Cairo

Ahmed's face reddened with acute mortification as he was suddenly, and somewhat painfully, aware of his growing erection. He cursed aloud in disgust and anger, quickly shifting his focus to the target window once again, disgusted with himself for falling prey to such wanton and alluring temptation, and cursing the nameless, American, whore of a cow in the penthouse suite for AGAIN being the focus of his disobedient distraction.

He glowered at the target window and fumed in anger, it was utterly unconscionable how such a depraved, lascivious woman could seemingly distract him so easily from his assigned task. That the inherent purity of his lust could have been so easily soiled and besmirched, by a filthy, American infidel, made his blood boil and he seethed in the heat of anger and embarrassment.

He forced himself to study the target room assiduously, forcing the image of the blond woman from his mind, and putting all his attention to the important task at hand. Moments later he gasped and physically slapped his face hard in retribution for picturing in his mind how the woman's pubic hair had been as blond as the hair on her head. What in the name of Allah was the matter with him? He swore vehemently and struggled to keep his focus on the target window.

With all his mind and soul he tried to will his erection away, but the intensity of his desire made the task beyond his ability. He wondered what the woman was doing in the hotel suite...pictured her bathing, caressing herself with soap...

"Ahhh!" He cried aloud, stinging his cheek a second time with an even more forceful slap. He focused intently on the window and bit his lip, feeling his resolve ebbing away as the urgency of his erection became more and more acute. With a sense that he was beginning to lose control, he allowed his gaze rise once more to the penthouse windows.

Ahmed gasped aloud, gaping in stupefied amazement, as he refocused his binoculars to discover the object of his distraction writhing in complete abandonment upon her bed. A low sobbing moan escaped his lips to see both of her hands moving rapidly between her splayed legs, her pelvis tilted provocatively skyward as her hips seemed to tremble against the mattress. Never in his life had Ahmed seen anything even REMOTELY as physically sensual as the American woman masturbating so shamelessly right before his eyes. The waning shafts of sunlight, through the penthouse wall of windows, fell across her contorted face and clearly delineated her features. Her brows arched, as if experiencing great pain, and, with her eyelids squeezed tightly closed, her mouth gaped in unsuppressed surrender to her lust. Her body jolted almost convulsively and, although Ahmed had never seen the wonder of it before, he knew instinctively, without a doubt in his mind, that the woman was reaching the peak of her pleasure.

All reason and conscious thought was suddenly driven from his mind. He gaped in complete absorption as he unconsciously reached down to slide his hand against the hard rise of his member and began to stroke himself rapidly. As the woman writhed upon the bed before him, Ahmed cried aloud in his lust. His seed erupted with a strong pulse and he whined softly deep in his throat. With his eyes riveted intently on her as she stretched languorously and then rose from the bed, Ahmed lay back in his chair and surrendered to the shuddering pleasure of his orgasm. Then, as the woman disappeared once more into the bath, he lowered his binoculars and closed his eyes.

Moments later, he opened his eyes and shook his head, surprised, and even slightly chagrinned, by his seemingly uncontrollable emotion and overwhelming arousal. As pleasurable as the interlude had been, he was more than a little disturbed that his lust could have been so easily provoked by such a shameless and morally baseless woman. He rose from his chair and made his way to the bathroom, washing his hands and then attempting to blot as much of his seed as possible, from the inside of his caftan, with a handful of tissues. Looking at his reflection, he cursed vehemently to see how the telltale stain of his distraction darkened the front of his tunic obscenely, and was thankful that he was alone in his mission of surveillance.

Ahmed's entire body shuddered with a jolt of sudden fear and anxiety as the memory of his forgotten mission struck him like a hammer blow. With a cry of anguish, he dashed from the bathroom to the chair at the window, grasping his binoculars with trembling fingers.

"NO!" He cried aloud, bolting upright in the chair. His eyes bulged in horror to see that the sheer curtain in the target window had been opened and movement beyond.

Instantly he raised his radio-phone and spoke the code words that would send his compatriots into action and watched intently, feeling a trickle of perspiration slide along his cheek, his heartbeat pounding with excitement. Nothing moved beyond the window and Ahmed bit his lip with anxiety. Had he possibly been distracted for too long? He felt his face glow with renewed embarrassment at the thought and hoped he had not been too late.

