THE DEMON'S LEGACY
Chapter 2
The lowering sun gilded the ornate two-story entrance arch of the El Fadil compound. Sculpted elephants nearly two meters tall stood, one on either side, as if on guard. Behind them, two armed men stood to the actual task, bringing their guns to bear until they recognized Barsad and Bane. As Barsad stopped the vehicle to allow the guards to open the pair of four-meter-high steel-enforced doors, the dust raised by the SUV caught up to them and curled around the Land Rover, further coating the already-filthy vehicle.
As always, Bane admired the architecture of this place, a marriage of Islamic and Rajput tastes. The compound's thick earthen walls surrounded the six-story palace as well as a two-story guesthouse, several courtyards and intricate, beautiful gardens. All heavily guarded and surveilled by cameras.
When Bane considered the nearest elephant sculpture, he smiled to himself, thinking of his son who always insisted he be allowed to sit upon the elephant's back whenever he left the compound with his parents or Maysam. He had made his father promise to one day let him ride a real elephant. Henri often asked permission to hold his mother's small ivory-carved elephant that was displayed on a shelf in the family suite. The talisman had been a gift to Talia from their very dear friend, Temujin, who had died many years ago in service to the League. It was Temujin's name that they had given to Henri as a middle name. Talia only used it when she was angry with her son. Bane, however, often used the shortened version, Jin, especially when he and Henri were alone together, a special term of endearment in memoriam to the revered Mongol, who had been his mentor during his training days with the League. How he wished Temujin could have met Henri. Easily he remembered how kind, patient, and wise Temujin had been with Talia when she was a child.
Once inside the compound, the Land Rover was met by the palace chauffeur, standing just inside the shade of the Diwan-i-Khas, the palace's private audience hall. He offered a small bow to Bane as he opened the SUV's door.
"How are you, Faran?" Barsad said as he stiffly extricated himself from behind the wheel.
"I am well, sahib. And I am pleased you are back."
Barsad handed him the keys. "Not as pleased as Sanjana, I bet." He grinned, and Faran's dark eyes danced. The two men had known each other many years now. It was Barsad who had hired Faran, back when he had worked for Siddig and Maysam, before he had met Bane.
"She grows larger by the day," Faran said, leaning in a bit.
"I'll make sure not to repeat your remark to her," Barsad chuckled.
"Thank you, sahib." Faran slipped around Barsad and into the driver's seat.
As the chauffeur drove the car away, Bane considered Barsad's relationship with Faran. His lieutenant could get along easily with pretty much anyone he wanted to, a talent Bane sometimes envied. Even without his mask, Bane knew the palace servants were still intimidated by his towering, muscle-bound appearance. None of them dared speak to him the way Faran had just spoken to Barsad.
They entered the empty audience hall, a grand space with marble floors and several chandeliers, unlit, a multitude of open archways on either side, allowing cross ventilation. From the direction of the gardens, the cry of the palace peacock reached Bane's ears. Through a doorway at the closest end of the hall, they stepped into an open courtyard with facades three-stories high, then farther through an open archway into the palace courtyard. The palace loomed above them, its pastel yellow masonry boasting many windows and verandas, trimmed in white and maroon. The centuries-old palace had been the El Fadil home for many generations, purchased and expanded through the blood and treasure of others.
"Talia will be pissed we didn't tell her when we'd arrive," Barsad said as they climbed the stone steps. "She would've met us with Henri."
"The day is too hot for them to be outside."
"All the same, she'll be pissed."
"Perhaps I will have a way to distract her." Bane shot Barsad a sly grin.
"Oh, brother." Barsad rolled his eyes before nodding to the guards at the main doors as they passed inside.
Arabic voices rolled to them from far down the hallway to the right of the main staircase. Bane recognized the staccato voice of Nashir El Fadil, upbraiding one of his men, or so it seemed. Though not as savage as his eldest brother Siddig or as unpredictably violent as Amir—the brother, now dead, who had succeeded Siddig—Nashir was a no-nonsense man who demanded much of anyone in his employ. Bane cared little about the man beyond Nashir's treatment of Maysam, and thus far that had been acceptable.
