The front door: Ammar gloated as the Egyptian army security guard led him up the steps to the front door. No having to sneak in a side passage this time. He sorely wished he could see the look on Yazid's face when they met.
He was guided into what he perceived to be a large entry hall by the echo of the guard's boots on the tile floor. He was helped to a stone bench, and he sat down.
"Wait here."
Ammar heard the guard mumble to someone before returning to the gate. He sat in silence for several minutes. Then he heard approaching footsteps followed by a contemptuous voice.
"You are Mustapha Mahfouz?"
Ammar recognized the voice instantly. "Yes," he answered casually. "Do I know you?"
"We have not met. I am Khaled Fawzy, leader of Akhmad's revolutionary council."
"I've heard good things about you." The arrogant jackass, thought Ammar.
He doesn't know me under the bandages or by the slow rasp of my speech.
"it is indeed an honor to meet you. "
"Come along," said Fawzy, taking Ammar by the arm. "I'll take you to Akhmad. He thought you were still on a mission for him in Damascus. I don't think he's aware of your injuries."
"The result of an assassination attempt three days ago,,, Ammar lied artfully. "I left the hospital only this morning and flew straight here to brief Akhmad first hand."
"Akhrnad will be pleased to hear of your loyalty. He will also be saddened to learn of your injuries. Unfortunately your visit is poorly timed."
"I cannot meet with him?"
"He is at prayer," Fawzy said curtly.
Despite his suffering, Ammar could have laughed. He slowly became aware of another presence in the room. "It is vital he receive me."
"You may speak freely to me, mustapha Mahfouz." The name was spoken with heavy sarcasm. "I will relay your message."
:Tell Akhmad it concerns his ally."
'Who"" Fawzy demanded. "What ally?'
"Topiltzin."
The name seemed to hang in the room for an interminable time.
The stillness became intense. And then it was broken by a new voice.
"You should have stayed and died on the island, Suleiman," said Akhmad Yazid in a menacing tone.
Ammar's calm did not desert him. He had set his genius and last bit of strength for this moment. He was not about to wait for death. He was going to step forward and embrace it. Not for him a life of perpetual darkness and disfigurement-revenge was his deliverance.
"I could not die without standing in your forgiving presence one last time."
"Save your babble and remove those stupid bandages. You're losing your touch. Your crude imitation of Mahfbuz was fourth-rate for a man of your skills."
Ammar did not reply. He slowly unwrapped the bandages until the ends came free, and he dropped them on the floor.
Yazid audibly sucked in his breath when he saw the hideous disfigurement of Ammar's face. Sadistic blood ran in Fawzy's veins: he stared with the perverted duill of one who enjoyed the sight of human wreckage.
"My payment for my service," Annnar slowly rasped.
"How is it you're alive?" Yazid asked, his voice shaken.
"My faithful friend Ibn hid me from the American Special Forces for two days until he fashioned a raft out of driftwood. After drifting with the current and paddling for ten hours, by the grace of Allah we were picked up by a Chilean fishing boat that set us ashore near a small airport at Puerto Williams. We stole an airplane and flew to Buenos Aires, where I chartered a jet to bring us to Egypt."
"That does not come easy to you," muttered Yazid. "You realize you signed your death warrant by coming here," Fawzy purred with anticipation.
"I expected little else."
"Suleiman Aziz Ammar," said Yazid with a trace of sadness. "The greatest assassin of his time, feared and respected by the CIA and the KGB, the creator of the most successful assassinations ever carried out.
And to think you should end as a filthy, pathetic beggar in the streets."
"What are you saying, Akhmad?" asked Fawzy in surprise.
"The man is already dead." Yazid's disgust was slowly turning to satisfaction. "Our financial experts will arrange for his wealth and investments to be taken over in my name. Then he will be turned out in the streets with twenty-four-hour guards to make certain he remains in the slums. He will spend the rest of his days begging to exist. that is far worse than a quick death."
"You will have me killed when I tell you what I came to say," said Ammar conversationally.
"I'm listening," said Yazid inpatiently.
"I dictated a complete fifty-page report of the entire Flamborough affair-All names, conversations, and dates were carefully itemized, everything, including my observations on the Mexican part of the operation and my opinion on the connection between you and Topiltzin.
Copies are being read at this moment by the intelligence services of western countries and members of their news media. However you deal with me, Akhmad, knowing you're finished '
He broke off abruptly, gasped as his entire head burst into excruciating agony. Fawzy's face was livid and teeth gnashed in rage, struck Ammar with his fist. The impact did not carry the solid weight of a planned punch. Fawzy's unthinking, explosive action came from complete loss of self-control. The blow glanced off one side of Ammar's injured jaw.
A man in good physical condition would have pulled it Off, but he was a wounded man on the brink of unconsciousness. Delicate scar tissue around his eyes and jaw split apart He fell backward, warding off Fawzy's blows with his hands and arms, fighting to clear ills mind of the pain, face white, blood spurting.
"Stop!" Yazid shouted at Fawzy. can't you see the man is trying to die.
He maybe lying, hoping we'll kill him here and now."
Ammar reclaimed a measure of mental control, positioning the sound of Yazid's voice, the location of Fawzy.
He reached out with his left hand and moved slowly forward until he was certmn he touched yazid's arm. Then he clutched it and made a movement that brought it up behind his neck.
The composite knife was pressed tightly into the slight indentation just to the right of Ammar's upper arm secured by white surgical tapeKnown as a utility device by undercover operatives, it was designed to pass safely through metal detectors.
Annnar tore the thin, triangular-shaped, eighteen-centimeter blade from his back, whipped back his elbow like a piston, then rammed the knife into Yazid's chest just under the rib cage.
The vicious thrust lifted the revolutionary Muslim impersonator off his feet. Paul Capesterre's eyes bulged in shock and terror. His only sound was a hoarse gurgle.
"Farewell, vermin," Ammar croaked through his bleeding mouth.
And then the knife was jerked free and he made a sweeping arc toward the spot where he sensed Fawzy was standing. The knife wasn't designed for a slashing attack, but his hand came in contact with Fawzy's face, and he felt the blade slice the cheek.
Ammar knew Fawzy was right-handed and always carried a gun, an old nine-millimeter Luger in a holster slung under the left armpit. He fell against Fawzy, attempting to clutch the arrogant fanatic, while shoving the knife upward again.
Without sight, his timing was late.
Fawzy had swiftly drawn the Luger. He pushed the barrel into Ammar's stomach and triggered two rounds before the knife drove into his heart.