Moments later, he clearly detected movement in the room once more and sat up, his entire body tense with apprehension. A figure appeared in the window and Ahmed gasped in fright to see the unmistakable, bearded countenance of his superior. Al-Jahiri's dark eyes seemed to penetrate directly through the binoculars and into his eyes as he glowered with obvious disdain and shook his head to indicate that the mission had not succeeded.

With a groan of disappointment, Ahmed lowered his binoculars and looked away. He had failed. He had done the unconscionable and, by his lustful distraction, had failed in his mission and had let the quarry slip away. He was ashamed of himself and pounded his fists into his head painfully. How could he have been so stupid, so completely and totally stupid?

* * * * *

Kahlim Al-Jahiri entered the hotel room, looking around the room with a dark, foreboding intensity that Ahmed knew so very well.

He glowered at Ahmed momentarily and then, surprisingly, the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. "Perhaps you might enlighten me..." He asked, his smile broadening benignly as he held out his arms with his palms raised, "How is it that that scum-dog of a Mossad agent has managed to slip through my fingers one more time?"

Ahmed swallowed and bit his lip nervously. "Excellency...it was my fault." He stammered, his mind racing to think of something he might say so as not to incur the wrath of Al-Jahiri, "I looked away...for only for a moment or two. I...I needed to...to use the toilet. I had been sitting...and watching for so long, I...I was only away from the window for just the BRIEFEST of moments and..."

Al-Jahiri crossed the distance between them in one quick step and backhanded Ahmed across the face. The force of the blow sent Ahmed reeling backwards over the chair and onto the floor.

"You IMBECILE!" Roared Al-Jahiri, "All of our months of careful preparation...GONE in an instant because of your weak bowels and supreme lack of discipline."

Ahmed cowered as Al-Jahiri towered over him threateningly. To his complete horror he watched transfixed as Al-Jahiri slowly drew a long, slender dagger from the sash of his tunic. A sudden commotion at the doorway suddenly caught Al-Jahiri's attention and he grimaced, turning toward the noise, his dagger poised directly above Ahmed's chest. Mahmoud, Al-Jahiri's lieutenant, hurried into the room.

"Excellency," He gasped, sounding as if he had run for quite some distance, "We HAVE him...he's trapped in the hotel's parking garage...and we have him surrounded."

With a cry of delight, Al-Jahiri turned away from Ahmed and lowered the dagger. "Excellent." He cried exultantly, smiling broadly and clapping Mahmoud on the shoulder, "Let us see to it that we do not let the pig slip through our fingers a second time."

"Of course, Excellency." Said Mahmoud with a firm nod of his head, "He is completely cornered, and unable to move...my men have him at their mercy and we wait only for you to arrive before sending him into hell."

Al-Jahiri smiled and clapped Mahmoud on the shoulder once more. "You see, Ahmed," He said, turning to glower down and the cringing figure on the floor once more, "Mark this well, my friend...THIS is the kind of competence and efficiency I expect from ALL my followers. I will have my eye on you from this day forward, so you would do well to follow Mahmoud's example. It is well that our target has been found," He said, his brows lowered, "And...I think you had better give special thanks to Allah that, for your incompetence, I am not leaving the room with your incompetent head in my hand."

With that parting thought, Al-Jahiri turned toward the door and, with his robes flowing behind him, left the room in a flourish. Ahmed lay back on the carpet and put his trembling fingers to his bruised lips. He had indeed been lucky, Al-Jahiri was not one who doled out forgiveness in large quantities and he realized full well how very fortunate he was at that moment. He cursed his moments of weakness and channeled some of his relief into anger toward the American woman for being the instrument of his distraction.

How DARE she, he thought sulkily, how dare that American slut-whore, that non-believer, that infidel...that cow of a woman...that lowly piece of camel dung...how DARE she display herself so lasciviously so as to weaken his resolve with her flagrant debauchery. He slammed his fist into the palm of his hand and grimaced, she should be made to pay for her indiscretions, he thought, she should NOT be allowed to carry on in such a manner without paying a heavy price for her indiscretions. If he had a way to have the woman before him at that moment, he would have cheerfully smiled into her face as he choked the life from her, an image which appealed to him very much at that particular moment.

He rose from the floor tentatively and made his way to the bathroom where he placed a cool wet washcloth over his split lip. He thought of joining his compatriots in the culmination of the day's mission, but thought better of it, thinking it would still be wise to stay out of Al-Jahiri's eyesight for the time being.

