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The man laughs and moves next to Heather. She offers up photos of her standing with her twin nephews, Justin and Paul, at a soccer field, both young boys grinning with satisfaction into the camera. “Ah,” the man says. “The proverbial…what do you say,soccer mom?”
“One hundred percent,” Heather lies, putting the photos away in her own small handbag. The man goes to the other side of the room, retrieves a chair, and puts it near the end of the king-sized bed. He makes a polite gesture.
“Ladies, if you please?”
Heather steps up, slipping into performance mode, and says, “C’mon, Nancy, I’ve been waiting for you since we got here.”
Nancy giggles, comes over and grasps her hand, and the two of them get onto the bed. When Heather starts kissing Nancy, she’s happy her companion has recently brushed her teeth.
She glances over at their client. Sitting in his chair, stolidly watching them both. Heather still has her eye on his suit coat that’s heavy on one side. She hopes he’ll take off the jacket at some point and join them.
And that’s when she plans to earn a nice bonus by stealing the man’s phone.
Heather’s not sure who’s paying her extra to steal the iPhone—the CIA, the FBI, the Israelis, the Brits, the French—and she doesn’t care. She’s done odd jobs like this in the past, sometimes just later repeating pillow conversations from rich and prominent men to intense young men or women who take extensive notes. The extra under-the-table bonuses help provide for her elderly and ailing parents.
This job, though—there’s an edge to it. The man who set it up had said, “It’s vital that you get his iPhone. I can’t emphasize how important it is.”
How important? Twice-her-usual-fee important.
Wonderful.
And when the man joins the two of them, frenzied with lust, stealing his phone will be a breeze.
Rashad checks his watch.
An hour has passed.
The two women are nude, their skin is flushed, their bodies are glowing with what appears to be satisfaction, and Rashad is satisfied as well.
Not once during their performance has he stirred.
Not once has he gotten aroused.
As the two paid women performed for him, he sat quietly in his chair, repeatingayatsfrom the Koran as they giggled, laughed, sighed, and moaned. Allah had surely been with him this past hour.
Rashad gets to his feet and the two women look up at him with open expressions of lust and submission. An intoxicating mixture to be sure, but Rashad pays them no attention.
Instead he says, “You have both done so well, have pleased me so much, that I will give you both a bonus.”
The one on the left—Heather—looks on with keen interest as he puts his hand into his right suit-coat pocket, and the other one, Nancy, covers her mouth as she yawns.
He quickly takes out an Emerson Bulldog combat-grade folding knife, snaps it open, comes forward. Heather yells, “Girl, run!” as he plunges the knife between the soccer mom’s right ribs, causing her to cry out in pain and fall back. As the former cheerleader tries to run, Rashad grabs her long red hair, yanks her back, and slits her throat, blood spurting up into the air, over the sheets, and onto the rubber mats.
He moves and the other girl, growing pale, both hands trying and failing to stop the blood flowing from her side, looks at him. He’s surprised to see no begging in those soccer-mom eyes.
Rashad reaches into the left pocket of his trousers and removes his iPhone, which he takes special delight in displaying before her rapidly graying face.
“Looking for this?” he says, moving it back and forth in his hands. “How do you feel, having failed to succeed at what you were paid to do? Do you think I have lived these long years among killers, thieves, and betrayers in a desert kingdom to be fooled by a woman?”
The dying American woman spits, and whispers, “You bastard.”
Rashad nods. “My father was a Saudi prince and my mother a Yemeni maid, so what you say is a matter of record. No offense taken, whore.”
Then he slits Heather’s throat as well.
Chapter55
WE DUMPthe stolen Saab about a five-minute walk away from the Lognes train station, a two-story concrete-and-glass building. After each paying our fare of two euros, we’re soon heading west on a train from the RER A line, the cars colored white with a gray stripe bisecting each one.
