Chapter 7

Seated at his desk, Walid answered his cell with the first genuine smile he’d worn in days.

The white adobe walls in his Mexican villa caught the waning light from the afternoon sun as his brother’s voice came through as a booming spectrum of energy. “Hello, dear one, we are once again embarking on a journey to secure our world. And all the forces in the universe, seen and unseen, bend to our will.”

His heart thrashing with joy, Walid unhitched his shoulders and spun his desk chair from the cattle ranch’s dark wood beams, moldings, and comfortable red-leather seating to the window beyond. His eyes skimmed over the dry fields and distant mountains. “You can never just say hello, Aamir.”

“Because I have such a fine voice made for songs and speeches and winning hearts.”

Walid absently ran a hand along the scar on his neck. The scar made his voice sound congested and raw. It should never have been a scar. It should’ve been his end.

Aamir had saved him. Saved him for years after. Until they had become strong and wise enough to understand that the only way to be truly safe is to destroy that which oppresses you.

Rest in peace, Father.

“Yes. You are the beautiful one with the beautiful voice. Tell me, how are the forces aligning to our will today?”

Aamir paused. The considered beat drew Walid up in his chair. He turned away from the window as one of his men walked past carrying an AK-47.

“It seems the attack on our distribution center and the plot to assassinate us originates from information gained in your territory.”

The heat of accusation nipped Walid’s cheeks. The mole was here, at his ranch in Mexico. Would he ever have the loyalty of his men, like Aamir did?

No. Few people found him attractive. But they adored his brother, Aamir, who was both attractive and charismatic. Walid’s homely face, strangle-marked neck, volatile temper, and sexual proclivities earned him little respect. Let alone admiration.

There had already been a threat that he’d had to eliminate last year. Thankfully, his new head of security had proven himself both loyal and ruthless. Dusty had come into the organization with a fire in his belly. He’d doggedly replaced all of the men who’d guarded Walid, rotating them to see who could be trusted.

Still, the process of weeding out his part of the operation wasn’t complete. If there was a weakness for this type of exposure, it was with him in the Americas. Not Aamir in Europe.

“Did the informant tell you this?”

The informant, even though he had warned them of the assassination, irked Walid. He was an unknown who’d contacted them only through email. He’d used multiple proxies and thus they had not been able to locate him. Yet.

“Yes. After the original warning advising us to change our meeting to Jordan, I was contacted again. I paid again, was told of the spy and that this group desires to take us out together. They will wait an additional two years for us to meet again. By this, we can surmise this group knows that killing both of us leaves no successive leadership.”

Walid ground his teeth. Their tactic, never employing men under them for too long or who were too ambitious, had guaranteed no one tried to overthrow them. Or so they’d thought. “And this is the world turning in our favor?”

Aamir tsked. “We make fortune. The world responds to our will.” His brother’s tone had become slightly sterner. “If it had not been for our power, we would have walked into a trap. Now, we have time to find our enemies and make a great profit.”

Walid eyed the portrait of the Indian slum in which they’d lived as boys. A dark and distasteful image that reminded him obstacles could not only be overcome but pulverized. “So you are settled? We will move our focus to the Middle East. Diminishing our channels in South America?”

“It makes the most sense. With the buildup of refugees and smugglers looking to profit, we can easily secure product and use our existing distribution chains in Europe and North America.”

Product. He meant females, but Aamir would never say that. He was careful. Mostly. “But the Middle East suppliers are men with fevered minds. They have a morality as tied to the wind as the clouds. It is always shifting. Perhaps it will shift against us.”

“Their focus is not on us, but in continuing their fight. They have boxed their ambitions along with their libidos into the smallest corner possible.”

“Yes. I’m surprised they can take a shit without praising God.”

Aamir laughed. A sound so welcome it made Walid’s heart leap.

“True. And like any trapped, wild animal, they will run through the first opening. Our money is a doorway. They need it to keep their war going. We are invaluable to them. And, even better, it will be some time before any agency of significance notices.”

Walid nodded as he did the mental calculations in his head. Ten women, servicing fifteen men a day, even minus food and shelter, could net them a million dollars a year. And this agreement would get them a thousand times that amount. “Fine. We will move forward with the Middle East. And to weed out the spy, I will contact my head of security. The man is brilliant. Former FBI. He is just the type of wild dog we need for this hunt.”

“Yes. I’ve seen the file. Set him loose.”

Walid gripped the phone a little tighter. Watched the second hand sweep the sun-shaped clock that hung upon his wall. “We will be together soon?”

“Next week, Walid. In Jordan. Get your papers ready.”

Walid exhaled a deep sigh of relief. Jordan would not be so bad.