Brendan stared at the phone after the conversation ended. He punched in Liz’s number, his finger hovering over the SEND button. He’d been able to dial the number from memory, from all the times he’d gotten to this point. But so far, he still hadn’t worked up the courage to actually make the call.
He moved his finger to the DELETE button and watched the digits disappear one by one.
Brendan thumbed his way to the phone book. It contained only three numbers. He keyed down to the last name and hit SEND.
“Baxter.”
“Hi, Rick, it’s Brendan. I’m in.”
CHAPTER 28
Rafiq latched the heavy steel door open and snapped on the light as he stepped into the vault.
The wooden crate sat in the center of the room. The cargo. His mission for the last seven years. A big wooden box.
He checked the temperature and humidity monitor on the wall and inspected the seals on the packaging. All secure. The same as they’d been every afternoon for the last seven years. Well, not every afternoon. He’d taken a one-week honeymoon with Nadine after their wedding, but even then they’d only gone to Buenos Aires, and he could have been back within a day at most.
Rafiq rested his hand on the dried wood. Some days he was tempted to just open it and have a look inside. According to Hashem, everything he needed to complete his mission was in the container. But he was not to open it unless directed by Hashem himself. They also had a failsafe protocol to follow if his brother failed to make their monthly check-in and the backup comms plans also failed.
He nodded to Farid and stepped out of the vault, then watched him lock the door and set the alarm. The man had aged in the last seven years — and not in a good way. Farid’s crewcut was solid gray and he walked with a slight stoop. Rafiq had no doubt of the man’s loyalty to him or their cause, but he feared there was some serious medical issue behind his sudden change in appearance. He frequently missed their daily workouts, and when he did attend, his performance was not up to par. Rafiq could not afford to have a sick man on his team.
Farid slid the wine rack in place to conceal the vault entrance. The wine cellar, built into a mountain, was cool and shadowy around them. They were at the deepest point in the cellar, the spot where Don Javier kept his private stash of vintages under lock and key. Farid closed the door to the wire cage and snapped the padlock shut.
“Tomorrow, boss?” Farid said. They spoke in Lebanese, their home dialect of Arabic. They always spoke in their native tongue when they performed their daily checks on the cargo. Otherwise, they had both become fluent in Spanish and spoke it with almost no accent. They sounded almost like locals.
Rafiq hardened his tone. “Did you see the doctor as I told you?”
Farid’s form stiffened. He cleared his throat. “Yes, boss.”
“And?”
“Cancer,” he said. “Pancreatic cancer. Inoperable.”
Rafiq slumped against the nearest wine rack. He had expected something more benign, maybe a vitamin deficiency or a virus. “I–I’m sorry,” he said. “Have you told Juanita yet?”
Following Rafiq’s marriage to Nadine, both Farid and his brother, Jamil, had married their longtime girlfriends. They lived in twin bungalows on the edge of the vineyard.
Farid’s shadow shifted as he shook his head. “I wanted to tell you first. I’m still strong, Rafiq, I can do the mission — if it comes to that. But…”
“But?”
“The doctor says I have less than six months to live. He says the last few months could be very painful.”
“Ah, my friend, I am so sorry.” Rafiq embraced the man. He could feel how the flesh had melted off Farid’s frame. He should have seen it sooner. “Tell Juanita tonight — and tell your brother. We will take care of your family, you know that.”
Farid nodded, wiping his eyes. “But the mission—”
“I will handle the mission, Farid. Spend the time you have left with your family.”
Rafiq turned on his heel and walked quickly to the front of the wine cellar, welcoming the afternoon sunlight. He shivered to himself.
“Papa!”
The boy running at him full tilt had a headful of dark curls and his mother’s eyes. Rafiq caught the child in both hands and tossed him into the air. The boy wrapped his arms tightly around Rafiq’s neck when he landed back in his father’s grasp. His grip was getting stronger every day; it amazed Rafiq how quickly the boy developed new skills. His curly hair pressed against Rafiq’s face, and he breathed in the scent of his son.
His son. The idea still took his breath away. Before Nadine, he’d never even considered becoming a father. Now he was married with two children.
“I wanted to go into the wine cellar to meet you and Uncle Farid, but Mama said I had to wait outside,” the boy said. He pulled back to study his father’s face. His gaze was thoughtful, warm, just like his mother’s.
“And she’s right,” Rafiq replied. He poked the boy in the stomach. “But I’m free now.”
Little Javier wriggled out of his arms to the ground. He gripped his father’s hand and began to pull him toward the path to the stables. “Mama is waiting with Consie at the stables.”
Rafiq pretended to resist, but staggered forward when Javi redoubled his effort. “You’re too strong for me, son.” He shook the boy’s hand free and sprinted ahead. “I’m going to reach Mama first!”
He threw a look over his shoulder. Javi’s nearly three-year-old legs churned as he ran after his father, a determined look on his face. They rounded the bend and the stables came into sight. Rafiq slowed to let his son catch up.
Nadine turned to greet them, little Consuela in her arms. If anything, motherhood had made Nadine even more beautiful. It had given more curves to her athletic figure and added heft to her bosom — both of which Rafiq found very sexy — but it was more than that. He finally decided it was in her face: she glowed when she looked at her children, as if she couldn’t believe she had created these little beings from her own body.
Javi put on a burst of speed and passed Rafiq, tagging his mother’s thigh with a loud smack of his hand. “I won, Papa. I won.”
Rafiq came to a halt in front of Nadine. “You’re right, Javi, you won.”
Nadine kissed him, then pinched his earlobe between her teeth. “You’ll get your consolation prize later, Papa,” she whispered with a wicked smile.
“You can help me take the sting out of losing,” he whispered back, snatching a kiss from his wife and then planting one on the sleeping baby’s head.
“Can I ride now? Can I?” Javi pleaded.
Rafiq nodded to the ranch hand in the doorway. The man disappeared into the stable, returning a few minutes later leading a midnight-black pony fitted with a child’s saddle. He stopped the animal in front of Javi. The boy held a sugar cube on his open palm and the pony eagerly snapped it up. Javi giggled. “It tickles.”
The stable hand helped the boy into the saddle and handed him the reins, but kept a firm grip on the pony’s bridle until they were safely inside the paddock. Javi whooped as he dug his heels into the pony’s flanks. The beast broke into a canter.
Nadine handed the baby to Rafiq and stepped up onto the fence rails, calling out encouragement to her son in Spanish. Rafiq bit his tongue. He was still not completely comfortable with large animals, and certainly not with his three-year-old son riding a horse by himself. Nadine often laughed at his discomfort and called him a chico de ciudad, a city boy.
Little Consuela stirred when she was handed over, then settled back to sleep, her lips pursed as she suckled an imaginary breast. In contrast to Javi, Consuela seemed more like her father. Fairer of skin, with deep, watchful eyes. Unlike her tornado of a brother, the baby almost never cried.