Chapter 20 (continued)
WHILE COLONEL HAGGARTY and Madison battled the storm out over the North Atlantic, Ruyah al-Basir bint al-Azia sat by a window in that bit of hedonistic luxury known as The Four Seasons. She was watching the rain as it splattered against the black asphalt of a Washington DC street that shimmered like the surface of a mirror. But this was no luxury getaway for Ruyah. She was being held against her will. She was the prisoner of the same sadistic bastard who had started the whole carbuncle back in January 2013. Outside her bedroom door was a trained Black Ops soldier, station there by the man holding her prisoner and he had orders to kill her if she tried to escape.
Noah Daniels, she’d learned, from reading his mind was still in a snit about not being elected, President, by the people he’d served for the greater part of his life.
“Inbred sheep that were dumber than a box of rocks,” was how he, affectionately, thought of the people of the United States. And what he thought of the people of the Middle East was downright unspeakable.
She’d been Daniel’s prisoner going on two weeks now. Escaping had been the first thing that had crossed her mind. But the more she was in Daniels presence, the more she realized that there was an opportunity here. One she could scarcely afford to miss.
Daniels’s wife Nancy had died ten years ago and his lover had abandoned him after his defeat. His grown children had lives of their own that didn’t include him. So, Noah Daniels roamed about the Washington landscape a lonely and solitary figure bent on revenge that was not due him. That was until now.
As she watched the rain puddle in the street outside the hotel window, Ruyah thought back to her time with Youssef. She had been his prisoner, too, of sorts. But after a time, and with understanding of his purpose, she’d come to love him. Without a trace of emotion, she watched, as an American woman, carrying a large red umbrella, stepped into view when a bright yellow cab pulled to the curve.
“In spite of the obvious differences, of race, the two men, Youssef and Noah, were very much alike,” she thought. They imagined themselves ‘saviors’ of people who didn’t have the mental capacity to save themselves. But, what both men failed to realize was that those common people were very happy with their lot in life, and if given the sanctify of peace, would have found their own way. It was Youssef and Noah, who needed saving.
“No,” she thought as she stared out the window at the lit up Capitol Building. “No, she was not going to wait to be saved nor was she going to be ruled over by some megalomaniacal tyrant. She’d had enough of both. She was going to take her own life in her own two hands. The very same way she’d talked Lucinda into doing with Nasser.
She stood up and drew the draperies closed. “He liked privacy and cleanliness, which was odd,” she thought considering he was neither.
She’d showered, paying particular attention to wash her hair, since he was taller than her, and had lightly spritzed on Diorissimo by Christian Dior. His wife’s favorite. She was wearing a white silk chiffon long sleeve peasant blouse, a pair of black silk palazzo pants, and elegantly understated jewelry. Nothing that screamed filthy rich but spoke softly to who he was.
Noah Daniels, a graduate of Eastern High School and Harvard Law, stepped off the elevator of the Washington DC Four Seasons Hotel a man full of confidence. A confidence garnered from the hard work and genius of a man he personally detested. But Daniels was not a man to let personal likes and dislikes get in the way of ambition. He’d learned that early on after entering the political arena. Rarely, was the path to political success lined with only the people you respected and liked. And that was never truer than in Washington, DC.
If you were to get anywhere in this town, you learned very quickly that you had to do business with the Devil. It was a necessary evil. Especially, if you’re a Democratic President saddled with a Republican Congress like he’d been during his stent as Interim President when Wayne Palmer had been unable to continue after the assignation attempt on his life.
He checked his watch. Right about now, if Ruyah Caneer had told him the truth about bin Caneer’s weather weapon, Khamis was getting the ride of his life. All he had to do now was wait. Wait for news that Air Force One had crashed, wait for the ensuing search, and wait for that idiot Stone to mess up.
He tapped on the door to the suite he’d rented under his former Chief of Staff’s name.
The door opened cautiously.
“How’s our prisoner, tonight?”
“Quiet as ever.”
“You can wait in the other bedroom. I’ll call you if I need you.”
Ruyah was standing, staring at the door, listening, when Daniels knocked. “He’s here to gloat,” she thought.
Daniels knocked and then unlocked the door to Ruyah’s room.
“Mrs. Caneer, I thought we’d have dinner together and wait for the news to see if your husband’s weapon worked.
Ruyah laughed softly and answered, “My name is not Mrs. Caneer. That is a western tradition. In my part of the world, a Muslim woman keeps her father’s name. It is considered and honor to know from whence you came. “My name is Ruyah al-Basir bint al-Azia bin al-Saba,” she said extending her open hand.
Her answer, “The weapon worked. But Colonel Haggarty is a better pilot than you knew. You should have gone the extra mile and replaced him,” she’d already devised.”
Eliza D. Ankum
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