Page 32 of Her Loving Hero

7

First class wasa world unto itself. He’d been able to shower on the plane for God’s sake. By the time he got to Muscat, he was refreshed and three hours away from meeting with the goonies. He’d call them the Scooby Gang, but Aurora and her best friend Crystal already named Black Dawn the Scooby Gang. Unfortunately, it stuck, and some of the other teams had been referring to them by that name. Of course, It wasn’t as bad as Midnight Delta’s moniker which was the Love Zodiac, but nobody called Mason Gault, Captain Stubing to his face.

Wyatt was one of the first ones off the plane, all clean with crisp clothes. He was styling, in the dark pants and fresh white dress shirt he’d bought at LAX. He could definitely play the part of Scott Lyle. All he had was his carry-on, which he needed to stash at a hotel. Kane had arranged for that too. Hopefully it wouldn’t be as expensive as the ticket.

Miles my ass.

The flight attendant wished him a good stay in Oman as he got off the plane. She actually called him by name.

Unreal.

Wyatt might have been in a hurry to leave the airport, but that didn’t stop him from being aware of his environment and he stopped up short when he saw the uber-sophisticated man leaning against one of the pillars next to the exit. He looked like something out of a men's cologne ad, with his white linen jacket, pale turquoise shirt and tan linen pants. Wyatt’s eyes narrowed, he’d bet anything that those shoes cost more than his monthly take home.

“So, you have even more money than Aiden O’Malley, huh?” Wyatt noted as he walked up to Kane McNamara. Kane gave him an enigmatic smile then he slowly turned his wrist over so he could look at his Rolex.

“What the hell are you playing at?” Wyatt asked.

“My name is Duke Forrester and my family owns the company that Scott Lyle works at,” Kane said as he picked up his leather suitcase. “Come on, our car is waiting for us.”

Probably a damn limousine. They walked out into the into the bright sunlight. Wyatt pulled out his sunglasses and put them on. Kane pointed to a sign with the name Forrester on it in front of a limousine.

“That’s us.”

“So why are you here?” Wyatt asked as soon as they were seated, and he ensured the glass partition was up.

Kane shook his head and pointed toward the front of the car. Apparently, he didn’t feel that they were secure to talk. Wyatt nodded.

They drove on a modern highway into the heart of downtown Muscat. As Wyatt suspected they were dropped off at Kempinski Hotel. Kane wasn’t sparing any expense.

“Let’s go to the bar before checking in, since it’s not Ramadan we can get a drink, and we’ll be able to talk freely,” Kane said.

Wyatt checked his watch, they had three hours before they needed to be on board the yacht. “Why are you here?” Wyatt asked again. “What did your sources tell you? Are you sanctioned?”

“Nope. I’m off the books, same as you,” Kane answered. A waiter came over and gave them a cocktail menu. Kane ordered a single malt scotch while Wyatt ordered a beer.

“But what did you hear? Why did you come?”

“I about fell over when they mentioned the orphanage. I need to get my hands on that video, there are probably copies. I bet that Yemeni still has one tucked away.”

“I don’t get it,” Wyatt said. “What orphanage?”

“If Hamza al Libi talked about the orphanage getting blown up, it proves he’s alive. That orphanage was taken out three weeks ago in Syria. Years after he was supposed to have been dead.”

“Holy shit,” Wyatt breathed.

“Still doesn’t negate the fact that those kids are going to get their asses killed. Don’t get me wrong I’m feeling a little protective about them, even though a little part of me believes that Darwinism should win the day.”

“Did you just say that?” Wyatt asked incredulously.

“Sometimes people who are too stupid to live, maybe shouldn’t live,” Kane said as he took a sip of his drink.

“Who are you?” Wyatt was having trouble wrapping his head around Kane’s words.

Kane sat down his scotch. “Don’t listen to me, long fucking month.” Then he paused and looked out the window. “I get Chris though, that protective instinct looms large.”

“Dude, you’re still pretty close to the edge.”

“Look I’m also combining the higher echelon into that mix, does that help? They are basically driving clown cars. Those assholes didn’t listen to Max when he went to them with the intel that Asher and I had on Hamza al Libi as well as Saif al Fadi. They just immediately said that those two were dead. They didn’t give Max the time of day. It’s that kind of tunnel vision that gets people killed.”