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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?” he sighed. “I was only in paradise, surrounded by my seventy-two Houri.”

Mona smiled.  “Sorry. I thought you might still be up.”

“I am now.  What is it?”

“I need some help from the smartest financial analyst I know.”

“Of course you do.  I’ll make it easy.  Gold and local bonds.”

“That’s not the sort of help I’m looking for.”

“How about some real estate?  I have a nice pyramid I can sell you.”

“I’m serious.  I need help looking into some companies—international companies.”

“This for a story?”

“Yes.  And it may be important.”

“Let me guess,” he said, exhaling.  “Someone, somewhere, did something bad.”

“Are you done?”

Maher managed a tired smile.  “I think so.  How many companies?”

“Fourteen.  I have a bunch of financial statements, but I don’t know what to make of them.”

“What kind of statements.”

“I’m not sure.  Maybe income statements?”

“Digital?”

“Paper.  But I’ve scanned them.”

“Okay.  Send them over.  How urgent is this?”

“It’s hard to say until I know more.”

“Fine.  I’ll try to take a look at them tomorrow if I can.”

“Perfect.  Thank you, Omar.”

“What are friends for,” he replied sarcastically, “but to wake up in the middle of the night for something that doesn’t involve them at all?”

This time, Mona laughed.  “I owe you a favor.”

“You owe me a lot of favors.”

“Then I owe you another one.”

“Can I go back to sleep?”

“Yes.  Thank you.”

With that, the call ended, leaving Mona scrolling through her giant scanned file on her computer.  Forty-two pages in all.  Page after page of numbers and columns, several of which had been circled on different pages, presumably by Hamed.  Different columns, different numbers and different dates.

On her screen, she clicked out of the file and back to her browser, where a picture of a much younger Abasi Hamed was displayed.

Taken decades before, he was dressed in a tan military uniform and a dark blue cap and was staring intently toward the camera.  He was almost unrecognizable from the man Mona had met in the hospital, except for the eyes.

Those same dark, fierce eyes.

10

10

The seven-hour trip to Maui was utterly uneventful—at least so far, with Joe Rickards and Angela Reed seated near the back of the plane and just thirty minutes left until touchdown.

Through the small window, Joe could make out the cloudy outline of the largest island of Hawaii in the distance as if slowly floating by on the gray-blue horizon.