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Back The Desert of Glass Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. BY MICHAEL C. GRUMLEY
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. 70
  73. 71
  74. 72
  75. 73
  76. 74
  77. 75
  78. 76
  79. 77
  80. 78
  81. EPILOGUE
  82. II
  83. III
  84. IV

Why… Her?

One of the breaking stories currently being covered by multiple outlets was yet another corruption scandal, this one allegedly involving the Egyptian Prime Minister and two of his cabinet members.  It was hardly a surprise to anyone, given the deep history of corruption in the country, but what stood out this time was the involvement of three different well-known journalists who’d participated in the coverup, skimming millions of Egyptian pounds through agricultural land ownership and reclamation fees.  The story didn’t just highlight another channel of corruption within the government but how easily journalists and reporters could also be bought.

The story had been going on for weeks and now suggested that at least two of the journalists involved had not been bribed but blackmailed.  They were successful, well-known men with everything to lose if they didn’t cooperate.  Evidently, someone had something on both of them.

Which prompted Mona to ask her question one more time.

Why… Her?

Was it possible the old man—Abasi Hamed—wanted to give his information to someone who could not be blackmailed?  Because in Mona’s case, she had nothing to be blackmailed over.  Literally.  No scandals.  No money.  Not even a reputation to speak of.  At least not yet.

She continued staring forward in a trance for a long time before suddenly turning back to the stove when her tea kettle began to whistle.  She stepped forward and quickly took it off the flame.

Absently, she continued to ponder as she turned off the stove.

Could that be it?  Could Hamed have chosen her because she had nothing to lose?

Pouring the water into a flower-covered teacup and placing the kettle back atop the stove, then through the trail of rising steam, turned to view the binder again on the table.

News and the momentum of a story could be highly unpredictable.  So much so that the attention over the prime minister’s allegations was already being overlooked following the new revelations about the three journalists.

Perhaps that was what Abasi Hamed was trying to avoid with her.

But if that were true, he had to have known the challenges she would face as a woman, just how little time and resources a single female reporter would have—especially if he needed a country controlled by men to believe whatever it was he’d given her.

Unless he didn’t.

9

9

“Hello?”

“Omar, it’s Mona.  Are you awake?”

Following a long pause, the man finally replied.  “Who is it?”

“It’s Mona.  Mona Baraka.  Did I wake you?”

“Who?”

“MONA!”

On the other end, Omar Maher frowned and propped himself up on one elbow in his bed, emerging beneath a single silk sheet.

“Take it easy.  I’m joking,” he replied.  “What time is it?”

“A little after 1:00.”

Maher momentarily pulled the phone away from his ear and glanced at it.  “In the morning?”

“Should I call back?”