At the top of the red-carpeted staircase, another familiar voice caught Bane's ears, this one far more welcomed than Nashir's.
"Look who's back, and without telling us they were coming."
Bane grinned at his old friend from prison, a man who was now head of Maysam's personal security. "I know how much you love surprises, Abrams."
"Yeah, almost as much as you do." A sly smile twisted Abrams's harelip.
Abrams, in his early sixties, was a strong, blocky figure. His square head with thinning brown hair had lines etched in forehead and cheeks, telling the tale of a former soldier and mercenary prior to his security work in German intelligence after prison. Bane had been a mere boy when they had met in the pit, a friendship that had taken years to build, but one that had benefited Bane as well as Talia and had ultimately saved Abrams's life. Barsad called Abrams Bane's surrogate uncle, and so Henri had taken to calling him Uncle Abrams, adding to the child's list of pseudo-uncles which included Barsad.
"I see you've managed to keep him alive again, Barsad," Abrams said with a rare twinkle in his unremarkable brown eyes.
"Never an easy task," Barsad said, "but somehow I manage."
"Do you know where Talia is?" Bane asked.
"She's in your suite with Maysam and Henri. And Sanjana's in your room, Barsad."
"I hope you will join us for supper," Bane said.
"Figures you'd be back in time for that." Abrams winked at Barsad before heading downstairs. "I'll make sure the cook knows to plan for three more."
Bane and Barsad rode the nearby elevator to the fifth floor. While members of the El Fadil family inhabited most of the palace, the fifth floor belonged to Maysam. Her brother's family used to share the space, but once Bane, Talia, and Barsad made the palace their permanent home away from the League, Ayman and his family had moved to another floor, though not without protests from Ayman, who resented his sister's close relationship with the "infidel intruders," as he called them.
As Bane and Barsad strode down the long, carpeted hallway with their dusty packs, the fatigue that had slowed them earlier in the day melted away at the prospect of seeing their loved ones.
"It is good to be home, brother," Bane said.
"You got that right."
"Just a few short years ago, we never could have imagined having a true home."
"No shit." Barsad had spat out his Nicorette gum before reaching the palace gate, and he now found himself wanting another. But with the prospect of kissing Sanjana just ahead, he knew his mind would soon be distracted from his tobacco craving. "Tell Maysam and Talia I'll see 'em at supper, okay?"
"Maysam will be wounded by your willful negligence," Bane teased.
Barsad refused to take the bait. "She'll get over it."
Bane chuckled. "Indeed. She is used to your disappointments. But go ahead, John, the mother of your child awaits."
With a devilish grin, Barsad hurried ahead of Bane.
Bane's own eagerness quickened his steps, but he paused at the closed door to his suite. His acute hearing—so much improved without the mask covering his ears—picked up the high-pitched voice of his son, followed by the boy's bubbling laughter. A slightly scolding tone from Talia, and Maysam's murmuring words. Bane's heart warmed at the sounds, and he completely relaxed for the first time in weeks, his harsh soldier's gaze softening.
Ever so quietly he opened the door just far enough to see them. The immense main room of the suite was comprised of three different living spaces—the bedroom with its spacious king bed against the wall to Bane's left where he could not see it from his current vantage point; an office area with a beautiful antique desk of mahogany taking up the far-right corner; and, closest to the door, the living area with comfortable chairs, sofas, pillows, cushions and rugs, along with a sixty-inch flat panel television, which was currently turned off. Maysam sat on a loveseat, Henri in her lap, dressed for bed, listening to her read a book. As always, he was active in the story, pointing at the pictures and identifying animals, helping turn the pages. When great-grandmother and great-grandson were alone together, Maysam spoke Arabic, while Talia spoke French to Henri when alone together. Bane spoke English to Henri, and thus the boy already knew three languages and would learn more.
