quite adept at this ancient art form.  In my time, the dance was reserved for functions attended only by men and involved subsequent intimate congress with the hired dancers, rather than merely watching them dance as would be the case this night.  In truth, I was looking forward to comparing the talents of women today with those I recalled from my own time as well as with Cassandra’s.  I had little doubt the end result would be the same, with the caveat that I would be engaging in that post dance activity with my Cara rather than one of the local dancers.
 
I entered the dining room and glanced toward the dance floor where a woman with medium length blonde hair swirled in time to the music.  Paying her little attention, I focused on looking for Cassandra, Terry, and Diana.  Soon enough, my eyes located Terry and Diana …but Cassandra was not with them.  They did not sense my gaze on them and, indeed, seemed totally entranced by the dancer.  I returned my gaze to her, noting that she was far slimmer than the dancers of my day, as well as far more talented.  The spotlight showed off her lightly oiled body to its best advantage, the undulating roll of her hips accentuating its leanness, the perfectly controlled muscles rippling under her skin.  She was twirling on one foot, her body arched back and her lovely blonde hair almost swept the floor as her outstretched arms gave full view to the audience of her lovely breasts.  It was in that moment, I realised who she was.  I felt my anger explode and did what any fiancée and soon-to-be-husband would. 
 
“WOMAN!  GOVERN YOURSELF!”  She froze in place; she had returned to a partially standing position although her head was still thrown back, and she had begun to spin on one foot.  From the corner of my glance, I saw Terry and Diana react as I strode to the dance floor, picked Cassandra up, and threw her bodily over my shoulder, heedless of what the oil and sweat on her skin would do to my suit.  I was as angry as I had ever been in my life – no, more so, as I had never before had the experience of seeing the woman who was to be my wife …my wife ...display herself before strange men in a manner that if done at all, should be reserved for me and my colleagues, assuming I would permit them to observe her in this fashion.  I carried her past Terry and Diana’s table, telling Terry I would deal with him later, shoving aside a laughing man standing at the door as I approached.  As I moved out of the dining room, I set Cassandra on her feet and looked at her, trying to control my anger.
 
“Where are your clothes?”  She seemed to have temporarily lost the power of speech and pointed across the lobby to the ladies area – all Arabic nations have separate accommodations for men and women, as devoted Muslims may not commingle the sexes in public – and I grabbed her wrist, pulling her behind me as I strode across the room and heard her cry out as I did so.
 
“Maximus, you’re hurting me!”  I felt sure that I was; her wrists are small and slender, and her skin fair and sensitive; my hands are large and strong, and at that moment, I did not care that I might be hurting her.  I was far too angry and self-absorbed.  I turned to her and pulled her close to my face so that only she could hear.
 
“Be content my hand is round your wrist and not your throat!”  I jerked her with me the rest of the way across the room to the women’s area and thrust her through the screens.
 
“Clothe yourself!”  She disappeared as Diana and Terry caught up with me.
 
 
DIANA
Terry and I had certainly stepped in it this time.  The phrase, “Unleash Hell,” had just taken on an entirely new connotation for us, and we were both afraid that Reags was going to get the worst of Max’ fury because that’s what he was, furious.  Abso-fucking-lutely, white-hot with fury.  When he threw Reags over his shoulder and stalked past our table, spitting out that he would deal with Terry later, he was grinding his teeth so hard, I’m surprised he didn’t crack half of them.  I realized – a bit late, admittedly – that Terry goading her into dancing tonight and my ineffective attempts to stop it were probably in contention for Number One on the list of boneheaded stunts either of us had ever accomplished either individually or together. 
 
We followed them across the lobby, Max dragging her by the wrist as she struggled to get loose from his grip.  Yeah, like that was going to happen; his hands are huge, and she didn’t stand a chance of breaking his grip until he decided to release her.  They stopped momentarily after she said something, and he got right down in her face to answer.  She turned even paler, assuming that was possible, before he hauled her the rest of the way across the room and shoved her through the screening that segregates the women’s area from the rest of the room.  He turned to face us just as we walked up.  The look he gave Commodus in the arena that last day was benevolent compared to the one he levelled on us.
 
“What was my future wife doing exposing herself in so inappropriate a fashion?”  The words ground out between his teeth, his voice low and deadly, and his eyes were like icy blue daggers.  If looks could have killed, Terry would have been six feet under as he was obviously the culprit as far as Max was concerned.  I looked at Terry; Terry looked at me …we tried to decide which one of us should tell the General that Terry had egged Reags into proving to him that she really could belly dance.  Terry opened his mouth, and Max glared at him; he closed it.  Guess that leaves me.  Oh, crap!
 
“Max, it isn’t what it seems ….you don’t understand …,” and he cut me off in mid-word.  So much for hoping that he liked me might temper his anger ….
 
“I do not care to understand.”  He returned his eyes to Terry, clearly the responsible party as far as he was concerned.  “What was Cassandra doing exposing herself in such a manner whilst in your care?”  In his care ….  We were in such deep shit, and I had no clue as to how we were going to shovel our – and Reags’ – way out of this pile.  I started to open my mouth again and thought better of it as Max looked past me, then back and waved me to silence.  I turned and saw Reags coming across the room; she was moving with a purpose, and she looked pissed.  Let’s assess the situation here.  I'm pissed with Terry for being so turned on by other women with me sitting beside him, not listening to me, and daring Reags to do this.  I've been around Reags long enough now that I know being angry with her will do no good; she'll either see her own errors or not.  I'm also angry with Max for being so dismissive of me; he gets a pass from me this one time because he’s so pissed at Reags.  Reags is pissed with Max for daring to try and tell her how to behave, and Max is pissed that Reags danced.  Hmmmm.  The only one who isn't angry at someone right now is Terry, and he’s the one who started all this shit. 
 
Reags’ head was up, she had regained her color, she was back in the dress she’d worn out here, her eyes were flashing, and she looked fighting mad.  Well, she is Irish, isn’t she?  She’s always told me that I didn’t want to see her temper unleashed (that word just keeps popping up, doesn’t it?), but I was beginning to think that tonight it might be worth the price of admission.  When she reached us, Max reached out and took her wrist again and started toward the door.  She wrenched herself free and spat the words at him when he turned to her in surprise.
 
“Take your fucking hands off me, you damned Neanderthal!”  Yep, Max is definitely in hot water but looked at her as if she’d just lost her mind.  His right hand came up toward his left shoulder, and for a second I honestly thought he was going to backhand her right there in the hotel lobby.  If he did, God alone knew what Terry would do.  Reags’ eyes flashed, and she spat pure venom at him.
 
“If you touch me in anger, Maximus, you’d better fucking kill me because if you don’t, I’ll emasculate you where you stand.”  Her voice was low, and I know no one else could have heard her, but Terry and I sure as hell did, and that was more than enough.  Reags had now defied him once and threatened him once in front of Terry and me.  Max might have taken it had I been the only one present, but for her to have done so in front of Terry was inexcusable in his eyes.  He turned on his heel and walked across the room and out the door.  The three of us beat feet across the lobby and made it out the door just in time to see him enter a cab about 20 yards ahead of us, and it sped off.  We piled into the first one we reached, and Terry told the cabbie to follow the one that had just left.  Fortunately the driver spoke English because, even though she speaks Arabic, I think Reags was too angry to manage a translation at that point.  We peeled out of the lot in hot pursuit.
 
 
MAXIMUS
She had defied me.  Worse, she had done so in the presence of Terry.  In my time, her behaviour this night would have been more than grounds for divorce; in truth, I could have killed her for such an indiscretion and not been held accountable for the act.  Her demise would have been a defence of my honour as a Roman male.  I turned, walking across the room and out the door, entering the first cab I reached and slamming the door before the driver could do so. 
 
“Drive!”  He nodded and sped out of the car park as I looked out the window in time to see Terry, Diana, and Cassandra run toward the cab behind my own.  I assumed their intention was to follow me; I leant forward and spoke to the driver.
 
