“Look, I have no doubts Al-Rashid was merely trying to get Harrison in trouble and save his own hide, if that makes you feel better. I was there at the hotel, remember? I know you weren’t chasing after this nutcase.”
Leila sat back up. “But what about Xander? Why would Xander want revenge on him? What did he supposedly do?”
Mark sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Al-Rashid said Harrison collaborated with Weston and they were dealing illegal antiquities. But Al-Rashid forgot Harrison was a kid at the time, so it doesn’t add up. Aside from various minor complaints of moronic things he did in his youth, his record is clean. As his reference for good standing, I even had the pleasure of speaking to his current boss.” He glanced up at the ceiling with a grimace as if recalling an unpleasant experience.
“Who is his boss?”
“That’s inconsequential.”
Leila pursed her lips and, crossing her arms, began swiveling again. What kind of an answer was that? “Okay. Let me get this straight. If I do recall correctly, only two months ago, you seemed absolutely certain Xander was somehow involved in a plot against my dad. Now, you’ve turned one-hundred-eighty degrees and are defending him.” Leila stopped swiveling to glare at him.
“It would seem so, yes,” Mark said, eyebrows lifting.
“What made you change your mind about him? Did he tell you what he remembered about the accident?”
He tapped the corner of his mouth with his pen. “Yes, which confirmed my suspicion of foul play. However, not by Harrison as I had first thought. I admit it. My mistake. Our anonymous tip was vague. Misleading. I take back everything I said.”
“All right. Who are our other options then? Mr. Weston? Mrs. Weston? David? Amir? Maybe it was Faris himself?”
“Considering our only other witness is dead, it will be extremely difficult to figure out unless the rest of Harrison’s memory suddenly comes back. Even then, that’s not adequate proof. I met with Mrs. Weston, but the lady has lost her mind.
“I even located Weston’s son, David, but he says he knows nothing of the incident. Nor has he had contact with either Al-Rashid since his father’s trial.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “It’s your word against theirs.”
“My word and Xander’s.” She rubbed her chin. So neither Mrs. Weston nor David knew about Mr. Weston’s involvement. Coincidence? Or sworn to silence?
“Look, I hate to tell you this.” Mark’s voice softened. He placed the tips of his fingers together and leaned forward. “But my superiors feel like I’m on a wild goose chase. And… they want me to close the case and move on.”
Leila’s shoulders slumped. She glanced down at her hands in her lap. “But you know it wasn’t an accident. We’re so close.” Her voice was a quiet plea.
Mark continued gently, “I am committed to helping you and any American citizen abroad. But even if I wanted to, I couldn’t make an arrest. The Egyptian government would have to approve it and the local police would do the honors. As an FBI agent, my function overseas is limited in comparison to that at home. I rely greatly on the cooperation of local authorities. If they don’t think there’s sufficient evidence against Al-Rashid, they can tell me to get lost and that settles it.”
“But there has to be something you can do,” she begged. Mark couldn’t give up this easily.
“Not unless he steps foot on American ground. In that case, I assure you he’ll be taken into custody.”
She sighed. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to persuade him to go to the US, but perhaps there was another option. “Faris Al-Rashid has his offices in Cairo, doesn’t he?”
He narrowed his eyes at her and leaned back, his hand holding his chin.
“What about a confession? That would be sufficient evidence.” Leila sat up straight as a plan formed in her mind.
“Erm—”
“I’ll go to him. Wired. He can’t lie to me. After all, I know he’s hiding my mom. I saw her with my own eyes. And that security guard Amir or one of his thugs murdered. I saw the body. I heard them throw him in the river. I have plenty of blackmail material. So if I can get him to tell me what he knows, and if you can hear—”
He held up a hand. “Leila, stop. You’re being ridiculous. We’re not doing that.”
“Why not? What could happen? It would be in a public place. You’ll be right there to jump in if it goes wrong.”
“It would be a long shot. I know they do it in movies all the time. But first of all, it’s illegal. Second of all, you’d have to go through the Egyptian authorities for permission, which they’re not going to give you since they’ve dismissed the charges. Third of all, you’d be in unnecessary danger again. I’m not going to use you as bait.”
“But what about the Saqqara security guard? He’s dead!”
Mark pressed his lips together before answering. “He’s been reported missing, but they still haven’t found a body. There’s simply no evidence to back that up. But the fact that you say he’s dead is reason enough for you to never go near the Al-Rashids again.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I do.”
She sighed. Everything seemed to be working against her. But surely Faris Al-Rashid would talk to her. She was certain it could work. “How about I meet him for coffee?”
“Leila,” he warned, lowering his chin as he cast a glare in her direction.
“What else can we do?” she growled. “I swear he was warning us by leaving the papyrus in the tomb. I’d rather go to them first than wait for them to do something.”
“Not going to happen. Look, I’ll try to stay in contact, put some pressure on the authorities. Unfortunately they’ve already started using Interpol to relay information to me, which tells me they want me to back off.” Mark gazed over at the bookcase contemplatively. “Makes me wonder how much Al-Rashid bribed them with.”
Leila fell silent as her throat tightened, unable to speak. She had never felt so small and useless. Amir had outsmarted her. He was free, threatened to strike again, and Mark was backing out. She let out a sigh. It was no use. She was finished here.
“Can you do me a favor?” she asked as she dug the photo of Xander out of her bag. At first, she wanted to keep it, worried she’d never see him again. But something told her their paths would cross again. The photo should go to someone else.
“If the favor is assigning you a babysitter to keep you from getting into trouble, yes.”
“Can you take this picture to a Vivian Harrison?” Leila slid the photo of Xander across the smooth surface of the desk toward Mark. “She’s at the St. Mary’s Rehabilitation Facility north of London. Please?” She widened her eyes as far as they could go and smiled. “I would have done it myself, but I won’t have time to go visit before I leave for Egypt tomorrow.”
“What’s the address?” He picked up a pen and opened his appointment book. “I’ll send it in the mail tomorrow.”
“Oh, come on. It’s only an hour train ride. I’ll pay for the ticket.”
