bed. Wondered if he’d remembered what they’d done in that motel last night.
Yeah, right. He’d nearly been killed because of her. Only an idiot would be thinking about sex at a time like this.
Kat followed him out into the main cabin and sank into a chair at his right. “Where are we going?”
He pushed a button on the console to his left. “We’re all set, Steve. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Roger that, Mr. Kauffman,” a voice replied over a speaker in the ceiling. “We’ve already been cleared for takeoff. We should be in the air momentarily.”
Pete finally looked her way. “That was a business colleague on the phone. I asked her to do a little research for me before I tracked you down today. This is her company plane.”
Kat had a handful of questions about what, exactly, “business colleague” meant and what kind of person owned their own luxury jet, but she shelved them in favor of what she was most curious about. “What kind of research?”
He used a towel he must have picked up in the galley to wipe his dirty face. “Background.”
She watched for any sign he was more hurt than he looked. She didn’t see it. “On who?”
He reached over and cinched her seat belt tighter, then handed her the towel. “Your friend Minyawi. Turns out he’s with the ELA.”
His unconscious action would have touched her, but Kat’s skin went cold at his blunt revelation. The other questions floating around in her head vanished into thin air as she gripped the towel in her hand. She barely felt the plane rocketing down the runway or the landing gear lifting off the ground as she thought back to what she’d heard about the terrorist organization when she’d been working in Cairo. “The Egyptian Liberation Army.”
“Yep. They’re thought to be closely affiliated with the Egyptian Islamic Jihad, whose—”
“Part of the Muslim Brotherhood,” she finished for him. “The largest political opposition party in Egypt.”
Pete nodded. “And a close ally of Al-Qaeda. I don’t know if you’ve watched the news lately, but several members of the Brotherhood—some upstanding businessmen even—are on trial in Egypt right now for money laundering and what the press is calling ‘financing of an illegal group.’ ”
“The ELA,” she said quietly as links fell into place.
“That’d be my guess. The Brotherhood holds over a fifth of the seats in parliament. They’ll do just about anything to undermine the Egyptian government.”
Kat’s eyes lifted to his. “Even to go so far as to raid their country’s archaeological treasures to make their point.”
“Bingo,” Pete said. Frowning, he took the towel from her hand and leaned over to wipe her cheek. “And if that’s the case, it means someone high up in the government is aware this is going on and either doesn’t care or is making a butt-load of money through the exchange. It’s the only way it could happen.”
“Possibly someone with the Supreme Council of Antiquities,” she said, “which is why nothing ever came of my reports.”
“Yeah, that would make sense, too.” He tossed the dirty towel on the couch across the cabin.
She was silent as she thought through everything he’d told her. Then looked up. “If that’s true, then who was the man in the park?”
Before Pete could answer, the pilot’s voice came over the intercom again. “We’ve reached cruising altitude. Weather should be pretty calm all the way up the coast, so feel free to move about the cabin. I’ll let you know if we hit any turbulence.”
Pete unsnapped his seat belt and rose. “Another bit of interesting information my contact was able to dredge up.” He pushed the galley door open. Kat twisted in her seat and watched as he added ice to two glasses, poured amber liquid into each and came back. He handed her one as he sat. “The man in the park was identified as Dean Bertrand.”
She took the drink he offered. “I don’t recognize the name. Should I?”
“I doubt it. He’s ex-INTERPOL. Used to work out of their London Branch. Three years ago he was aiding the British government after a terrorist subway bombing in London. Remember seeing that on the news?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Guess who INTERPOL thinks was involved in that hit?”
Kat’s glass hesitated halfway to her mouth. “Minyawi?”
“Yep. And according to INTERPOL’s records, Bertrand was the only agent who’s ever gotten close to the SOB. Nearly brought him down, but the op went south, and Minyawi got away. And this part you’ll love. In return for getting close to him, Minyawi tracked