Blaze of Glory by Jeff Struecker, Alton Gansky Page A

Abasi?”
    “My mother and you, El-Sayyed.”
    El-Sayyed placed a hand on Abasi’s shoulder. “How is your mother? Is she still ill?”
    “She died yesterday.”
    El-Sayyed turned to his employee. “May Allah give you peace.”
    “He has, sir. Allah is merciful.”
    El-Sayyed turned to Nasser. “After our meeting, Tony, I want you to arrange a plane for Abasi. Give him what he needs.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “You are too kind, El-Sayyed, but I prefer to finish our mission. I can go home after our work is done.”
    “Take the month to be with your family. Celebrate the life of she who gave you life.”
    “I will, sir.”
    The elevators parted. Nasser and Abasi exited first, searching the corridor. Each had his hand under his jacket. Only after Nasser gave his approval did El-Sayyed exit.
    They walked down the hall, Nasser and Abasi in front, the other guard behind El-Sayyed. Abasi stopped ten feet from the last door on the left. Only Nasser approached. Anyone could shoot through a hotel door.
    Nasser knocked and stood with his arms to his side. Two seconds later, the door swung open.
    “Is he here?”
    Nasser didn’t answer. He entered the room and exited sixty seconds later. He motioned for El-Sayyed to enter. Abasi stepped over the threshold first—one last effort to provide protection. The moment El-Sayyed entered, a brown-skinned man exited and stood next to the door. El-Sayyed’s third guard did the same.
    The room was small compared to those El-Sayyed knew existed on the top floor. Luxury wasn’t required. He planned to be out of this room in five minutes.
    A man with black hair, a round face, and a globe-like belly sat in a chair by the window smoking a cigar. El-Sayyed had no doubt the smoke had originated in Cuba. Standing to either side like bookends were two well-muscled men.
    “You have kept me waiting, El-Sayyed. Again.”
    “Security has its price, Michael.” He wondered, as he had many times before, if Michael was the man’s real name.
    “You disrespect me when you make me wait. You are a rude man.”
    Nasser took a step forward. Michael’s guards took a similar step. El-Sayyed placed a hand in front of Nasser. “Insults from infidels mean nothing, my friend.” He turned his attention back to Michael. “Shall we get down to business? I would like to do this quickly. I always leave these meetings feeling unwashed.”
    “Unwashed, is it?” Michael looked at his men. “The towel-head thinks we pollute him.” They said nothing. Michael rolled the cigar between his fingers and squinted through the smoke. “My brother—for reasons I don’t understand—likes you. He has asked me to tell you he is very happy with the test run.”
    “How has he shown his gratitude?”
    Michael nodded at the guard to his right who reached behind the chair and removed a metal briefcase. He set it on the desk in the room and opened it. Stacks of euros filled the case. “Ten million as agreed, although that is little more than a child’s allowance to a wealthy man like you.”
    “The money means nothing to me, but I accept it as proof of your brother’s sincerity. You may thank him for me.”
    “I’ll be sure to do that.”
    The guard closed the case and pushed it toward Nasser. Nasser didn’t move.
    “Does your brother have another message for me?”
    Michael took his time answering. He stared at El-Sayyed and puffed on the cigar. El-Sayyed grew impatient.
    “If you were man enough to grow a beard, my friend, you’d look like Fidel Castro.”
    “Thank you. He was very successful.”
    El-Sayyed laughed. “He became dictator of a small island nation and ruled over it until its people barely survive. There are greater successes to be had.”
    “This is why you do this? You risk so much for a dead ideology?”
    “It is far from dead, and I take no risks. Now, does your brother have a message for me?”
    Again, Michael refused to answer.
    El-Sayyed motioned for Nasser to take the case. “We are done