The Art of Deception

The Boy Who Cried Wolf

They were back in New York before having sailed outside the vicinity of it. Murtasim had stormed into the kitchens of the cruise at brisk speed. He slammed the glasses down as he reached a counter and demanded that every member of staff be re-identified in front of him.

But nothing suspicious came up. Everyone had valid ID’s. The head chef wasn’t of much assistance either. He was woozy from the merriment of the party and couldn’t remember if he had turned over the task of serving the drinks to a staff member or not. Unsatisfied with his response, Murtasim decided it was best to cancel the cruise. Meerab was incredibly unhappy at his paranoid decision and she grumbled loudly about lost feasting opportunities.

Abdullah Kadwani however, happily agreed with Murtasim. According to Kadwani, it would rouse great curiosity if the public were to know that the Elite Squad was out to sabotage his tour. He even suggested the horrid idea that they stage a few fake kidnapping attempts when they went sightseeing to create more drama for the public.

Nooran was on board with the idea and offered to do the script writing for the planned sabotages, claiming she had a great knack for creative writing. Similarly, Siraj also showed keen interest and insisted he was a fantastic director of action sequences.

Their idea was highly unpopular.

Murtasim now stood at the edge of his bed in his newly appointed hotel room, running a towel over his wet hair and aimlessly looking at the golden swirls decorating the obsidian walls. He was pondering over how best to keep the remainder of the trip as safe as possible. As he ruminated, Murtasim’s thoughts moved to his goals. He was incredibly close to his goal of ultimate corporate expansion. Incredibly close. But for some strange reason, he wasn’t as elated as he thought he would be. Something was missing.

A muted buzzing sound rang throughout Murtasim’s suite, interrupting his thoughts. He glanced at the indicator light to double check, his eyebrows flickering in surprise. Someone really was at his door. He was expecting Meerab to be fast asleep by now. He assumed she was probably back to give him an earful. She’d already given him a harsh handful of words on the ride to their hotel room for ruining her Caribbean plans.

Sighing, Murtasim tossed aside the towel he was tousling his wet hair in and picked up a bathrobe. He dressed himself in it, covering his nude body by slinking the plush fabric over his arms while he walked towards the door. He tied the sash just as he reached it.

“What do you want now Meerab?” Murtasim grumbled, flinging open the door.

Only it wasn’t Meerab at the door.

“Afia?” exclaimed Murtasim in surprise, looking stunned.

The woman named Afia, who was leaning against the door frame and smiling seductively, had dark eyes and long, straight black hair that rippled down her back like silk. She was wearing a red formal dress, which accentuated her voluptuous figure and wide hips.

“Hi Murtasim. Long time no see,” said Afia.

“I—what are you here for?” spluttered Murtasim, utterly confused at her appearance.

Afia was a model who had previously worked with Murtasim’s company for television adverts. But she was the last person Murtasim expected to show up, here of all places.

“What? No hello for me?” Afia asked in a purring voice. She lifted her back off the edge of the doorframe and pushed her way past Murtasim, casually sauntering inside his hotel room and flipping her silky hair behind herself confidently.

Murtasim irritably stalked after Afia, who was eyeing every detail of the interior design of his hotel room with a keen eye.

“I’m asking you again, what are you here for?” spat Murtasim quite rudely, his irritation increasing at Afia’s self invitation to his room.