She wound their hands together and said, clearly, “Make love to me, Krivi. Make love to me tonight.”
He looked deep into her eyes as he slipped into her, sure of his welcome and her warmth, as they both enclosed him, surrounded him and made him feel whole. Complete in ways that he had forgotten existed.
And he made love to her as the year passed from the old into the new, as the time came closer for her to leave him and face the real world.
Alone.
But not alone, because he knew now with savage certainty that he would never let anything happen to her. Not if he could prevent it, and not even then.
And Ziya slept, replete and exhausted in her lover’s arms, secure in the knowledge that for tonight, this one night of the New Year and the old, she had been loved.
Forty-Two
Ziya had had no particular God while growing up. They were all one and the same to her, because she had grown up all alone and having to fend for herself. But with her first glimpse of the soaring red stupas of Potala Palace from the plane window, Ziya fell in love.
With traveling and looking at new places, new cuisine, waking up in a strange city and finding something extraordinary and simple to love over there. She was the consummate tourist, because she knew exactly what to sight see.
She spent New Year’s Day in transit with T soldier-type bodyguard in plainclothes who didn’t speak one word to her the whole of their plane journey.
Ziya dozed intermittently and looked out the window in her armored Mercedes with driver, missing Krivi already, although she knew he was in a vehicle a couple of car-lengths behind her. He was leading Bravo Company, the communications unit.
Harold was going ahead to the private warehouse and setting things up there for the armed assault, coordinating with the local authorities and trying to get all the red tape cleared in case of the situation going FUBAR. Local authorities always had their noses out of joint when an op like this went down, because everyone wanted credit, face time, and promotions, in that order.
And, in most cases, it wasn’t possible to appease everyone’s egos.
Harold was as good at appeasing egos as he was at planning ops that went without many serious hitches. Even though this was his most massive operation, involving several years of careful planning, cultivation of assets. And the idea of The Woodpecker slipping through their fingers this time was not just unthinkable, but impossible.
One way or the other, Harold Wozniacki was determined to get credit and the man.
He didn’t want face time with the media because his organization didn’t run to such things, covert being the River House watchword, but there was the slightest chance of the director of operations retiring in the next five years and Harold wanted a desk job, very badly.
He was tired of traveling.
He had told Ziya so in the conversation they’d had that morning.
~~~~~~~
She thought about that conversation more than she did her goodbye kiss with Krivi, which had been just like all the other kisses they had shared on the last night. Soft and desperate and needy and consuming.
With a small, pleased smile she remembered how he had turned to her over and over again, waking her up from the dazed doze she would slip into, kissing her shoulders, her neck, her back as he aroused her with skillful fingers and a tender mouth… loved her as if there was no tomorrow, even though daylight was just hours away.
No one had hands like Krivi Iyer, she thought dreamily.
But, it wasn’t Krivi’s hands she remembered now, on this journey that would take her right into the heartland of terror, but his boss.
Harold had offered to walk her out of the base. It was a half a kilometer walk at early dawn, and only because it was Harold had Krivi agreed to say his goodbyes early, because he needed to prep the communications team and have them be ready to depart too.
Krivi had reluctantly figured out that he couldn’t be Ziya’s protector and lover and be the team leader for Bravo Company. And he didn’t like it one bit.
Ziya had given him one last, lingering look as she had left the hut that had been home for the last two weeks. Where she had learnt to become a good soldier, and one of the first things she had learned about being a soldier was to obey.
Blindly and without prejudice.
It went against her arguing analytical brain to plainly obey without question and this was exactly what Harold wanted to talk to her about, as it turned out.
He had smiled with sentimental affection at his protégé who was watching Ziya walk into total danger with a single-minded occupation he had never before seen him display toward anyone else.
Ziya had only felt the heat and strength of his gaze at her back for the longest time, and had resisted turning back over and over again to see if he was still there.
“Krivi is different with you,” he’d remarked.