“Lose the car behind us.  I care not where we go, but they are not to follow.”  He nodded again and increased both his speed and his changing of lanes in the heavy evening traffic.  I turned in the seat and looked out the window; the driver of their cab was good, and he was still behind us.  I leant toward my driver again.
 
“Five-thousand pounds if you lose them within the next five minutes.”  He nodded.  Three minutes later when I again looked out the window, there was no sign of the other cab.  The driver had turned into an alley close to Le Meridien, where we had stayed prior to leasing the villa.  I opened the door and got out, reached for my wallet and pulled out five, one-thousand pound notes and handed them to the driver along with his fee.  He nodded and sped away into the night.  I turned and walked out of the alley toward the river.  I had much to think on this night.
 
When I reached the Nile, I stood on its banks, looking across to the twinkling lights on the far side in much the same manner as I had stood on other riverbanks and looked across at the campfires of my enemies in centuries past.  Centuries past …perhaps that was the problem.  Terry and Diana had but one world to contend with, that of the merging millennia, whereas the world of my origin was the second century.  Cassandra was as much an anomaly as I, having a foot in two worlds, but she had been born into this time and thus, had a lifetime to learn its ways.  I had been thrust into this day in a heartbeat, with no transitional state to serve me.  In my time, no decent woman would have displayed herself as Cassandra had this night, not even to her husband …would she?  And yet, Cassandra was nothing if not a good and decent woman; I knew that better than any man ever could.  Her compassion during my travail in that former life and this one had given me hope where none existed; she had brought me joy in a world gone dark.  I mused as I walked silently in the night, thinking back to my marriage with Ileana.
 
Although Ileana’s initial terror of me departed, she remained painfully shy, requiring the candles all be extinguished before she would come to me in our bed.  She was shamed when I removed the tunica in which she slept, pulling it off over her head as she lay still and silent beneath me. But for one occasion, she never lost her maidenly shyness.  When I was home before my last return to the front, she had surprised and delighted me one night by drawing back the sheet from my body, reaching out to touch my manhood with curiosity as it strained toward her.  I thought back on that occasion.  We had sat late into the evening on the grass in front of our home, watching the stars come out, drinking watered wine after dinner.  She had no head for spirits, not even when her cup contained more than half water to the measure of wine.  She was giddy with drink and had taken the lead, surprising me by stroking my groin as we lay in the sweet-smelling grass, until I was rigid with need of her. 
 
I bade her walk close in front of me as we returned to the house and ascended the stairs to our chamber; I had no wish to endure the amusement of the household servants should they see my arousal.  On reaching our chamber, I had pulled her inside and closed the door, tugging at her clothing in my haste for her body.  She allowed me to remove her tunica and stood before me in only her loincloth; she was young and her breasts had no need of supportive bindings.  I stripped off my own tunica and cloth and reached for hers.  I did not know the woman she became that night as she laughed and ducked away from me, telling me to recline on our bed and wait for her.  She danced a few steps away from me, enticing me with the sway of her breasts and movement of her hips. 
 
I moved to the bed and lay back, watching her.  She moved about the room, humming to herself, moving with abandon for the first time since I had known her.  Her hands stroked down her sides to her hips, and then she held them out as she spun in circles, almost but not quite close enough for me to touch her.  She moved away laughing, her hands coming up to caress her breasts as she danced about the room, her eyes watching, noting my inevitable response.  She was dancing for me, a study in erotica, and I recalled thinking she must have spoken with her elder sisters regarding how to arouse a man, as she appeared to know exactly what she was doing.  I did not know if she had at last come into the full recognition of her own sensuality and the concomitant ability to take pleasure in her own body, or if knowing that I was to depart within days spurred her to send me off with warm memories of our time together.  Was what Ileana did on that long ago night so very different from what Cassandra had done this night?  Both women were exploring their own sense of the erotic, though Ileana did so within the privacy of our chamber rather than a room full of unknown men.
 
I knew Cassandra, knew her capacity for passion in my arms, her ability to enjoy the erotic; she was an amazingly sensual woman, and I had revelled in that reality, taking joy in her ability to loose her passion.  Acknowledging that public perceptions of morality have changed over the millennia, my anger began to dissipate as I walked, reason taking its place.  She was with friends I trusted, friends I knew would permit no harm to come to her.  I also knew Terry’s ability to do what Cassandra referred to as ‘push her buttons,’ meaning that he was more than capable of inciting her to behaviours in which she might not otherwise engage and would intend no harm in doing so …and I knew her tendency to rise to the occasion, whatever that occasion might be.  As I stormed past the table where Terry and Diana sat, I had noted the remnants of several drinks in the glasses there …two empty glasses and one partially full in front of the empty chair I took to be Cassandra’s.  All of them had been drinking and judging from the remains of what appeared to be hors d’oeuvres, none of them had eaten a great deal.  Perhaps her behaviour, like Ileana’s on that long ago night, had been partially fuelled by spirits rather than any specific desire to play the wanton.
 
Had I held Ileana’s behaviour against her as she danced for me, though to behave in that manner was anything but what might have been considered appropriate for a respectable married woman, even when alone with her husband?  I had not; in point of fact, I had rejoiced in her abandon, her efforts to bring us together to previously unknown shared heights of passion.  And now, this night …did I have the right to judge my Cara against standards 2,000 years in the past, rather than those of this world?  I did not …and had she danced only for Terry, Diana – possibly Dino - and me, I would have delighted in her abandon and laughed inwardly at the discomfort I knew it would cause my partners.  My anger lay in the fact that men other than I and my closest friends had seen her.  Did I have the right to control her behaviour in that manner, particularly when I had not been present to register my disapproval and preclude that behaviour? 
 
As much as I wished to remain angry, I realised that I had no desire to control Cassandra; I loved her far too much to wish that, and I have learnt that love does not seek to control but to nourish.  One of her greater attractions for me was her spirit, the fire that burned within her and which, on occasion, burst into open flames and scorched everything in its path.  Tonight it had scorched me; it had inflamed my jealousy but nothing more; the fire that is her spirit had damaged no one, done no harm other than to my wound ego, and my ego – my masculine pride – would survive the blow.  I took a deep breath, and with it felt the last of my anger begin to dissipate.  I smiled to myself and shook my head, then turned and walked back to the street and hailed a cab.  It was time to go home; I missed my Cara and longed to be with her.
 
 
REAGAN
Terry and Dee were sitting up with me as I waited for Maximus to return.  I knew he was furious, knew that I had wounded his pride by my public display at the Mena House, and I had no defence for my actions.  Terry had dared me to prove that I really could belly dance, and I had risen to the bait.  Neither he nor Dee bore any fault in my behaviour; it was my decision.  As I have told my students over the years, when you chose the behaviour, do so carefully, as you chose the consequences at the same time.  The problem was that I had given no thought to what the consequences might be if Maximus were to arrive earlier than anticipated and witness my admittedly abandoned behaviour.  I had hurt the man I loved most in the world, and I had absolutely no feel for whether or not he would forgive me.  I was terrified that I had lost him.  I sat on the floor in lotus position, alternately staring at the door and shredding the tissues that Dee kept handing me to blot the tears that periodically pooled in my eyes. 
 
Now that my adrenalin rush had subsided, I realised that I had poured gasoline on the fire with that dance.  From the appearance of the first dancer and with each successive dancer, the testosterone level in the room had increased.  Each dancer brought the men in the room to the edge of orgasm and shut them down when she walked off stage.  The next dancer ramped them up again, bringing them even closer to the edge and making their need for release more urgent before walking away, and so it went.  When I came out, I was the fourth dancer since we’d arrived and the room was on the brink.  I should have known better.
 
“Reags,” Terry began, and I cut him off.
 
“Terry, don’t …just don’t.  This is no one’s fault but mine.  If I had thought for two seconds, I’d have known precisely what Maximus’ reaction would be if he saw me tonight, but I didn’t think.  I’ve hurt him, embarrassed him in front of you, Dee, and all those people at the hotel.”  I stopped and took a ragged breath before continuing.  “I’m afraid he will never forgive me.”  Dee was sitting in the chair behind me and reached down and squeezed my shoulder.
 
