His security chief studied the old man with hidden fascination.  Outwardly, there was little indication of the sickness at all.  Even with the higher doses of chemo, Saad appeared to the observer to be able and robust.  In fact, he seemed far stronger than others Khoury had known in the same stage and condition, making the illness seem especially insidious.

“There is something else,” he added, causing Saad to look back at him.  “An incident at one of the orphanages.  In Kharga.”

“What sort of incident?”

“Two journalists asking questions.  When asked to leave, they apparently ran upstairs to take pictures.”

The old man’s expression registered little more than annoyance.  It was hardly the first time a journalist had attempted to create a story at his expense.

Even with all the work he had done, there was still an unlimited supply of antagonists.

“I mention it,” said Khoury, “because of the timeline.”

Saad shrugged.  “Ignore it.”

“Ignore it?”

“Yes.”

“You are sure?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Khoury nodded and stood up, facing the old man, who, after additional contemplation, lifted his hand.  Without a word, his chief took Saad’s hand in his and pulled him smoothly from the chair and onto his feet.

Without speaking, Khoury led his weakened boss across the room and through a glass door into a large office.  Decorated in the same taste and lavishness as the rest of the mansion, the room's centerpiece was a giant desk made from solid polished Calcutta marble.  Unique and distinctive in its streaks of whites and golds, it was elegant and perfectly polished, the most expensive and rare marble on the planet originating from a single Italian quarry.

On the desk stood several large monitors controlled by a single computer keyboard and mouse in front of them.  Otherwise, the giant desk remained utterly empty.

In front of the marble desk was an equally expensive red leather chair into which Saad carefully eased himself.

“Thank you,” he sighed.

“Anything else?”

“No, I’m fine.  Tell Senura to come in an hour.”

Khoury nodded.

The first few hours were always the worst, leaving Saad to seek a stationary, upright position after his treatment, the office and desk where he would relax and watch Khoury leave, easing the large lead glass door closed behind him.

When Saad heard the door to the larger room close half a minute later, he inhaled deeply, fighting through the first wave of nausea.  It slowly passed, and he touched a random key on the keyboard, waiting for the monitors to flicker to life.

A single line and field appeared on the middle screen. He typed his password and abruptly paused once again to ensure he was alone before hitting the enter key.