Ziya smiled. “Yeah, I know. He has to teach me the simplest things that any other female agent would automatically know. I think exasperated patience is the word you’re looking for.”
“No.” Harold shook his head. “It’s more. It is patience of a sort, but it is also hunger. He watches you. Like a hawk, every single minute you are in his presence, he watches you. It’s disturbing.”
Ziya gave a weak sort of chuckle as her stomach plummeted at the simple words. “Why is it disturbing?”
Harold shrugged.
“Men like Krivi are not built for caring, Ziya. They are soldiers, no, they are warriors. Warrior knights. They live alone. They work alone. They operate alone. With Gemma…”
At her sidelong glance, he continued doggedly. “With Gemma it was different, it was a lot more casual than it is with you. Even though he was with her for about five years.”
Ziya kept her jaw from dropping with effort.
Five years? They’d had an affair for five years without getting caught? He really was the consummate spy. And the husband must have been the most clueless man alive.
“They thought they were being clever.” Harold addressed her unspoken question, “Being careful, but Joe knew. Joe knew something was going on. But Joe was not a cynic, he was a good guy. A genuinely good man who suspected the worst but expected only the best from others and himself. He was a good agent, but he wasn’t in love with the job.”
“I see.” Ziya didn’t know what else to say.
Harold nodded. “If he had been a better agent, been more vigilant, less in love with life and his wife, who knows…he might have escaped alive.” He gave a slight shrug of broad shoulders, as if throwing away the ‘what ifs’ and bad memories.
“Krivi is an exceptional soldier. He is very good at his job, but that makes him a terrible risk as a human being. You saw what he did to Pedro.”
Ziya nodded, as she tried to divine exactly where Harold was going with this conversation. She could see no helpful direction where this talk could lead. Unless Harold was warning her off Krivi, which being the smart man he was, Harold would know was a futile endeavor.
“Harold, I—"
“Ziya, he cares about you,” Harold interrupted her. “Krivi Iyer is not a man who cares lightly or at all. But he cares about you. Which means, that the focus and concentration that he brings to his job is now divided; it goes to you too. In fact, I am pretty accurate in saying; you are all he cares about right now. More than the mission, and the only reason he is interested in this mission at all is because then you could get your life back and he wants that for you.”
“I—" Her head was reeling again.
She had never thought of it that way. Never thought of Krivi fighting the good fight for any other reason than that it was good. It was right; it was his duty and his job.
“So, you know what it means.” He touched her shoulder in an avuncular gesture. “Caring in our line of work means career suicide. And, it could be fatal, if he doesn’t watch out. So, for the love of all god, listen to me when I say this. Obey us; obey us every time we say something. Anyt
hing, Ziya. Keep yourself safe. Please do that. Because if something happened to you…” His calm blue eyes went bleak.
Now, Ziya touched Harold’s shoulder in a gesture of support and understanding.
“I like living too, Harold. I plan on living a long and healthy and happy life if I can manage it.”
Relief lightened his grave features in the early morning light as he kissed her on both cheeks and said, “Happy New Year, Ziya. You’re a rare breed of woman. Brave and courageous and lovely, despite it all. Krivi would not be the only one sorry to see you get hurt, love.”
Ziya returned the gesture and said, softly, “Happy New Year, Harold. And take care of him, will you? If in case…just take care of him, okay? I don’t want him to grieve for me like he does for her.”
Harold touched her cheek and smiled softly and with gratitude at her.
“Oh, sweetheart, don’t you know? He doesn’t grieve anymore. You gave him back his heart and the ponce doesn’t even know it.”
Ziya smiled and waved goodbye, because they had arrived at the hangar where the bodyguard and the driver were waiting for her, military-erect.
But now, she thought about his statement, as the car ate up the miles smoothly between safety and the unknown. Between Krivi and the Potala Palace in Lhasa.
And the thought was: I didn’t give him back his heart, Harold. I gave him mine.