“Reags, he’ll forgive you.  The man loves you to distraction …he just didn’t expect to see you in the floorshow.  He’ll get over it.”  I shook my head …I didn’t have the confidence in that statement that she did.
 
I heard a car pull into the car park in front of the villa, and my heart felt as if it skipped a beat.  Maximus.  No one else would be coming here at this time of night.  I heard the car door slam, and the car drove away as the gate opened and closed.  I heard his key in the lock and stood to meet him when he entered the room.  Dee and Terry stood with me and moved toward him as he walked in.  Terry started to speak, but Maximus cut him off.
 
“This is a matter between Cassandra and myself; it concerns no one else.  Leave us now, if you will.”  My eyes never left his, but I heard the door close softly as Terry and Dee left the room.  He walked to me and took me into his arms, pulled me close and kissed me softly on the forehead. 
 
“I apologize for my behaviour.  It was uncalled for; I should have known better.  You did nothing wrong …I was simply surprised to see you dancing thus.  Can you forgive me?”
 
I was speechless for a moment, then tripped over my words in my haste to apologise to him 
 
“Forgive you?  There’s nothing to forgive …you were justified.  I should never have done that, never had displayed myself in a situation that would upset or embarrass you.  It was thoughtless, foolish.  Can you forgive me?”  His response was his mouth on mine, his hands cradling my face and drinking me in as though I was an oasis and he had been months in the desert.  His arms pulling me in were so strong, holding me so close to his heart, and when his lips left mine, I opened my eyes to look into his.
 
“I love you, Cassandra.  You did nothing wrong.  I am weary and vexed from my attentions to the Forsythe family; I am frustrated with the lack of progress in finding the child, and I overreacted.  As I said, there is nothing to forgive.  Come, sit with me.”  I sat beside him and lay my head on his shoulder, still afraid that I had lost him through my own stupidity.  I tried to tell him again how sorry I was, but he stopped me.
 
“Cassandra, stop.  Let me speak.”  His large hand brushed my hair away from my face then lingered on my cheek before he continued.
 
“When I left you tonight, I was angry …angry that you would display yourself before others, angry at myself for permitting my sense of possession of you allowing me to lose control.  I paid the cab driver five-thousand pounds to lose the three of you within five minutes; he succeeded admirably, don’t you think?”  He smiled and shook his head as I nodded silently.  The driver had been good, no doubt about that.
 
“I had him let me out in an ally close to the Nile; I walked to the river and stood on its bank, looking across at the lights in the darkness.  I thought back on my life, on other times, and my first wife.”  I felt a cold fear bloom within my heart …was I being compared to Ileana and found wanting?   
 
“I remembered the night – shortly before I left for the front that last time – when Ileana lost her inhibitions and danced for me with the same abandon I saw you dance tonight.  I recalled how it made me feel, that she would dance for me …that she did so because she knew I would enjoy it, and because she enjoyed it.  At first I was shocked; I thought only women of dubious virtue would dance thus.  She taught me that I was wrong.”  He stopped and took a deep breath, looking deep into my eyes.
 
“Cassandra, on that night Ileana taught me that good and decent women can share the erotic with men, and that they have as much right to express that eroticism as do men even if their doing so has no motive other than to bring pleasure to themselves …and to their men, if those men are fortunate.  I simply did not expect to see you expressing yourself in a public venue, though once lucidity returned, I realised there was no reason why you should not.  I reacted; I did not think.  You are my Cara – my woman - and my second century morality took over; I would have done the same with Ileana in a similar situation.  I judged your behaviour by standards that are 2000 years old, and that was inappropriate.  It will not happen again.  I will not burden you with the morés of a time long past, particularly when those morés have no meaning in this time and no meaning for us.  If you cannot depend on me to understand you, on whom can you depend?  I will not let you down again, Cassandra.  I love you too much – and I have searched too long to find you - to permit that to happen and risk losing you because of it.”  He looked at me for a long moment.
 
“I now ask you again …can you forgive my prideful male behaviour?  On this night I treated you more shabbily than I would one of the camp followers who serviced my army, but I promise you, there will be no repeat performance.”  I was stunned and, on one of the few occasions in my life, found myself relatively speechless.  I still felt I owed Maximus the apology, rather than the reverse.  I tried again.
 
“Maximus, I should have thought, and I didn’t.  I should have realised what my behaviour would seem like to you, even though I intended it simply as proving a point to Terry …and now, if any of the men in that restaurant see either of us again, they will laugh at you.”  I was appalled at the thoughtlessness of my behaviour, and there was no excuse for it.  I felt tears of remorse slip down my face.  His response – soft laughter - surprised me more than ever.
 
“Laugh at me?  I think not.  If anything, they would envy me, assuming they even realised that you had a face.  Those men were not looking at your face, Cara, they were lusting for your body, and that is all they saw.  You could walk up to any one of them on the street tomorrow, and they would not recognise you.  Nor would they recognise me as anything other than a presumed outraged husband, whose face they did not note.  For a woman of this time, you are – in some ways – as naïve as Ileana.  It is one of the many things that makes me love you as I do.  And know one thing, Cassandra …soon, you will dance again for me, and for me alone.” 
 
Maximus was right; that was probably why his anger had dissipated so rapidly.  I looked at him and started to laugh, to be joined by his own laugh that changed into that giggle so at odds with his physical stature.  Within moments we were laughing so hard that we had tears in our eyes, and they persisted until his eyes went suddenly dark, flashing like emerald fire in the moments before his mouth closed over mine.  There’s a lot to be said for making up after the fight.
 
 
TERRY
Diana and I headed down the hall to our room after leaving Max and Reags in the lounge.  I kept listening for the explosion and wondered what time I would be putting Reags on a flight back to the States tomorrow.  I should have been listening to the silence in our room.  Diana hadn't said one word to me since we left the Mena House.  I’d thought she was tending to Reags’ needs. 
 
I snuggled in behind her when we got into bed.  “I hope the two of them sort it out.” 

Her voice was even and cold when she answered.   “You had better be hoping the two of us sort this out.”  She flipped over to stare daggers at me, and backed up as close to the edge of the bed as she could without falling out.  “I didn't say anything earlier because it's not my style to have a scene in public. 
 
“I do not fucking care how you act when it’s just the boys around.  You can whoop it up over how good other women look till the cows come home.  You can be as lewd and crude as you want.  But you will NEVER do that in front of me again.  I felt ugly and unwanted. 
 
“And next time the urge grips you to feel up some woman, please be so kind as to have it be a stranger, not my friend.  The embarrassment I could survive, but there was no fucking reason you had to snuggle up to her and whisper sweet nothings in her ear to get her to dance!  You heard me well enough when I told you it was a bad idea; it wasn't that loud in there.  She was primed when she heard that was where we were going for dinner, and she can be an exhibitionist at times.  Just because I'm quiet doesn't mean I don’t have my pride.”

Her words knocked me for six.  She was honestly, thoroughly angry with something I'd done.  She hadn't told me that I deserved the best of everything, her normal tactic when she is feeling unsure of herself.  She was quite sure of herself tonight.  No tears, no angst, no fear.  Just pure, flaming anger.  I HAD acted like a hoon.  I couldn’t defend what I’d done; she was right.
 
“I’m sorry, Diana.  I was caught up in the moment, and though that doesn’t excuse my behaviour, that’s the reality.  The whispering in Reags’ ear bit …what I said was that I’d make it worth her time and energy.  Of course what I’m going to do to make good on that promise, I’ve no fucking clue.”  Wrong thing to have told her at this juncture.
 
“What?  You’re trying to make her play the whore by paying her for her performance?”
 
“She wanted to dance …I wanted to see her.  What’s bloody wrong with that?”  Now I was getting angry.
 