* * * * *

Lillian chose a conservative wardrobe for her dinner meeting. She had purchased an exceptionally restricting sports bra just for the occasion and smiled at her reflection in the mirror as she slipped into it. It did, indeed, rein in her heavy bosom, and made her look at least two cup sizes smaller. She selected a long, loose-fitting, black dress, which hung shapelessly from the bodice to her ankles and, very successfully, shrouded her figure. To de-emphasize her bust even more, she slipped into a short-waisted jacket of lovely burgundy velvet. She turned several times and examined her reflection in the mirror, and sighed with a bit of a frown.

While she would never be caught dead in such a frumpishly modest outfit at home in New York, she was, however, reasonably satisfied that her attire would likely be very acceptable to the three Arab gentlemen that she was to entertain at dinner. She recognized and understood the necessity to downplay her femininity, as was customary for women in the Middle East, and had even taken great care to tone down her makeup as well, leaving her lips completely bare of color, and applying only the barest touch of mascara to her lashes.

She stepped back to the mirror once again, examining her reflection with approval as she slipped a shawl over her head, to conceal her blonde tresses, and flipped the ends over her shoulders. She sighed heavily and shrugged her shoulders, thinking she looked acceptable. She raised the hem of her dress and adjusted her stockings, smiling to herself as she did so. The dainty, feminine lingerie she wore beneath her conservative clothing was the one guilty pleasure she allowed herself that evening, it gave her an internal sense of feminine sensuality despite the frumpishness of her outer wardrobe. She lowered her dress and laughed softly, "If they only knew." She said aloud, winking playfully at her reflection in the mirror.

* * * * *

Ahmed stood outside, relaxing with his back against the wall of a building, pulling hard on his cigarette and watching as the denizens of Cairo crowded the sidewalks in their seemingly aimless pursuits. He shrugged to himself, wishing he could leave this hell-hole of a city and return to his family in the Kingdom. As a moderate form of punishment, Al-Jahiri, had instructed him to remain in the cheap hotel room he had used for surveillance, ostensibly to keep an eye on the dead Mossad agent's room for further activity. Ahmed recognized the assignment for what it really was though, a fruitless activity designed primarily to keep him occupied away from important matters elsewhere. So be it, he thought, after incurring Al-Jahiri's wrath that evening, it was best to stay out of his sight anyway.

Aimlessly, he crossed the street, dodging all manner of vehicles, to the front of the Conrad Cairo hotel, where bellmen and porters where fawning over the elite of foreign society, helping with their baggage and hailing taxicabs. Despite the fact that the hotel was a haven for foreigners, Ahmed liked it very much. It seemed, literally, to radiate opulence and class, and he liked to wander aimlessly about and soak up the rich ambiance of the elegant lobby and the front entranceway, imagining himself one of the elite hotel guests.

The smiling door attendant opened the heavy front door with a flourish and bowed graciously as a woman exited the building. He snapped his fingers to alert a bellman at the curb, and the bellman immediately raised his hand and blew on a silver whistle that hung from his neck. With equal immediacy, a taxi careened to the curb and came to a stop with a screech of brakes. The bellman rushed to open the rear door of the taxi and smiled fawningly at the woman.

"Your taxi is here, Ms Roberts." He said, bowing almost subserviently.

"Thank you, Taki." Said the woman, slipping what looked to Ahmed very much like a ten pound note into his waiting hand.

At the sound of her soft, accented voice, Ahmed's interest was suddenly piqued and he turned to more closely examine the woman that he had barely noticed in passing. By all accounts, there was nothing especially noteworthy about the woman, she wore a traditional scarf about her head and a long dress in the manner of most European women who visit Egypt, and who do not want to offend the locals with a less conservative manner of dress.

She appeared rather tall, almost his own height, and Ahmed dropped his gaze to her feet to see a pair of rather un-conservative high-heeled shoes. From her accent as she spoke, Ahmed was reasonably sure the woman was also an American.

The woman stepped into the taxi, lifting the hem of her dress slightly to accommodate the maneuver, and Ahmed was treated to a revealing glimpse of the woman's calf that glistened sleekly in her hosiery.

