Since he was staying at a nice hotel, it was piping hot and he knew it wouldn’t run out, like it sometimes did in Jordan, even in his exquisite villa. He washed himself slowly, luxuriating in the loofah gliding over his skin. Everything was back on track. Once dressed, he applied several layers of makeup and prosthetics using the photo on his current fake passport as a guide. He was always careful, always precise. After a few finishing touches to his hair, he studied the results in the mirror, nodded at his reflection. He looked good; he was ready. If the man he was meeting described him, it wouldn’t matter, since he would be describing another man entirely. Zahir smiled at himself in the mirror. Actually, if the idiot did describe him to anyone at all, even his lovely wife, he wouldn’t live an hour longer. Before Zahir left for Silver Corner, he called Matthew, to make sure his part of the plan was locked in, and Matthew was ready to pull the trigger.