“Maybe you’d rather be with someone who doesn’t have any inhibitions!  Maybe you’d like to move in on her …why don’t you go fight Max for her?  That should be entertaining.  The two of you can fucking SHARE her!  I don’t care.”  The flatness in her tone in those last three words scared me.
 
“I don’t want her; I don’t want to share her with Max or anyone else.  If I’d wanted her, I’d have moved in on Max when I first met her.  I didn’t.”
 
“By the time you met Reags, you wouldn’t have been able to move in on Max even if you’d wanted to.  And you don’t want to share her?  Oh, that’s rich!  As if you’d be lucky enough to share her with Max.  He’d have cut off your dick with his gladius if you’d looked at her sideways.”  I’m usually good with words …how did I phrase that so poorly?
 
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
 
“Oh, so you’d rather be stuck with the mousy little thing that you can run over any time you like.”  This is getting worse with every breath I take.  I could feel my dick shrivelled up somewhere round my navel, and my goolies were trying to push ahead in the queue.  That was likely a good thing …at least with those three appendages in that position, all the blood supply would be heading for my brain, and I might stand some chance of getting this conversation back on track.  Diana had said her piece, and for her, that was a brave thing to do as she’d usually rather ignore the unpleasant.  The fact that she hadn’t ignored it told me just how angry she was, and that this might be damned close to check-out time for her.  She hadn't reached for Gran; I still had a chance.  The thing that frightened me most was that her anger was fully justified.
 
“Diana, Reags is like a sister to me, and I love her in that way.”
 
“Really!  Is that why you had the stiffie in your pants when she was in her knickers and my pumps that day and again tonight while she was dancing?”
 
“I couldn’t help that …some things are biological.”
 
“You’re the man with the iron self-control, but you sure as shit don’t show it when she’s around.”
 
“Diana, Reags and I would kill each other within five minutes.  It’s only because I can walk away from her that it doesn’t happen.  I can’t walk away from you.”
 
“Can't walk away from me?  What, are your legs broken?”  If I had half a brain, right then, I would have taken her in my arms and told her how often I think of my love for her.  That was what she was asking of me.  For some reason, I couldn't do it.  “I’m not accomplishing anything here.  Perhaps I should go home.  Are you comfortable with tabling this discussion until you guys finish up here, and we’ll pick it up back in Dallas?”
 
“We’re not tabling it and sorting it out at home.  Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out here, and we’ll sort it out now.”  There was no way in bloody hell I was letting her get on a plane and go home.  If I did, she’d have my kit packed and waiting for me at my flat when I got back to Dallas.  I knew that as surely as I knew I was still breathing.  What worried me was what we were really fighting about, and I knew it wasn’t Reags.  Tonight I had tapped into Diana's deepest fear – not being good enough.  I had dug myself into a very deep hole.  She had once said that she couldn't imagine my ever doing anything that would cause her to throw me out; I could imagine it.  I had done it tonight.  Both of us were horrified at how this had escalated, but I don’t think either of us knew why it had.  I had try and get some clarity.
 
“I put us in a situation where my libido got out of control and embarrassed you in the process.”
 
“You didn’t embarrass me; you pissed me off.  But if you’re going to screw around on me, don’t do it in front of me.”
 
“I’m not screwing round on you, Diana.  I have no intention and no wish to do that.”  It hit me then …this was a replay of the first discussion we’d had last year.  Our relationship had evolved to the point that now we weren’t discussing an esoteric issue; we were fighting about a real situation and Diana's reaction to it.  She hadn't bothered to censor herself and be rational; as often as her eyes had shown her love for me, they were blazing angry and hurt tonight. 
 
Diana was standing up to me.  I realised that she was the first woman since Marjorie who had stood up to me.  The rest of the lot had been too beguiled with the suave, debonair charmer that was the public Terry Thorne.  The reality was that I’d not allowed any woman since Marjorie to get under my skin, and Diana was a lot more than just under my skin.  She was in my soul.  Reags wasn’t the cause of our argument; we’d gotten sidetracked on her.  I rolled away from Diana and snapped on the light, propping myself against the headboard of the bed.  She rolled over and propped herself on her elbow, looking me straight in the eyes.
 
“Well you sure as hell couldn’t discern that lack of desire to do so from your comments to the dancers.  I don’t care if you go out and get turned on by other women; just don’t do it in front of me and be sure you come home to me to satisfy that urge.  If you can't wait to fuck any hole around, be sure to wear a franger or two.  I will not risk my life because of your need to sample the wares.  We'll deal with what that means to our relationship later.”  Proof of life had been delivered …now I was getting the list of conditions.
 
“What else?”
 
“When I tell you something is a bad idea, listen to me …particularly where Reags is concerned.  Terry, I know her a hell of a lot better than you do or ever will.”
 
“All right.  What else?”
 
“I’m not a doormat, Terry, and I have my pride.  Don’t trample on it.”
 
“I can live with that.”  I reached over and dragged her over and between my legs, propping her up against my chest.  “Diana, you're beautiful, and you’re anything but unwanted.”  She turned to look at me.
 
“Terry, I can’t go there right now.  I’m still too mad at you to discuss anything more than what happened tonight.”
 
“Then can you just stay right here for a bit?”
 
“I can do that …as angry as I’ve been at you all night, you’re still where I want to be.”  I reached over and snapped off the light as she lay back into my arms.
 
*
 
I woke early the next day after sleeping so restlessly that I wondered if I’d actually slept at all.  Sometime in the night I’d slipped down from the headboard, and Diana had snuggled in beside me, still wrapped round me.  When I’d started to get out of bed, I had to do it slowly as my leg was asleep from the weight of hers resting on it.  I hoped that the fact that she’d stayed wrapped all the way round me even after our fight meant that she was as invested in me as I was in her.  If I’d not had to piss so badly, I’d have stayed where I was.  On returning to the bed, I’d got back in slowly and snuggled into her.  I heard her whisper as I pulled her close.
 
“Morning, Boomer.”  I smiled into her hair.
 
“Morning, Lady.”  She turned to look at me.
 
“I’m sorry, Terry.” She’s apologising to me?  It hit me then.  When Diana wants to say ‘I love you,' she says ‘I’m sorry.’  That put a lot of things into a very different light.
 
*
 
By the time we made it to the pool deck, the seas were calm for all of us.  Max saw us before Reags and smiled as he waved us over to them.

I couldn’t resist.  “Are you putting on the good face, or have you really sorted out the problem.”  Max actually laughed before he answered and then put me in my place with a well-worded comment about staying out of his business.
 
“We have reached an understanding, Terry.  It concerns no one else.”  He turned toward Reags as she swam to the side of the pool and stood beside him with that beautiful smile back on her face. His arm went round her waist, and he pulled her close.  Alrighty, then.  It seemed all was right with the world.
 
Max and I did a couple of laps; I could only hope he was as tired as I. By the time the houseboy got out to us with coffee, Reags was out of the pool with Diana, no doubt mocking us again.  After Max and my actions last night, there was plenty to ridicule.  They were sipping their coffee until one of the house staff came running out and leaned down to speak quietly into Reags’ ear.  Her face registered shock, and Max and I headed for the side of the pool.  He was out of the pool in a heartbeat as she looked at us.
 
“Out of the pool, Kiddies, it’s time to go to work.  Maximus, your contact just checked in …he’s got the house phone number and is holding for you.”
 
Clearly there was a security leak with the staff.  They would all be terminated this morning and sent packing before noon.
 
 
MAXIMUS
I took the call on the pool deck as I could see in all directions and an open location was least amenable to eavesdroppers.  Clearly we had a security leak; this number had been provided to no one aside from the Marine Guard at the Embassy and the FBI team.  Even Veronica’s family did not have it.  There was a Marine in their home at all times; he had the number should they need to contact me.  I turned to look at the others, noting that Diana’s eyes were wide with surprise.  Perhaps it was unwise of Terry and me to permit her return to Cairo whilst we were enmeshed in this sad business though, in truth, I do not see how we could have kept her away.  She is at least as determined to have her way as is Cassandra and in some instances, more so.  Any implication that she might be less than well advised to be here would have met with her ire, and I, for one, had no wish to evoke that reaction.  I turned my attention back to the caller.
 