Talia sat nearby in a chair, a cup of tea in hand. Bane admired her soft profile, partially hidden by her sable mane of hair. She never seemed to age, her skin as soft and smooth now in her early thirties as it had been as a child in the pit prison. Yet her eyes—sapphire and large, so large he often lost himself in them—betrayed fatigue in the way her eyelids drooped so early in the evening. He frowned. Then somehow Henri detected him
"Papa Baba!" the boy shrieked in delight and catapulted himself from Maysam's lap.
Bane stepped inside the suite, grinning at his son's practice of using both the Arabic word for father as well as the more French or English variation. Dropping his pack, he crouched down with arms spread like a great condor, and Henri flew into his embrace, squealing with delight.
"You home! You home!"
Bane held his son's squirming form tight for a long moment, enjoying Henri's giggles and kisses. Talia and Maysam had gotten to their feet, both smiling.
"We didn't expect you until tomorrow," Talia said, gliding across the room, dressed in ivory-colored silk lounging pants with a generous style to the legs and matching blouse.
"What a wonderful surprise," Maysam said. "And just before Henri's bedtime."
Bane stood, loosening his grip on Henri who immediately protested, "No bed, Papa Baba! No bed! We play."
Bane chuckled and shifted Henri onto his hip. "Playtime is past, my young cub. Jiddah was reading you a bedtime story, I see."
"You read it, Papa Baba."
"I am just back and already you are ordering me about."
"Please," Henri drew out the word.
Talia touched Bane's arm, and he leaned down to kiss her, her wonderful clean scent enveloping him with a hint of lavender. Now, so close, he could see more than fatigue in her eyes, but he failed to identify it. Something she was trying to tell him without words, not unusual in their years together; they could normally read each other so very well. Something obviously private, perhaps sorrowful. He looked forward to being alone with her.
"Is something wrong, my love?" he asked near a whisper in case the issue had to do with Maysam, though that possibility was remote.
Talia gave him a troubled smile, stroked Henri's rebellious cowlick. "Later," she softly said.
Somehow around Henri's busy hands patting and squishing his scarred cheeks Bane managed to kiss Talia again. "Very well," Bane said. "Until later."
He put his other arm around Talia and guided her to the large sofa where the three of them sat. Maysam returned to the loveseat. Henri cuddled in Bane's lap, oblivious to his father's dirty, unkempt appearance. When Bane was home for any length of time, Henri rarely sat still long enough to be this close, but whenever Bane returned from League-related travel, Henri would cling to him every chance he got for the first couple of days. It pained Bane to know he was the cause of his child's insecurity. Departing was even more traumatic. Henri's mix of tears, anger, and pleas filled Bane with guilt not only for upsetting his son but because he knew Henri would take out his unhappiness on Talia, never a wise decision.
Henri looked up at him now with his adoring blue eyes and asked, "Papa Baba stay now?"
"Yes, for a while at least."
Henri scowled, and his hands balled into fists. "You stay forever."
"We have discussed this before, my son," Bane said sternly. "I have a job to do. I will stay as long as my job allows."
Henri writhed in the beginning of a tantrum, something else he rarely did when Bane was home. "Papa—"
"Henri Temujin," Talia snapped. "Your father has just come home from a dangerous mission. You should be grateful that he's here, not complaining about when he will next leave."
"Mama," Henri whined, arching his spine backward in a rigid form of protest.
"Your father is tired, child," Maysam soothed. "And so are you. That is why you are fussing. It is time for bed."
"No, Jiddah," Henri said plaintively, instantly abandoning his physical display of protest and instead clutching Bane's black t-shirt. "Wanna stay with Papa Baba."
"Then you must behave," Maysam warned in a falsely stern voice. She loved the boy with every fiber of her being and found disciplining him difficult, yet Bane knew Maysam always did her best to keep Henri in line, as gently as possible. And most of the time Henri listened to her, as he did now, settling deep into Bane's lap, one hand again gripping his father's shirt.
