The Jerusalem Creed: A Sean Wyatt Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page B

entangle each other with the scarves, drawing each other seductively close before releasing and going to opposite corners of the room in their constant expand-and-contract dance.
    Life, Mamoud had learned, was a dance much like the one his girls were performing. It was a lesson, like so many others, that he’d learned from his father. There was a rhythm, a beat, a melody, a moment of intensity, and then a release.
    When the music stopped, he looked at the two girls as they panted for breath, their stomachs and chests heaving for air. They never stopped smiling in spite of the arduous workout. They knew better than to displease Mamoud. His reputation for being cruel and exacting had stretched across the sprawling city of Dubai. No one crossed him. And if there was such a foolish, ignorant soul, their mistake would be short lived, but their pain would not.
    He stood up from his throne-like chair and began clapping slowly, the cigar hanging from his lips just past the V-shaped soul patch of hair above his finely trimmed beard. Dark eyes underneath waves of thick black hair pierced through the girls as he stepped deliberately toward them.
    “Impressive, ladies,” he said, beckoning them closer to him with open arms.
    The girls obeyed and slid their hands around his back in a sultry fashion, snaking them under his armpits and around his waist.
    “I want you both to go wait for me in the master bedroom,” he said pointedly, taking out the cigar and pointing toward a lavishly decorated master bedroom through a set of ornately carved double doors. The bedroom was off to the right and featured a white marble balcony providing almost the exact same view as the sitting room. “Feel free to lose those clothes, but keep the scarves. We may need those.”
    While Mamoud had been indoctrinated in the conservative, fundamentalist ways of Islam, there were a few things he didn’t take to heart. One was the way that many believed women should remain covered. Another was the principle of chastity. Despite his hatred for the West, these two things seeped their way into his life without much protest on his part. The carnal temptations, he found, were the best. No one dared call him a hypocrite.
    The girls giggled, bowed, and hurried off to the bedroom.
    When they’d bounded beyond the threshold and started removing the few pieces of clothing they had left, Mamoud motioned for one of his guards to close the doors, apparently wanting secrecy.
    He called his right hand, Sharouf, over with a flick of four fingers.
    Sharouf obeyed and was by his boss’s side in an instant.
    Mamoud put his arm around the man’s shoulders and walked with him out to the balcony. When they reached the white stone, their eyes narrowed, trying to squint out the bright afternoon sun.
    Four stories below, several other members of Mamoud’s harem lay topless by the pool. It was what he required of them. His property was closely guarded by an array of palm trees and thick brush, all bounded by a high sandstone wall that stretched to the edge of the beach. The only way in or out of the white sands was through a gate that always remained locked.
    The two men stared out at the scene beyond the walls. Turquoise water was intermittently interrupted by the soft, rolling waves of white foam. To the right and to the left of the private property, tourists and Dubai’s elite frolicked in the sea while others lounged in mesh beach chairs.
    Mamoud wasn’t thinking about any of that, though. His mind was thousands of miles away. “Is it done?”
    “My men said that Wyatt and his friend are both dead.”
    “How?”
    Sharouf never turned to face his employer, even though Mamoud tilted his head slightly to look indirectly at him. “They were burned to death. My men used a substance that’s similar to napalm but far more difficult to put out. It also spreads twice as fast. The targets were drugged, and their homes set on fire around them. All that is left are charred,