“Good morning, Mr. Espan.  Is this not a better connection than your radio?”  That was a certainty when only two were involved in a discussion, but it was also impossible for Terry and Cassandra to hear him in this way.  I am quite sure he knew that, given that he knows my name.  It was also certain he now knew for a fact that there were three of us involved in negotiating for Veronica; it was likely he also knew of Diana’s presence.  Given that he had our phone number it was a certainty that he knew our physical location.  Though we had a dedicated telephone line for their calls and radios at the Forsythe residence and here, I had made an effort to have the kidnappers utilise the radio as it facilitated Terry’s and Cassandra's listening in on our discussions without the distortion often found when using a speakerphone. 
 
“It is a better connection, Yousef, but I prefer using the radio.  It gives better assurance of your privacy as well as mine.”  He laughed softly.
 
“Yes, it does …and it allows the lovely blonde woman – Cassandra - to sit close beside you, does it not?  I am sure you encourage that …she is your woman, is that correct?”  I felt my jaw clench in anger.  “What is her purpose, Spaniard?  Is she there to entertain you and your colleague …I believe his name is Terry?  Do you share her with him?”  He was goading me, trying to elicit an explosive response.  I forced down my temper and answered as calmly as I could manage.
 
“She listens for news of the child.  She is a mother; she is with us to comfort the mother of this child until such time as she has been safely returned.”  Would he believe me?  Whether he did or not, both Terry and Cassandra needed to hear this interchange.  I motioned the others to follow and – reluctantly – went in the villa to the spare room we had allocated as our office and base of operations.
 
“Yousef, I am going to put you on the speakerphone.  You know there are three of us here, and you know we work as a team.  There’s nothing to be gained by excluding them from our conversation.” 
 
“If you must, I cannot stop you.”  I clicked on the speaker and put the handset back on the base.  His voice rasped from the instrument.
 
“Cassandra …how many children do you have?”  I tensed, and Cassandra bit her lip momentarily before replying appropriately.
 
“One.”
 
“A female child?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“And where is she now?  She has not travelled with you and your lover.”  She looked at me, then at Terry who was trying to trace the call on the possibility that Yousef was using a landline rather than a cell phone.  She took a deep breath before she spoke, and I wondered what story she would weave.
 
“She is dead and lost to me.” 
 
“Ahhh …is she the true reason you are here?  Do you see her in this child?”
 
“Yes, I do.”
 
I was annoyed at his toying with her and sought to change his focus.  “Yousef, her child has no relevance to this matter.  You have called for a reason; what do you want?”  He laughed again.  I knew I would grow to hate that sound over time.
 
“When we last spoke, you asked for a proof of life to ensure the child was alive and safe.  I have it for you.  Be at the entrance to the Coptic Museum at five today.  You will have your proof.”  The connection went dead, and I looked at Terry.
 
“Landline …calling from about two miles away, in the business district.  He knows exactly where we are, Max.  He’s got someone on the inside.”  A subsequent trace of the line led us to the nearby post office which maintained a bank of telephones for use by those without service to their homes.  He – or one of his group - was smarter than we had presumed.  I could only hope that underestimation had not put Veronica in greater jeopardy. 
 
Today we would purge the resident staff and sweep the entire property for listening devices and camera leads.  In truth, I was not that concerned that he knew where we were now living or how many of us there were, but I did object to his being privy to our future plans.  I motioned everyone back outside to the pool deck; the chances of an effective listening device being out there were far lower than inside the house.
 
*
 
I did not care for Yousef’s familiarity with Cassandra, but there was no way to stop him speaking to her.  Further, and much as I disliked the notion, she might be the conduit we needed to find the child.  Yousef likely would not credit her with being a professional; almost certainly he did not know of her skills as a profiler and would assume her to be emotional and easy to manipulate.  That could work to our advantage.  Yousef did not appear to know that Diana was with us as he had not mentioned her; with luck, we could keep her presence from his knowledge.  We had moved out to the pool deck to talk, well away from the walls of the villa which clearly had ears of their own.  Terry looked round before he spoke, his voice softer than usual.

"We have to get rid of all the staff immediately.  No one other than the four of us has any further access to the house or grounds.  I’ll call the leasing agent and have her pull them out.  We won’t replace them, which means we are responsible for all the usual chores that go with four people sharing a residence.”  I turned to Cassandra and Diana, and the latter spoke.
 
“Since staff is my bailiwick, I’ll notify Birgit and make sure they don’t pack anything that belongs here.  I'll escort them out.  If Reags wants to cook occasionally, that’s fine, but count on me for the bulk of it.”  Each woman had her own specialty dishes; both had the requisite skills for us to eat exceedingly well and to enable Terry and me to gain a significant amount of weight were they to cook nothing other than their specialities.  Given this change of events, Diana would likely soon have more than enough to keep her occupied and feeling useful.  I turned back to Terry. 
 
“Terry, I wish you to take responsibility for personal security and that of the property.  From this moment forward, we are all armed, at all times.  To date, we have been somewhat nonchalant regarding such matters; that changes immediately.”  Terry nodded before speaking.
 
“Right.  I want all side arms in my possession for inspection as soon as we’re dressed; meet me in the dining room.  We’ll deal with the assault weapons later; I’ll get one of the M-16’s cleaned and ready to go for night watch.  Diana, from this moment forward, I don’t want you or Reags leaving the villa unless Max or I are with you.”  If he had expected an argument from Diana, he was surprised.  She nodded her assent. 
 
“I want Dino here ASAP; I’ll call him as soon as we’re done here.” 
 
I spoke again.  “We must increase the pressure on our local informants; I will contact them shortly.  For the present, security is our first priority.  Terry, you will rig tripwires round the perimeter, on all windows and doors of the property and activate them before nightfall.  Cassandra, is it possible to do profiles on any of those who contact us?  Can you determine anything from their voices alone?”  She shook her head once.  It was apparent that she was already sorting through details of Yousef’s words that may have escaped our notice during his call.

“I can listen for nuances in diction that may indicate increasing stress levels …that’s about it without further data.  I can’t really do anything more than you or Terry just from hearing voices.” 
 
“Whatever you may be able to discern will be sufficient; perhaps you will notice a nuance that we do not.  We meet in the dining room in 20 minutes with all side arms, to include blades, for Terry’s inspection.”
 
Cassandra and I went to our suite to collect our weapons.  I noted that Terry was placing the call to Dino as we left the pool area.  I was somewhat surprised – and bemused - at the weapons in her possession aside from her usual side arms.  It had never been necessary for me to check her weapons whilst at home, and I was not in the room when she packed her briefcase for this journey.  I watched as she removed a Perejil combat knife from the side pocket along with a garrotte.  Her hands are slender, her fingers long and supple and did not appear strong enough to handle the particular style of execution implied by the garrotte should it be required; however, I knew that she would not possess either weapon were she not both prepared to use them and capable of doing so.  Her 9mm Ruger was next, along with multiple 10-round clips; she left the boxes of ammunition on the chest in the corner.  My weapons were in my own briefcase; the only difference in our side arms was in the length of the respective barrels; hers had a 3.9 inch barrel, thus facilitating its concealment in her handbag if necessary.  My Beretta had a 4.9 inch barrel which offered no impediment in my shoulder holster.  I took my own Perejil, dagger, garrotte, and silencer from their concealed compartment in my briefcase and turned toward the door.  She appeared to have her weapons ready, and I was on my way out of the room with my own when her voice stopped me.
 
“Wait, I need the Glock.”  I stood and waited as she withdrew it from between the mattress and springs on our bed; I had never known it was there.  I opened the door for her and followed her down the hallway and stairs, to meet Terry and Diana in the dining room.
 
