Redback. Lindy Cameron
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under the lapel of his double-breasted charcoal Armani suit. 'When in Rome, father.'
'Do not begin to imagine that you are, or can be, anything other than what you're born to,' Salman said.
Assad shook his head. 'It is good that you were not around to say that to your grandfather or we would all still be lugging bricks in Egypt, uncle.'
Salman smiled - like a cobra. 'Do not dare compare yourself to Ahmed bin Youssef. Allah blessed our grandfather with the gift of reinvention. From nothing he made our family. You, who already have everything, have nowhere else to go.'
'Except home,' Khalid stated. 'It has been decided you are to work with your brother Ali in Jeddah. We are launching a new project there that will also involve our shipping consortium in Alexandria.'
'With my brother?' Assad raised an eyebrow. 'Certainly you mean I would work for Ali.'
'Of course,' Salman said. 'He is older than you by ten years. And while you have been roaming the world like a playboy Bedouin, Ali and Sharif have been doing the groundwork for our new pharmaceutical venture.'
'Pharmaceutical venture?' Assad tried hard not to laugh. 'You mean cousin Sharif has given up arms dealing for drug running?'
'Assad.' His father snapped his fingers twice. 'This attitude is troubling. You have been left to do as you please for far too long. You will return to Singapore, close the deal on the hotel by Tuesday and take the next flight to Riyadh. There, your uncle Salman will brief you on the new role before you report to Ali and Sharif at the end of the month.'
To make his point Khalid flicked his fingers again and turned away from his son, already summoning someone else.
Assad had no intention of contradicting his father at that point. He stood, without a word, and returned to his original position on the other side of the room. His seething anger at being dismissed like a dog was only balanced by the supreme amusement he took in knowing that he had already answered the last summons from the House of al Harbi.
His new life was ready. In just over a week there would be no coming back - ever. So this time, this last time, he revelled in the fury they engendered. Their indifference, their intolerance, their connections, their corruption, their hypocrisy, their blind acceptance of the status quo had made him the man he was and shaped his future. Their belief, not that their world would remain this way forever but that it should was stifling.
The Brothers had unwittingly fashioned a driven, angry, passionate and independent man of far greater wealth than they could possibly guess. He planned to use everything at his disposal to destroy and rebuild the world of his creators. He was much more like his great-grandfather Assad bin Khalid al Harbi. He, too, was a Prince of Reinvention.
Chapter One
Laui Island, Pacific Ocean
Tuesday evening
Dr Jana Rossi pledged a silent oath of allegiance to anyone who could get her out of this mess. With the same breath she also hoped that this time the rebels would shoot her companion, otherwise she'd have no choice but to kill the stupid bastard herself.
She also knew that developing a grudge was better than sitting in fear, and the desire to hurt Alan Wagner was quite empowering. If this was anger management, then it worked for her.
Alan, meanwhile, was giving his testosterone a pep talk as he got ready to get them both seriously hurt. He actually gave Jana a patronising in-charge wink. The sound of returning bootsteps did not bode well for either of them. She knew that.
She hit Alan as hard as she could.
When the two gunmen flung their door open they found her waiting quietly, and him doubled over groaning about his balls.
'You come now,' the taller one said. 'Both you.'
Jana did as she was told. It was more sensible than giving lip to a teenager with a semi-automatic.
Once outside their bure they were shoved along the winding path through the tropical vegetation. She knew it led towards the dining room, about 50 metres away on the far side of the waterfall-pool and beach volleyball area. As soon as they cleared the private gardens, Alan stumbled and fell. One soldier laughed, the other kicked him in the ribs; both trained their weapons on him.
Jana stopped and waited. Unlike her roommate, she knew it was pointless to make a break for it. There could be no escape from here without outside help. And that was unlikely. Still, and ever the optimist, she scanned the grounds between them and the lagoon for any signs of rescue.
Twilight in the tropics, she noted irrelevantly, is just a state of mind. The sun sinks so fast near the equator that day becomes night in a blink of the eye. And while Jana had never seen a sunset look so ominously like blood smeared on the horizon, she caught her breath in that moment before dark and hoped that what she'd glimpsed was a conning tower. Then she laughed silently at her wishful thinking. Given her luck this week, she'd just seen the arse end of a cruise ship.
Alan was now dusting himself down and shrugging the boy soldiers off, as if they were nothing.
What kind of rebels are these? One of the men pushed her in the back to hurry her on. If she so wanted to kill Alan, why the hell didn't they?
Movements to her left caught her attention. A magnificent banyan tree, the focal point of the resort's three swimming pools, was still covered in streamers and coloured lights from the traditional welcome they'd been given nine days ago. Now she saw it was occupied by four grotty rebels inside a circle of mounted machine guns. All directions were covered, but one of the guns was aimed at the five-star bures - the cabins - of Laui Island's East Garden. They were now nothing more than superbly appointed thatched prison cells that held the other randomly paired-off members of the Pacific Tourism & Enviro-Trade Conference.
The dining room was shut-up. While the bures were self-contained and lockable, most of the resort's communal buildings like the bar, theatre and convention room, had folding timber storm doors rather than permanent walls. Ordinarily, they were rarely used. Given the balmy evening and crystal-clear sky, why was the dining room closed in?
Their escorts stopped in the sand below the outdoor deck and ordered, 'You wait.'
Jana grabbed Alan's sleeve and yanked him to a stand still. 'Don't aggravate them any more Alan.'
'Stupid bitch. We'd be outta here now if you'd follow me.'
'No. We'd be dead now. Didn't you see that little arsenal?' She pointed to the banyan tree.
Alan looked up. She saw his shoulders stiffen but he was not about to admit his near death error. Jana strained to identify the voices coming from the dining room. One belonged to Mila Ifran, the leader of these island rebels, but while the other man's first language was obviously English, his accent was hard to determine. Not a rebel or a staff member then.
Jana allowed herself a grain of hope: perhaps all the other delegates were inside. Maybe the rebels' demands had been met and their release had been secured.
And perhaps you're already dead and stuck forever in a nightmare. No one negotiates with rebels, terrorists or kidnappers any more. No governments, no agencies, no one.
As if verifying that notion, Jana heard Ifran say, 'What is taking so long? Do they not believe we are serious? What is wrong with these Australians?'
'The Americans probably,' the other man said. 'What did you expect, Mila? If you only wanted to deal with the Aussies or Kiwis, you should've made sure there were no US citizens here.'
'But there are only two of them,' Ifran shouted. He appeared in the doorway and motioned at them with a toss of his head.
Jana led the way up steps, while Alan whispered in her ear, 'Let me do the talking.'
'I don't think so, Alan. Let's see who he wants to talk to.' She was, after all, the conference chairperson and official delegate of the Australian Economic Tourism Council, while Alan Wagner was merely a Sydney TV journo on a travel junket. She was also