Marianne Benson Ali looked up, surprised, as her husband, Sheikh Harun Ali, joined her in the gallery of the U.N. Security Council chamber.

Dressed in an immaculate finely-tailored grey suit, he looked every inch the Arab prince he was. With thick black hair, penetrating brown eyes, an aristocratic nose, and full, sensual lips, his visage never failed to stun Mari. Who would have thought a home-grown Wisconsin farm girl would wind up married to a Sheikh? Harun was tall and lean, a true bodice-ripping, panty-wetting, romance novel cover hero. After almost two years of marriage, Mari still had to force herself not to swoon every time she looked at him.

She leaned over and whispered, “I thought you were taking Hope shopping, then out to lunch. Why are you here?”

Harun scowled. “I heard a rumor that there is a special guest speaking on behalf of today’s resolution.” His elegant British accent was strained.

“And who might that be?”

“My father.”

“I thought he was honeymooning in the Canary Islands.”

“Apparently, she convinced him it was more important to leave the marriage bed to travel all the way to New York to support her friends, the Iranians. And since you refused a bodyguard while in the United Nations complex, I thought it best if I came to collect you.”

Mari took Harun’s hand, her face filled with sympathy. “You know I can take care of myself in this environment. There are security guards everywhere, and the United Nations prides itself on protecting all members and visitors. But honey, I am so sorry about your father. Are you going to try to see him, to speak with him?”

“Actually, I would rather watch the old goat roast on a spit. Besides, I still suspect he has something to do with that multi-million-dollar price on my head.”

Mari sighed. Harun and his father had not spoken for years. Harun’s decision to join her in seeking justice and compensation for the victims of terrorism did not sit well with his father, a rather vocal supporter of radical Islam. It was the man’s support of Sharia law, after years as a practicing Christian, that first divided them. Then the discovery that Harun’s father had also harbored and protected certain terrorist cells almost totally severed the father-son bond. However, it was his father’s marriage to a much younger Iranian national, after casting aside his wife of more than 40 years, that eliminated any possibility of reconciliation. Though the man’s now ex-wife was his second wife—Harun’s mother had died long ago—Ayla had been a loving stepmother, and Harun was very fond of her. He remained angry about his father’s treatment of his devoted former wife.

“Well, I haven’t seen him. I’ve been all alone up here in this gallery. Perhaps it’s just a rumor.”

Harun shook his head, his eyes filled with anger. “Oh, he will be here. He and his zawja soared through U.S. Customs at JFK yesterday morning, using diplomatic passports no less. And through the Saudi Arabian ambassador, he demanded a meeting with Hope. The man had the nerve to go straight to the President.”

Mari paled. “He went to Fred? Why? I can’t believe—”

“Why? I suspect because he could. My father is all about making shows of power. And according to President O’Donnell, he demanded visitation with Hope under Sharia law.” Harun smirked. “I will not repeat the President’s response to that.”

“And does he have a right to visitation with Hope? He is her grandfather by blood.”

“Not a chance.” Harun shifted in his chair and pulled Mari to him. “We’re not Muslim. We’re Christian. I certainly have no intention of giving any credence to Sharia law. Not in the United States, not in the Arab world. Besides, even under Sharia law, as a grandparent, he still has no rights where Hope is concerned, and believe me, I will not give him any. That man is very much dead to me.”

“Where is Hope?”

“Sully and Hope are headed to the safe house in Michigan. I could not put her at risk. Hazelton is waiting for us downstairs with Mathews. Unfortunately, Hope is no doubt engaging in her teenage histrionics right about now. She was furious when I told her our holiday was over. But I don’t trust that old man. I have no doubt that he would attempt to abduct her, or worse, to get his way. He is clearly trying to demonstrate that he still wields power over me and my family. I intend to make it clear that he does not.”

“And what about you? We’vee been purposely keeping you out of the limelight, trying to keep you safe. Coming within a few feet of that man and his friends is dangerous. You should have boarded that plane with Hope and got the hell out of dodge.”

Harun’s brown eyes narrowed. “And leave my zawja to the wolves? Not likely. Besides, I have no fear of the old man. He hasn’t the balls to try anything on U.S. soil, even in the U.N. compound, which is, technically, a nation in its own right. As you have claimed repeatedly, my dear, we are perfectly safe here. Now that we know my father is watching, we may need to engage in some diversionary tactics, but you know our security force is exceptionally devious. They will keep us safe.”

“Still—”