 
DIANA
Terry and I were waiting in the dining room when Max and Reags walked in carrying a small arsenal between them.  Two wicked looking knives, two garrottes, a dagger, and three handguns complete with silencers.  It was pretty obvious Reags’ years in the Army and with the FBI had taught her to be ready for anything. 
 
I left them breaking down and cleaning weapons.  After getting our three 'intruders' as I had come to think of them out, I returned to find them still cleaning weapons.  The three of them spent an hour-and-a-half breaking down every firearm they possessed, cleaning them even though none of them needed it, reloading and checking sights, the whole nine yards.  If the kidnappers knew where we were, they had to know who we were, and that probably had the potential for the situation to get really nasty at any moment.  We would be ready …and yes, I included myself in that collective.  For someone who had never handled a firearm in her life until early spring, I’d gotten to be a relatively accurate shot; when you live with Terry Thorne, you aren’t given a lot of options other than becoming minimally proficient.  At worst, I could point the weapon and pull the trigger.  Max, Terry, and Reags had already decided that once we had definitive information on Veronica’s location and confirmed how many bodies there were holding the child, they were going in to get her and fuck the negotiations.
 
I watched Reags with her side arms …she was more comfortable with a handgun than I would ever be; of course, guns had been a part of her life for 15 years, so that wasn’t surprising.  I knew without asking that she could fieldstrip her weapons blindfolded and in a hurricane without missing a beat.  I know Max and Terry were equally impressed, and I just had to wonder if knowing Reags was probably a better shot – given that she’d had considerably more practice with modern weaponry - than he was gave Max any heartburn.  Somehow, I doubted it; he seems to have a thing for strong women …after all, he does tolerate both Reags and me.
 
Terry had rigged a target against one wall to check proficiency with knives.  I figured he had seen Max in action, but Reags was an unknown quantity.  Terry probably didn’t want to count on her being able to use that knife until he had some idea of whether or not she knew which end of it held the blade.  Her life, as well as his, Max’s, Dino’s and Veronica’s, might depend on her accuracy.  I didn’t know how much you could tell about someone’s ability with a stationary target, but he’d at least find out if she could hit the broad side of a barn.  When Terry said he wanted to check everyone’s accuracy, Reags had grinned at him, knowing precisely whose accuracy was at issue because Max could probably hit it blindfolded with his hands tied down and throwing with his left foot. 
 
“Terry, you didn’t tell me I needed to qualify for you.  Let me get the rest of my rig.”  Before he could say a word in rebuttal, she had walked out of the room and up the stairs.  She was back three minutes later with a sheath strapped to her forearm; she picked up her knife from the table and slipped the blade into the sheath.  The point of the blade rested just above the break of her wrist, and would be completely covered by a long-sleeved shirt.  She looked at Terry and then spoke. 
 
“I’m going outside …move that target and stay out of the way; when I come back, I’ll be on the offensive.”  Max and I followed her, and Terry stayed for a few seconds before following us.  He looked at her and smiled. 

“Go loud.”  She nodded, slipped out of her shoes, and took off.
 
Into the house, quick and quiet, her bare feet not even a whisper on the marble flooring, not assuming the target would still be in the room where she’d last seen it.  Out of curiosity, I was timing her to see how long it took her to locate it.  Reags kept to the perimeters of the rooms and hallways as she moved, carefully checking each room before making herself a potential target.  The third room she checked was the lounge, and Terry looked at me behind her back; that’s where he’d put the pillow-cum-target.  She looked carefully around the doorframe and spotted the target sitting against a chair under the window …the sunlight was streaming into her face, making it hard to focus well.  She was so fast I barely saw her move, just a light flick of her wrist, and the soundless movement of the knife as it cut through the air and buried itself to the hilt into the pillow Terry had taken off our bed.  Guess he’d be spitting feathers tonight because I sure as hell wasn’t giving him my pillow.
 
Damn she was good.  Do you know how spooky it is to see the reality that your best friend has the ability to be a killer?  Terry was happy, and Max looked like a proud papa.  It had been less than 12 seconds since she entered the house.  Terry didn’t ask her to give us a demonstration of her efficiency with the garrotte because we were short on volunteers; he’d have to take that on faith. 
 
 
VERONICA
I asked Mohammed how long I’ve been here.  It seems like forever.  He wouldn’t tell me.  He just says that soon my daddy will pay the money, and they’ll let me go.  How long is ‘soon?’
 
 
REAGAN
I’d shown Terry that I could fieldstrip my handguns, and now he knew I could handle the Perejil; fortunately, he didn’t ask for a demonstration of my skill with the garrotte.  If he had, I’d have volunteered him to be my victim, as it sure as Hell wasn’t going to be Maximus or Dee. 
 
Yousef’s phone call to the house phone had startled all of us.  We hadn’t anticipated they would be watching us that closely.  At least it served to get us totally focused and out of our complacency.  Dee had the household staff on the street within an hour of Yousef’s call, and I volunteered to make dinner that night.  We’d agreed that we’d take turns, and while Dee would do most of the meal planning and preparation, it wasn’t fair to expect her to do all of it.  I was reasonably sure that I could come up with something palatable for tonight with whatever I found on hand.  In addition to her inventory and list making, Dee might need some time away from me beyond what it took her to check supplies.  Though she’d known my background, today she’d been slapped in the face with the reality that her best friend could – and would – kill, if it was required.  That was likely a different concept for her to process, though I doubted she’d ever say a word about it.  I did wonder what shift in her perception of me that knowledge would cause. 
 
Once she’d completed an inventory and gotten the food supply situation under control, she would be with Terry and working on the perimeter wire.  She might still be upset with him, but she did know how to wire a fence and trip wire is another form of fencing.  Knowing Dee as I do, she and Terry probably didn't get it all talked through last night; working together would get her over any residual anger she was still holding.
 
Maximus wandered into the kitchen as I was looking through the refrigerator and freezer.  It was just after two, and he looked tired.  Not too surprising, as neither of us had slept well the night before.  He rested against the counter and watched me.  I completed my assessment for dinner preparations and then walked over and leant into him.  He chuckled and put one arm round me, pulling me close as I spoke.
 
“Maximus, you’re tired.  Go take a nap.  I’ll get you up in a couple of hours.  If you’re going to take one watch tonight, you need to get some rest.”  Amongst other matters, Maximus, Terry, and I had agreed to alternate standing four hour watches during the dark hours.  Dee would stand watch with Terry to learn the ropes.  Max nodded and then looked at me.
 
“Are you finished here, at least until it is time to prepare dinner?”  I nodded.
 
“Then I thought perhaps I might convince you to come and …rest …with me for a time, given that you seem of the opinion that I need rest.”  I looked up at him.
 
“Yeah, I might do that …but if I do, you won’t get much rest.  At least not for a while.”  His lips were only millimetres from mine when he answered.
 
“Did I say that I intended resting immediately?”
 
 
MAXIMUS
Terry was occupied in his efforts to make the villa impregnable to all but the four of us; he did not require my help at present as Diana was assisting him, I had now realised that if Terry was occupied in some activity, Diana would be with him as was the case when she was occupied.  They have truly become a team.  I went in search of Cassandra, finding her in the kitchen, apparently deciding what to prepare for dinner that night.  It was not difficult to disrupt that process by offering her what I hoped would be an appealing alternative.  I took her hand as we left the kitchen, leading her up the stairs to our suite, closing and locking the door behind us.
 
Her hands went to the singlet I wore, tugging it from the waist of my jeans even as mine went to the buttons of her blouse.  Images of her dancing at the hotel last night fed my desire, and I fear I was not gentle as I divested her of her clothing, kicking my own away as I led her to our bed.  I lay down and pulled her toward me, wanting to touch all of her at once.  She came willingly; she is ever thus, even when I have been less than kind to her as was the case last night.  I acknowledge that my manner is not always appropriate and am resolved to make amends for it as best I might; I can learn as well as any man.  Today I had much to atone for, and I would exert my utmost efforts to do so now.
 
