Golden Bird

David fidgeted with impatience. He glanced over at Ben, who was sitting next to him. They were waiting, with Jack Hogan who sat nervously behind his desk, for some sheik, or prince, or something. David wasn’t quite sure what the guy was supposed to be, but if Hogan was right, the guy could tell them what happened to Sara. Did he dare hope? Was he finally going to find his beautiful Sara?

Suddenly the door burst open, and Rashid—with his entourage of body guards—filled the room. He looked formidable in his traditional white robes and headdress. Jack jumped up and ran around the desk to greet him.

“Welcome, your Excellency, to America and the Golden Sands. I’m Jack Hogan,” said Jack, trying to suck up to his new boss. “Please accept my condolences for the death of your uncle.”

Rashid glared at the man who had kidnapped Sara for his uncle and gave him a curt nod of his head, then turned to the other two men in the room. Jack introduced them, “This is Mr. Wilson and Mr. Peterson.”

“Yes,” said Rashid as he studied his rival. “I will speak to Mr. Wilson alone.”

David looked to Ben for advice.

“It’s up to you.” said Ben.

David met Rashid’s cold stare and said, “OK.”

Once the others had left, Rashid went to the bar. “Would you care for a drink, Mr. Wilson?” he asked over his shoulder.

“No. Thank you. I came here for answers, not to socialize.”

Rashid laughed. “You Americans always want to get right to the heart of the matter. Have patience Mr. Wilson. You will get your answers, but if you do not mind, I feel the need for a good strong Scotch whisky. Are you sure you will not join me?”

“Very well, I’ll have what you’re having.” said David as he slumped into the soft leather chair.

“Good choice, Mr. Wilson. Here you go.” Rashid handed David a rocks glass filled with Chevis and ice. He was tempted to tell this man that Sara was dead so as not to take the risk of losing her forever. But that was cowardly and dishonorable, he had to allow her the choice, or else she would eventually grow to hate him, and he would lose her anyway. He took a good swig from his own glass and half sat, half leaned on the desk before he spoke.