"I be good, Jiddah."
"Thank you." Her harsh expression instantly melted into a warm smile.
Bane chuckled and gave his son a squeeze. "You are spending too much time with women, my little cub. You need to experience the low ways of men, and then you will appreciate the women in your life. When I was your age, I was surrounded by nothing but men, except for my mother. So many years. If not for her influence, I would have become just as despicable and worthless as those men. My mother and your mother's mother were the light in that terrible place; they were my light. And now your mother and Jiddah are yours. You must show them respect by behaving like a civilized child, not some wild bear cub. Have I not told you that you are the man of the house when I and Uncle John are away?"
Henri frowned in shame and stared at his restless hands in his lap. "Yes, Papa Baba."
"Then you must behave like it. How can you protect them when you are throwing temper tantrums?"
"I sorry."
"Very well." Bane winked at Maysam and kissed the top of Henri's head. "Now, if you are quiet and respectful, you may sit here a bit longer with us before I put you to bed. Perhaps Jiddah will ask Hisham to bring you some warm goat's milk if you ask her nicely."
"Please, Jiddah, may I have some milk?"
"Of course, ya habib alby."
Henri looked up at her through long eyelashes and sweetly asked, "With honey?"
Maysam laughed, and Bane chuckled. "Very well," she said. "But just a touch." She crossed the room to call from the internal phone line.
Bane tipped Henri's chin up. "Have you been giving your mother trouble? She looks very tired."
Henri diverted his gaze.
"Jin," Bane said firmly.
"It's all right, habibi," Talia murmured to Bane, stroking the bulge of his bicep. "We've both had a long day. We'll talk about our son's behavior later."
Henri gave a little gasp but offered no defense. "Papa Baba?"
"Yes, my son?"
"Did you bring me a present?" Henri's pronunciation of the letter "r" was still sounding like the letter "w," but Maysam had assured Bane that his speech would improve.
Bane or Barsad always brought something back for the child from their operations abroad. Nothing elaborate, just various trinkets or things like a beautiful feather shed by a bird; anything pleased Henri if it came from his father or Uncle John.
"Perhaps I did," Bane said with hooded eyes, producing a worried look from his son. "But if so, I must first learn from your mother later whether or not you deserve a gift."
"Oh, Papa Baba, please," Henri said.
"You heard me, young man. Now don't pester me about it any further."
"Ohhhh." Henri buried his face between Bane's pronounced pectoral muscles.
Maysam returned to the loveseat. "I told Hisham to bring you some tea, Haris." She used the Arabic name she had given Bane the first time she had met him, a name which meant protector. She had never liked anyone calling him Bane because of its negative connotations. "Dinner will be served in half an hour."
"I invited Abrams to join us," Bane said. "I hope you don't mind."
He exchanged a private grin with Talia.
"Did he accept your invitation?" Maysam asked.
"He did."
Maysam crossed her arms. "He never accepted any of ours while you were gone, did he, Talia?"
"Jiddah," Talia chided. "You know he doesn't feel comfortable sharing meals with us when Bane and Barsad are both gone."
"He's old-fashioned and foolish," Maysam grumbled.
"He respects your religious beliefs," Talia insisted. "He came to dinner when Ayman joined us last week, didn't he? So it's not true that he never accepted an invitation."
Maysam looked away, arms still stubbornly crossed.
Knowing better than to explore this subject too deeply with Maysam, Bane changed the subject. "That milk will soon be here, my cub. Hisham can bring it to your room and you may drink it while I read to you."
Talia momentarily took Henri so Bane had an easier time standing up.
"Pony ride, Papa Baba." Henri raised his arms.
"Your father's back is hurting him," Talia said. "I can see it on his face."
"It is all right, my dear. He weighs no more than a fly." Bane crouched down, and after a slight sigh from Talia, she put Henri on Bane's back. The boy wrapped his arms around his father's neck, giggling.