“Maximus …,” her voice was husky with want as she lay on top of me, her skin searing mine with its heat.  I rolled to my side, taking her with me and depositing her on her back as my lips moved from hers to her throat.  Her head arched back, exposing her long, slender throat and my mouth moved over her skin, kissing, suckling, telling her without words how desirable I found her.  Her fingers traced down my back on one side and my belly on the other, stopping when they found my manhood and stroking me firmly.  I caught my breath even as my hand moved over hers before moving it back up my body.
 
“Cease, Cassandra …I would atone in part for my treatment of you last night, but if you continue in this manner, I will not accomplish my intended mission.”  She smiled up at me.
 
“Well, then …I suppose you’ll just have to try again later, won’t you?”  Her hand returned to its former position, and I groaned.  What is it about this one woman that fires my passion as no other?  What is it about Cassandra that has followed me through time and space into this second life and makes me know that she alone is the one I cannot live without?  Does she know that I would die for her with no second thought, do whatever was required to protect her and keep her safe?  That I would do anything, risk anything and betray all that I am to keep her love for me intact?  Does she know these things?
 
I felt her hand guiding me through her moisture and sank into her depths with a sigh.  It has never been like this with anyone other than Cassandra …it was thus two thousand years in the past, and it is the same today.  This woman knows me to my very soul …I sense that I hold no surprises for her, as she has seen all that I am in our previous life and knows all that I am in this one.  That she is here with me now and of her own volition is testimony that the Gods intend us to be together.  I feel her walls pulse round me as I sheathe myself in her depths; her heat is a joy in itself, and I begin to move within her.  Her hips rise to meet my thrusts, and I hear her moan softly as her hands hold tight to the muscles of my buttocks, and I feel her nails dig into my flesh.  There is no pain, only the joy of her wanting, the heat and depth of our mutual need.
 
A time later I lay drowsing in self-satisfied satiation, watching Cassandra through half-closed eyes as she moved about the room in the mid-afternoon heat.  Like most houses in the Middle East, this one was not air-conditioned but did not truly need that accommodation.  The walls where thick and the ceilings high, keeping the day’s heat at bay; fans turned in their positions on the ceilings, and the warmth of the afternoon had only enhanced our erotic interlude.  The room would cool by 20 degrees after sunset.  I watched as she dressed in loose cotton pants and top, slipping her feet into canvas shoes before she moved to the mirror to arrange her hair.  She picked up her hairbrush and, leaning forward from the waist, pulled it through her hair from the nape of her neck to the ends.  She straightened and shook it back from her face, running her fingers through it before turning back to me.  I pushed up onto my elbow, watching as a smile moved over her face.
 
“Best get up and dressed, Lazy-bones.  We have a meeting in just over an hour.”  I nodded and swung my feet off the bed, standing and holding out my hands to her.  She came to me, tilting her lips up to mine as she moved into my arms.  As my hands moved down her back, I encountered the bulge against her spine at the waist of her pants …the Ruger or Glock?  She grinned at me.
 
“The Glock, silencer on …extra clip is in my pocket.”  The extra inch in barrel length of the Glock would provide more accuracy at distance, thus compensating for the silencer should she be required to use it.  I stepped back and appraised her carefully.  She wore a loose, long-sleeved blouse that fell to mid-thigh and loose cotton slacks …sufficiently modest for this culture.  There were no bulges from her weapons in evidence.  I noted that the buttons at the wrists of her blouse were neatly fastened, and I took her right forearm in my hand, feeling for the case holding the Perejil.  She was ready; I was satisfied with her preparations.  I nodded and turned to dress; jeans, button-down shirt, shoulder holster with the Beretta.  An extra clip was in the inside pocket of my lightweight jacket; my Perejil was in its sheath and affixed to my arm.  We met Terry and Diana in the upper hallway and went down the stairs together.  We left the house moments later with Terry driving the Mercedes.  Diana had arranged to meet with the Consular Officer at four-thirty to discuss background checks on our staff as well as the security breach we had experienced; we left her at the Embassy on our way to the museum.  She would remain there until we returned to collect her.  Though the loyalty of the household staff was no longer important to us, the Embassy’s safety may be at risk.
 
We arrived at the Coptic Museum with almost 15 minutes to spare, parked the car, and walked round the square, looking for vantage points to take up our surveillance.  Terry moved through the crowd, blending in with the tourists swirling about us.  Yousef knew that Cassandra and I were together, thus there was no requirement to separate; as he did not know for a certainty that she was part of our team, he would expect me to remain by her side in order to protect her.   We strolled casually among the locals and tourists who busied themselves about the square.  At five o’clock we watched the area around the museum’s entrance, looking for anyone appearing not to be engaged in usual activity.  Cassandra saw the child first and grabbed my hand, motioning with her head.
 
“Maximus, there she is …Veronica!”  I looked where she indicated, and there was the child, held closely in the arms of a man of moderate height and build, unremarkable but for the blonde child in his arms.  The child did not appear to be ill at ease, and that troubled me.
 
“She’s been drugged.  Look at her eyes.”  Indeed, the little one could barely keep her eyes open, and her head lolled on the shoulder of the man carrying her.  I started toward them, but Cassandra’s hand on my arm stopped me.
 
“No, let me go …a woman will alarm her less than would one more man she doesn’t know.”  I released her hand and looked for Terry to see him watching closely as Cassandra started toward the man and child.  They were now no more than a dozen feet from us.  Cassandra walked up to the man and stopped a few feet from him.
 
“Your child is lovely.  May I speak with her?”
 
“La,” shaking his head.  Even being told she might not speak to the child, Cassandra reached out and stroked her face.  She blinked and looked at Cassandra, reaching her arms out to be taken.  Cassandra shook her head and spoke rapidly to the man, then kissed the child on the cheek and walked back to me.  The man disappeared into the crowds as Terry moved to join us.  There was no thought of attempting to take the child from him by force, as we knew his comrades were elsewhere in the crowd.  To have made such an effort would no doubt have caused them to open fire, injuring and possibly killing someone in the crowd.
 
 
TERRY
“Is she all right?”  Reags nodded.
 
“As far as I could tell …he said they had drugged her earlier to keep her from fussing when they brought her here …they gave her ‘a little white pill;’ I’m guessing Valium.  He says she hasn’t been harmed, though I’ve no clue precisely what he means by that …I’m praying he means she hasn’t been sexually assaulted.  He said she likes chocolate.”  She stopped and took a deep breath before continuing.
 
“He also said he doesn’t like this, the taking of a child …part of what he said was that she spends most of her time with him, and that if we come after her, he will try to help.  Whether he means it or was told to say that in an attempt to lull us into a false sense of security, I’ve no way of knowing.  Irrespective of what he says and whether or not he truly is caring for Veronica, I don’t trust him.”  Max had been clenching and unclenching his fists the entire time Reags was talking; given his love of children, I knew he would take Veronica’s captors apart with his bare hands given minimal opportunity.  We looked back into the crowds swirling about us …nothing.  The man carrying Veronica had disappeared as quickly as vapour.  Max looked across the square to one of our local informants.  We had told them to be here this afternoon, and they were dispersed throughout the crowds.  He nodded once and melted away.  I got the sense that he recognised the man with the child; I was praying that he did.  To paraphrase something Max had once said, we would know soon enough.  We headed back to the Embassy to collect Diana.  She was waiting just inside the door when we drove up the drive.  She settled into the car and turned to look at the three of us.
 
“Got some news for you.  Our former groundskeeper - Abdo – has a different name on the lease for the villa than he does at the Embassy, but he’s definitely the same guy.”  I looked at her.
 
“That’s a red flag as to our potential leak.”
 
“He’s obviously not reported his second job to the Embassy, or he wouldn’t have used another name with us.  You guys deal with that aspect.  I’m going in tomorrow to talk to the HR Director in person, so he’ll have my affidavit for termination.  Tonight, I need to e-mail Ron Traub and see if Abdo’s on the list of people I’d flagged as suspicious because if he isn’t on that list, he needs to be.  I’d say he probably just went to the head of the list, whether he was on it previously or not.”
 
