Path Of The Assassin

“We can do this as long as you wish, but I am not a very patient man, Mr. Harvath. You have information I want, and we will get it out of you sooner, rather than later.”

Harvath looked up from where he knelt on the floor and said, “The only thing you have even the slightest chance of getting out of me is a very serious beating. I’m not telling you anything.”

The man stood up from his chair and removed a long knife from inside the folds of his robe. He spoke as he began to make his way around the desk, “You will find, Mr. Harvath, that I am quite good at getting what I want with a knife.”

“First of all, it’s Agent Harvath to you, and second of all-” Harvath was interrupted by an unseen backhand from the guard.

Harvath tasted blood in his mouth and spat onto the guard’s robes, saying in Arabic, “Let your mother clean that up for you.”

The guard was incensed, and as he raised his rifle to bring it crashing down upon Harvath’s head, a voice rang out from the back of the room.

“Enough!” it shouted. It was a woman’s voice, but it hadn’t come from Meg Cassidy.

47

The covered figure in the back of the room unwound a dusty kaffiyeh to reveal the face of one of the most beautiful women Scot Harvath had ever seen. Her long black hair tumbled down to her shoulders and framed the near perfect features of her face. She appeared neither Middle Eastern nor western, but somehow a mystical combination of the two that came together to form an otherworldly beauty.

Immediately, Harvath was drawn to her eyes, which had momentarily flashed deep black, but were now returning to an almost platinum color. The assassin! But she was a woman. Harvath didn’t believe what he was seeing.

In perfect English with a hint of a British accent, she said, “You must forgive my brother. He is sometimes overzealous in his approach, but his intentions are admirable.”

“Do not patronize me,” spat the bearded man as he rolled up the sleeves of his robe so he could go to work on Harvath.

“Me? A simple woman? Patronize you? Oh, Hashim, please, do not think me so insubordinate,” said the woman with a feigned curtsy.

The truth hit Harvath, hard. It took only a moment to sort it all out. “All this time that we were looking for Abu Nidal’s son,” he said, “and we should have been looking for-”

“His daughter, Adara Nidal,” said the woman as she locked eyes with Harvath and made another curtsy, this one much more genuine.

“Adara,” repeated Harvath. “Interesting name. It’s Arabic for ‘virgin,’ isn’t it?”

“And to the Jews, it means ‘fire.’”

“Your father certainly was creative in naming you two.”

The bearded man raised his knife and nodded toward the guards, who tightened their grip on Harvath. “We are wasting time.”

“Leave him alone,” Meg screamed.

“Of course,” said Hashim, stopping in his tracks and turning to face Meg. “Mr. Harvath is very brave. He is a soldier and is most likely no stranger to pain. You, on the other hand, are different.” Hashim Nidal ran the flat of his blade along Meg Cassidy’s cheek until the point rested just underneath her eye. He applied just enough upward pressure to cause an involuntary fluttering of her lids.

“What do you want?” growled Harvath, struggling against the grip the guards had on him. “She doesn’t know anything.”

“Everyone knows something, Mr. Harvath. The question is how to arrive at the information, and I think I have found a way to make you more cooperative.”

“Don’t you touch her,” snarled Harvath.

“You are commanding me?” said Hashim as he ran his hands over Meg’s body.

“You will not defile that woman here. Not in my presence,” said Adara.

“I will do what I like, where I like,” replied the brother as he lowered his blade and ran it along the inside of Meg’s thighs. Tears were now streaming down her face. The nightmare had once again returned.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” warned Harvath. This was a torture worse than anything they could have dreamed for Meg, and Scot knew it. He strained against his captors with all of his might, but they held fast.

“Mr. Harvath, you are in no position to tell me what to do. As I told my sister, I do as I like, where I-”

His rant was interrupted by Adara, who, slipping unseen across the room as her brother’s attention was riveted on Meg, landed a searing blow to the side of his head.

Enraged, the man spun on his sister, but she spoke first. “Your indiscretions have cost us dearly. I will not permit another. Agent Harvath will tell us what the Americans know about our plans. I guarantee you.”

“You forget yourself, sister,” said Hashim. His eyes smoldered and his face was flushed with embarrassment at being so demeaned.

“I forget nothing. Your place is not to disagree with me. Our father made clear-”

“Our father was a sick old man.”

“How dare you?” hissed Adara. “You have sworn your loyalty and obedience.”