Noble Asset by William Miller

Author:William Miller [Miller, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Literary Rebel, LLC
Published: 2020-12-24T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Forty-Five

They were on her before Fatemeh knew they were in the room. One clamped a hand over her mouth while the other grabbed her legs. She tried to scream but no sound came out. Her heart leapt up into her throat where it swelled to the size of a balloon. She struggled like a cornered wildcat, managed to free one of her ankles and lashed out with her bare foot. Her heel connected with something fleshy and soft. She heard a wet crunch and warm droplets splattered her legs.

A boney fist slammed down into her stomach. The pain was exquisite. Her vision narrowed to a pinprick and her lungs seized up. She doubled over, coughing and gasping for breath. She was lifted out of the bed and carried from the room, still in her linen undershirt. They hurried to the stairs and one of the men said, “Keep struggling and we will throw you down.”

The threat didn’t stop Fatemeh from trying to break free. They wrestled her all the way to the bottom and dragged her into the long dining hall of the main house where Uncle Hasim was waiting.

Jahan sat at the table, dressed in a suit and tie, a cup of tea in one hand and a cordless telephone laying on the tabletop. His beard was trimmed and his hair combed. He looked like a man waiting for a business meeting to start. He sipped from the cup before placing it gently on the porcelain saucer.

“Please, Fatemeh, stop struggling and have a seat.” Jahan pointed to a pillow on his right.

The men carried her to the table and forced her down onto the cushion. As soon as they let her go, Fatemeh tried to get up. The man with the broken nose grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head down on the tabletop. Drops of blood landed on her exposed neck. She twisted in an effort to break free, but her head was pinned.

“No need for theatrics,” Jahan told her. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. My men will restrain you if they must.”

“What is going on?” Fatemeh asked. “What is this about?”

“Are you so naïve?” Jahan laughed to himself and shook his head. “You coming here was a sign from the Prophet.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There is so much you don’t understand, child.” Jahan said. He glanced at his teacup and said, “Where are my manners. Would you like a cup of tea? Or a glass of cold water?”

“I want to know what’s going on.”

Jahan gave a small shrug. “It’s no big mystery. Ever since I was ousted from the Council of Experts, I have been living in exile, trapped here in this empty house. I spent my days here searching for a way to reform Iran from the outside, but that was a fool’s errand. There is nothing I can do from exile. If Iran is going to be changed, it must be changed from within. No sooner had I

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