 
DIANA
I’d sent off the e-mail to Ron and had an answer almost immediately, acknowledging receipt and saying he would look into it.  Initially, I’d thought that I’d be useless as an udder on a bull once I got back from DC, but that had changed almost immediately.
 
Udder on a bull.  Normally, I’d say tits on a boar, but after Terry got me the Gladiator Maximus Cow ornament for the tree last Christmas, I’d changed my simile.  I had expected this to be a bull.  Who would take the most masculine of men and represent him as a female?  Entire magazine articles have been written about Crowe’s overwhelming masculinity.  After having been around Max for as long as I have, it absolutely should have been a bull.  Sometimes with Max and Terry in the same room, it feels like a testosterone war.  It just didn’t make sense.  I could only surmise that for the artist, bovine was good enough, and gender did not factor into her equation. 
 
Each year during the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, a group there has this annual Cow Parade, in which they do life-sized paper maché cows and bulls dressed like famous people or film characters.  The artists enlist sponsors for their work, and after the parade, the artwork is sold at auction.  Back in 2001 after Gladiator was such a hit in 2000, a Houston artist made one of a cow, bull, whatever, dressed in a lorica like the one Max had worn into battle in the film and called it Gladiator Maximus Cow.  Somehow, Russell Crowe heard about the auction and said he would match the selling price and donate it to the charity.  The proceeds went to Texas Children’s Hospital in the Texas Medical Center, a more than worthy cause.  So there I was, getting ready to hang this cute little ornament on our tree, and I stopped to look at it and realized it had an udder!  I almost fell off the stepladder laughing.  Of course, Terry wanted to know what was funny, and all I could do was laugh and point at the udder.  It was his first lesson in interpreting my sign language.  He was quite good.  He’d given one to Reags, too, and we couldn’t help but wonder, once we quit laughing, if she’d noticed it.  I kind of doubt it, as she’d have had to gig Max about it and would have told me.  I don’t think I’m going to be the one to enlighten her.
 
Where was I?  Oh, yes …Abdo the janitor/landscaper who had different names for his employment at the Embassy and his employment with the owners of the villa we had leased.  Apparently, I had kicked over the can of worms that had taken Abdo to the top of the ‘usual suspects’ list on my own project; that knowledge might also help find Veronica Forsythe.  At the Embassy, Abdo didn’t even warrant a second glance; as our groundskeeper, he set off all the warning bells.  He hadn’t told the Embassy that he had a second job.  That in and of itself was grounds for termination from the Embassy’s employ.  The fact that he used a different name for his job at the villa was grounds for termination with us.  Four days later, I had an encrypted e-mail from Traub with a list of Abdo’s known associates.  Traub had given me permission in the e-mail to ‘pass this along to interested parties, and keep yourself safe.’  I printed out the list and took it to Terry and Max.  They read it while Reags and I waited.
 
Known Associates of Abdo Mohammed Shakri
Khalil Abdulla Khalifa
Tamir Omar Khan
Mohammed Al-Tamimi
Ismail Sharif Almana
Omar Khalid Al-Sheikh
Malek Khalid al-Ramzi
 
Terry looked at Max.  “Any of these look familiar to you?”
 
“Aside from al-Ramzi – and we know he is involved - no.  All are common enough generic Arabic names, easily found in any of the Arab States.  There is nothing remarkable here.”  Well, hell.  I had been so hopeful.  I looked at Terry.
 
“Udder on a bull.”  Max’s eyebrow quirked up, and Reags snickered; Terry grinned.
 
“What?”  She snickered again.  Yep, she’d noticed and hadn’t said a word to Max.  Reags smiled before she spoke. 
 
“Nothing.  We’re just being silly.”  Max shook his head with the look of a man who – admittedly – will never understand the workings of the feminine mind or the 21st century.
 
 
TERRY
We were all a bit the worse for wear by the time we arrived back at the villa. No one had gotten much sleep the night before, and starting off the day with a phone call from Yousef – and the reality that he knew where we were – was more than a bit disconcerting.  We weren’t actually trying to hide, but that’s the first time I’ve ever known a contact to abandon the radio and call on a landline.  Landlines - even if it’s a line in the local post office - are too easy to trace and such calls are usually made in close proximity to person's home base …made me wonder what was really going on in his head.  We all trooped up to our rooms and changed into cooler clothing.  Max may not suffer from the bloody heat here and Reags seems to tolerate it reasonably well, but it’s fucking hot.  It must have been 110o in the shade in that bloody square, and the Cairo humidity is awful.  Diana and I had been running trip wires outside during the heat of the afternoon, and our body temperatures hadn’t returned to normal before leaving the villa earlier.  She was changed and downstairs a few minutes ahead of me as I took time to check for e-mails from Dino and Sooze.  There was one from Dino in response to my call earlier in the day; he would arrive early the next morning and take a cab directly to the villa.  He'd call when he got through Customs so that we'd know when to expect his arrival; I didn’t want whoever was on watch to shoot him.  It wouldn't do for him to take friendly fire. 
 
I heard sounds from the kitchen as I hit the ground floor and went to see what was going on.  The three of them were laughing as Reags poured Margaritas into glasses.  She turned to see me walk in and handed me one.
 
“Looks like you could use a drink, Terry.”  Yeah, I could and accepted the drink and gave her a kiss on the cheek. 
 
“Thanks, Love.  This is just what the doctor ordered.”  Something smelled good.  I walked across the kitchen to the stove to see what she had managed to come up with from what was available in the refrigerator and pantry, raising the lid on one of the pots and was met with something red with green and white bits floating that I couldn't even hope to identify.  I turned and looked at her in desperation as she laughed out loud at the look that must have been on my face.
 
“Don’t panic, Terry …we’ve having Mexican for dinner.  You’ve just never been in on the process of making picante sauce before.  You can’t have Mexican food without salsa; you’ve been in Texas long enough to know that, even if you hadn’t hooked up with Dee.”  I looked to Max for reassurance.  He shrugged and smiled.  Reags was a good cook, and I’d known that since meeting her last summer.  Anyway, it did smell good, and as long as I didn’t have to cook tonight, I was pretty much willing to eat anything that came my way.
 
“Hey, Reags.”  She turned toward Diana, who was now peering into the same pot I’d checked out a few minutes ago, and she had a spoon in hand, clearly having just sampled the contents.  She had a bit of the salsa in it and held it out to Reags for her opinion.
 
“I think it needs a bit more cumin …what do you think?”  Reags tasted and nodded.
 
“A bit …you know where it is.”  I looked from Reags to Diana as I’d not had Reags’ Mexican food before, though I knew Diana’s was World Class.  I turned back to Reags as she spoke.
 
“Relax, Terry, and I’m not talking about dinner.  Veronica will be fine, and we’ll soon have her back; I have a good feeling on this.”  She hugged me and walked out of the room.  I looked at Max.  He didn’t seem surprised at her comment.  Cassandra …there was a reason he called her that, and I didn’t think for a moment it was an accident because Max doesn’t have accidents. Max has a reason for everything he does and for every word that comes out of his mouth.  I found myself wondering if she could fortell the future at times and felt the hackles on the back of my neck rise at the notion. 

 

 


 

NOTES

Mount Rushmore

Mount Rushmore National Park in South Dakota. Sculptor Gutzon Borglum and his son, Lincoln, carved the faces of four US Presidents – George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt, and Abraham Lincoln – into the stone face of the mountain.
GAO General Accounting Office. The branch of the U. S. Government responsible for auditing all Federal agencies. Call them ‘forensic accountants’ and you’d be right. 
The Trib The New York Herald Tribune, the international American newspaper available throughout Europe and the Middle East.
Doumbek Middle Eastern drum http//www.blackroot.org/drumming/drumming.html and http//nasehpour.tripod.com/peyman/id58.html
Five-thousand pounds Five-thousand Egyptian pounds is the equivalent of $869 in United States dollars …not a bad tip!

 

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