As the woman seated herself in the back seat of the taxicab, she turned her face toward him and their eyes met. Cool blue eyes appraised him brazenly and Ahmed almost gasped aloud as he noticed the woman's pale blonde hair that framed her face beneath the scarf. It was HER! There could be no mistake; it was the same high cheekbones, the same wide mouth with the same sensually full lips...the very SAME countenance that, a mere two hours previous, had been so erotically contorted with pleasure.

The bellman closed the door and the taxicab sped off, the woman's face completely invisible behind the window that only reflected the lights of the hotel entrance.

Ahmed's heart raced, by all that was holy, he thought, surely it was entirely TOO great a coincidence that, of all the many hundreds of hotel guests, their paths would cross again so soon. Perhaps it was a sign from Allah himself, to put the woman in his path, to intertwine their fates. It had stunned him to the core of his existence to see her so closely, in the flesh, and, as the taxicab disappeared into the red sea of taillights, Ahmed shook his head to clear his thoughts.

He had almost forgotten the whore of a woman whose distracting immoral display had almost precipitated the end of his life. He had, in fact, done his level best to put the entire unsavory episode completely out of his thoughts, not wanting to dwell upon how tenuous his existence had been with Al-Jahiri poised above him with his knife.

With his curiosity piqued anew, he stepped up to the bellman, whose broad smile waned noticeably as he neared.

"Excuse me." Said Ahmed, smiling warmly. "But, who WAS that charming woman who left, just now, in the taxicab?"

The bellman's smile returned, "Ah, yes..." He said, looking almost winsomely down the street in the direction of the departed vehicle, "Ms. Roberts is, indeed a very charming woman...she is one of our most special guests."

"Her accent almost sounded American to me." Probed Ahmed.

The bellman nodded effusively, "Oh, yes," He said, still smiling inanely, "Very good...Indeed she is American. From New York City, I believe. Very wealthy too, I understand." He turned toward Ahmed and leaned his head closer speaking in a softer tone of voice, "She is, presently, the resident in our MOST expensive penthouse suite." He offered with a knowing nod.

"Ah..." Said Ahmed, nodding respectfully, "Then indeed...she must be VERY wealthy."

The bellman nodded again effusively.

"Or..." Continued Ahmed with a shrug, "At least her husband surely is."

"Oh, no." Said the bellman with a shake of his head, "The lady has no husband that I know of. She is traveling alone...and wears no wedding band."

"I see..." Said Ahmed, beginning to turn away lest the bellman become suspicious of his questioning, "Well...she is indeed a lovely woman, nonetheless."

"Just so." Said the bellman, who turned away quickly and blew his whistle for an elderly couple who approached, from the hotel entrance, in need of a taxi.

Ahmed sauntered casually into the hotel lobby, nodding with a brief smile to the doorman who held the door for him. He smiled, always pleased to find himself in such luxury and strolled about the immense lobby slowly, glancing in the shop windows and smiling at the hotel guests who passed.

Thinking perhaps to hone his skills of surveillance, he stopped at the hotel desk and was immediately attended to by a smiling clerk. "Yes sir..." Said the clerk, "How may I be of assistance?"

"I'd like to inquire about the suites this hotel has available," Said Ahmed, hoping that by scowling at the lowly clerk disdainfully, he might more readily pass himself off as a wealthy Arab businessman. "I'm expecting SEVERAL guests from America, and am curious as to what you have available to suit their expensive tastes, and what the expenditure might be for such accommodation."

"Oh, yes sir..." Said the clerk enthusiastically as he brought up a brochure from beneath the counter. He opened the brochure and pointed to several photos of the luxuriant splendor of the hotel rooms and suites, quoting prices that seemed completely astronomical to Ahmed.

"I see..." Said Ahmed, nodding thoughtfully, "These are, of course, very nice indeed...but, might you have anything as might befit an EXTREMELY wealthy American? I'm told you have a penthouse suite that is exceptional, and it is THAT which I am most curious about."

"Oh, of course...yes sir." Said the clerk, "Sadly though, we have no pictures...but I can assure you that the penthouse suite, you speak of, is beyond compare."

"I'm sure it is." Nodded Ahmed, "And...I'm sure the price is beyond compare as well?"

The clerk laughed and nodded. He quoted a price that literally took Ahmed's breath away. By ALL that is holy, he thought to himself with a shake of his head, how can such a cow of a woman afford such luxury?