"The reporter? Has she been dealt with?" Ali Khan inquired in his native Arabic.

Ali had just returned to Aden following a two-day trip to New York and was reporting to his older brother, Badaki, the leader of al-Qaeda in southern Yemen. They were seated in Badaki's brand new quarters. Though modestly appointed –small desk, a few chairs, a day-bed, a tiny en-suite bath– its impressive oriel window and the view it afforded across the Old Harbor causeway to the Sira Island Fortress was anything but modest.

"That bungling Inspector Guma allowed the infidel woman to slip through his fingers," Badaki answered with a clenched fist. Severe dry lines on either side of his mouth gave his face a haunted look. Years of bitterness had darkened the flesh of his eye sockets; his scraggly beard and recessed eyes served to compound the cadaverous effect. He continued, "He is so proud of his British education and police training." Badaki scoffed. "Look what it yields: A traitorous fool. And our plan was foolproof; Ava Blair should be trembling in prison, awaiting execution for murder."

"Hmm, most unfortunate," Ali Khan reflected. "I assured Yuri Dostov in New York that we had the Ava Blair situation well in hand. He reiterated his concern that she could cause him considerable embarrassment if she is able to link him to our dealings with the Somali pirate operations."

"Do not regurgitate the sniveling emissions of Yuri Dostov to me, my good brother. That counterfeit American is a parasite. He invests his filthy lucre with us and receives it back ten-fold, at no risk to himself."

Ali Khan lifted his hands in a calming gesture then straightened the knot of his silk tie. He said, "Badaki, I do not enjoy working with the American criminals, but we need their money, and necessity is the root of all evil. The operations of our Somali al-Shabaab brethren are becoming more hazardous and, in turn, more costly."

Ali Khan appeared to deflate as Badaki eyed him critically. Shadows circled in the thick liquid of Badaki's rheumy eyes, like vultures over imminent prey. Ali Khan was aware of his brother's enmity –he'd never made an attempt to conceal it. Their parents were deceased now, but throughout their lives they'd suffered little effort hiding the favoritism they'd held for their youngest son. Ali Khan's practiced charm made certain his brother remained forever in the background... that is, until Badaki became a leader in al-Qaeda.

Now, Badaki stared scornfully at Ali, his clean-shaven face, his Ferragamo shoes, tailored silk suit and chunky gold watch –stark contrast to his own austere attire of white dishdasha robe and embroidered kufi cap.

When Badaki spoke, his accusatory tone was evident, "Are you certain, my good brother, your concern is not for yourself? Look at you. In the five years you have been with al-Qaeda you have grown soft. Your belly droops. You attempt to conceal it under fancy clothing. Perhaps you have become too accustomed to the greed and avarice of the West."

Ali Khan shifted under his brother's feral scrutiny. Ali looked like a dog that'd been caught beside a turd on the carpet. He discreetly nudged his cuff over the new Rolex. He said, "No, that is not true, Badaki, I must dress in this manner. The airport security buffoons expect robes or cheap track-suits and neck scarves from al-Qaeda. And Yuri Dostov and his people treat me as one of their own when I am attired in this disgusting infidel style." He smiled weakly and then swallowed with apparent difficulty, began anew in a diffident voice, "But what of Ava Blair? Do we know her whereabouts?"

Badaki opened his mouth to answer but then broke eye contact. He looked all at once perturbed and distracted. He flashed a palm at Ali as he rose and quick-stepped to his en-suite. He slammed the door shut behind him.

"The harlot clothes herself in traditional robes; she is invisible to the imbecile police," Badaki said as he returned from the toilet minutes later. "No matter, she cannot leave Aden with no funds and no travel documents. It has been three days. It is possible she has found a place of hiding."

He sat down behind his desk again before continuing with, "But you have her computer with all the information she has gathered; she can do nothing to harm us or Yuri Dostov. If Guma is unable to capture her, eventually we shall. And we shall dispatch Ava Blair in our own way, in a much less complicated manner this time. Yes, it is risky; a female journalist from the West; but I grow weary of complex schemes."

"And our import/export activities?" Ali questioned, becoming more at ease now that Badaki's attention had shifted away from his... small extravagances, "Has Adam East moved any product while I was abroad?"

Badaki stood and took one stride round the desk, towered over his brother. He clipped his words angrily, "I told you, any personal contact I have with infidels will be deadly, and that includes your friend, Adam East. If he gazes upon my countenance, it will be through dead eyes only."

"Adam East is only a friend in deed, Badaki. He is a valuable business partner; he can operate more openly than we can. He has worked with us for near two years; there has not been a problem. I know him well. Adam can be trusted."

Badaki shook his head and his eye twitched, "You associate with them and know nothing of their ways, my brother. The infidels are masters of deceit and betrayal."

He turned and paced to the window that spanned the room's width. He gazed upon the eager blue radiance of the sea and sky. He caressed the freshly-painted window sill. His tone had softened when he continued, "But your naiveté does serve a purpose, Ali; it thins the infidels' defenses, exposes their sentimental vulnerabilities."

Badaki nodded thoughtfully then began anew, "A shipment of raw opium out of Afghanistan arrived yesterday. Contact Adam East tomorrow morning and inform him that he will be transporting it in the customary fashion. And remember: Conduct all business face-to-face."