"Giddy up!"
"This old warhorse can't gallop today." Bane stood. "You will have to be content with a lumbering walk. Now if you ladies will excuse us…"
Bane headed down the suite's hallway, which led to a spacious bathroom, a dining room, the nursery, and at the far end a spa that encompassed an entire large room, reminiscent of a Roman bath. Henri's room had once been Bane's office, and Siddig's office before him, but the furnishings had been moved to the suite's main room when Talia became pregnant. Maysam was responsible for the nursery's décor, with Talia's help as well. It was a happy environment with a ceiling painted the color of a perfect sky with cheerful white clouds. The walls were each a different theme—one, sunrise yellow with rolling emerald hills; another, forest green with white birch trees; another, a dark gray with a fat moon and stars; the fourth, blue with a seashore motif. The crib had been superceded by a small bed, finely crafted by the same local artisan who had created the wooden rocking chair in the corner, as well as the bookshelf. A toy chest against one wall sat open, stuffed animals and plastic trucks and fighter planes haphazardly collected within. A cornhusk doll sat next to the box, not yet dismantled by Henri as was usual. Bane wished the room had a window. During the day, the door was left open, as was the dining room door across the hall; this way sunlight through the dining room veranda doors could provide natural light to the nursery.
"Let us use the chair," Bane said, knowing the rocker would support his back, while sitting on Henri's bed would not. "What story would you like to hear, my cub?" He crouched again so the boy could dismount, but instead Henri hung from Bane's neck, giggling. "You are strangling me, boy."
But Henri's hold tightened, and his giggling increased. Bane reached behind him and began tickling the boy. Henri squirmed and laughed uncontrollably, his father persisting until the boy's stranglehold loosened, and Bane pried him away.
"Enough foolishness," Bane scolded. "You will never sleep if you wind yourself up this way. Your mother will be displeased. Now, either choose a book or I will simply put you to bed without your story or milk."
With pouting lips, Henri said, "Oh, Papa…" But he surrendered and shambled over to the bookshelf where he pondered the wide selection while Bane settled into the rocking chair.
Henri clambered into his father's lap, handing him a storybook about a shepherd boy and a lost lamb. The child nestled deep in Bane's lap, and Bane put his arms around him and began to read. A moment later Hisham—Bane and Talia's Indian manservant—peeked his face around the half-closed door. Bane invited the older man in, and Henri took the teacup filled with warm milk from Hisham's silver tray. Hisham smiled and nodded after Henri thanked him, then left the room.
By the time the milk was gone and the story was over, Henri's eyelids kept trying to shut upon him, though he fought gamely to remain awake. Bane set the book and the empty cup on a small table beside him, then carried his son to the bed.
"No, don't wanna sleep."
"Yes, you do; you just won't admit it."
The bed had already been turned down. Bane tucked Henri in, drawing the sheet over the boy's chest before sitting on the edge of the mattress. Henri reached for his hand.
"Don't go, Papa Baba."
"I will stay a moment, but you must relax and close your eyes. I have to take a shower before supper or the smell of me will ruin everyone's appetite."
Henri gave a tired giggle.
"Quiet now, boy."
Henri settled into the pillow, still holding Bane's fingers. Sleepily he said, "I so glad you home."
"I'm glad I'm home, too, my little cub." Bane kissed Henri's forehead. "Now close your eyes. We will see one another in the morning."
Henri whispered, "I sleep with you and Mama?"
"Not tonight. But if you go to sleep now and behave tomorrow, perhaps you may share our bed tomorrow."
Henri smiled and whispered, "I be good."
"Very well." Bane stood. "Good night."
"Good night. I love you."
"I love you, too, my boy."
Bane slipped to the door and turned off the ceiling light. He remained just on the other side of the door, which he left cracked open, and gazed upon his son in the weak glow of a nightlight plugged into the wall. Henri shifted about for only a moment before becoming still, his breathing even as he slipped into the peaceful slumber of the innocent.