“Who are you?” Smith said. His voice came out little more than a croak and the man picked up a cup, holding it while Smith sucked on the straw.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

His English was better than expected. Maybe he’d actually outsmarted a few of those competitors after all.

Smith eased himself back into the pillows, letting the pain play out on his face to provide an excuse not to volunteer information.

“You’re very interesting to me,” the man said, also declining to contribute an introduction. “My doctor says it would be virtually impossible for someone with a crossbow bolt in his back to swim as far out into the ocean as you did. And yet there you were.”

“High school breaststroke champion,” Smith managed to get out and then let out a weak cough. The pain that action unleashed would have been truly breathtaking if he could actually breathe.

“Indeed.”

Smith pointed to the cup and the man examined him for a moment before holding it up so he could get another drink. Likely less an act of kindness than an effort to get his guest’s voice working again.

“Even more fascinating to me were the men chasing you. They were quite motivated. Not a single one of them gave up the search until he drowned.”

Smith tried to get his hazy mind to focus. Could that be true? And if this man was making these kinds of observations, did it suggest that he wasn’t involved in the attack? The fancy house, the men floating off remote beaches in quiet boats. Some kind of smuggler? A simple drug runner?

“You’ll understand that I like to keep abreast of things that happen in my waters.”

Smith knew that he wasn’t in any condition to play cat and mouse with this man and was getting ready to fake losing consciousness, but it was a piece of theater that turned out to be unnecessary. His vision began to swim and his eyes fluttered uncontrollably. There was no reason to fight it so he just let the darkness come.

When the man spoke again, his voice sounded a thousand miles away. “Of course. You rest. We have all the time in the world to talk.”

4

4

Cairo
Egypt

Randi Russell ran her fingers through her short hair, moving closer to the showerhead and watching the black dye swirl down the drain. The fake tanner darkening the skin visible from beneath her hijab would just have to wear off on its own.

When the water turned clear, she shut off the faucet and stepped out onto the tile floor. The mirror was fogged, displaying only a hazy image of her thin, toned body and dark eyes beneath a shock of blonde hair. Her athletic beauty had always been an asset—opening doors, keeping men off balance, causing people to dismiss her as a piece of arm candy.