Ziya went to sleep, because she really was tired and she doubted that she would get a decent night’s sleep without Krivi to hold her all through the night, like he had for all these nights.
~~~~~~
Ziya did the tourist shtick.
She went to the Palace, took a million pictures, went to the Norbulingka Institute, both of which were a short, armored car ride away, took a million more pictures, roamed the streets in her shorts and tee shirt tied at the waist combo, and everywhere she looked she only found New Year’s revelers and cheer. They were happy, singing and dancing and generally welcoming the New Year with a song in their hearts.
At the appointed time, she met her good friend the Vice President and he gently hit on her, commenting on her newly developed buffness and the fact that she looked younger now, than she had five years ago. She looked…relaxed.
Ziya laughed and brushed off his compliments as malarkey and probed for job openings at the old firm.
Jack Hagen was gentle but firm in his refusal of the company’s hiring policy. Especially, someone with Ziya’s qualification, talent and experience. With the economy being what it was, taking on someone with her know-how would mean a considerable increase in the pay packet which the company could not afford right now.
Even though Ziya was a gem, a thorough professional.
They drank to that, to a couple more things and Jack offered to take her out for dinner.
She refused, citing general tiredness and promised to meet him for more drinks the next day, to catch up some more.
Hagen got a chaste peck on the cheek and was sent off on his way.
Ziya looked back at the two agents who were standing at exactly fifty feet away. She thought, they were Krivi’s men, she just couldn’t be sure. They looked like tourists, and had the Lonely Planet guide to prove it.
But maybe, she had learnt to be more alert and cautious…she thought that the bulge in the guy’s jacket was because he was packing and not a camera cover. She wasn’t sure.
In any event, she was bone-tired after her meeting and the constant roaming over the city that she had indulged in the whole day.
So, she went up to her luxurious room, undressed, took a relaxing bath in the bathtub provided in the nice hotel and ordered up dinner for one. Shredded chicken in the sauce of the day and Hunan noodles.
Then, she lounged in the bath, because the hut in General Michealson’s compound did not run to such luxuries as a bathtub and, therefore, she had had to make do with showers on a stingy shower spray and no loofah. It was heaven to just be a girly girl and indulge all of her senses and let go of all the tensions riding her shoulders like the weight of the world.
The weight would be back the minute she stepped out of the bath, but for now, it was nice to just…dream.
And in the dream, he was there.
Her shadow man.
Krivi.
With his hard eyes and unforgiving face, his rough hands and rougher passion, who spoke of need and loss in the same breath and took her breath away.
Krivi, with blood on his hands and so much love she doubted he knew he had it in him to love someone deeply and completely.
In the dream, they were together.
No shadows, no deaths…just life.
Just the two of them. They were a regular couple, in as much as a man like Krivi could be a regular man, and they traveled to all the different places around the world, and they made their home with each other. There were kids, plural, after some years and the kids also understood the loss and the price you had to pay for being alive in this world.
And they loved all the better for it.
In the dream, she loved him for all their lives…
And he loved her back.
So, Ziya lolled in her bath and dreamed some more. Because, sometimes you needed the dream to make it through reality.
Reality was that she was alone in a hotel room in a strange city, with six armed and trained agents for company and protection. And she was afraid to sleep without a man who killed, and killed well, for a living.
As she showered, and got rid of the rose scented bath oil she had poured for herself from the complimentary bath kit the hotel had so thoughtfully provided, she reflected on the fact that she could have picked someone nice and safe and handsome like the Jack Hagen, VP, to fall in love with and she would have been content. But, no, her heart had gone for the other end of the spectrum, someone crude and taciturn and dangerous.
Next time, she would pick the nice and safe and handsome.
And if that didn’t make one believe in New Year’s resolutions, Ziya thought with a sudden burst of humor, she didn’t know what did.
Her dinner arrived with a knock on the door and so she went to sign the tab and get on with the rest of the night.
Her exhaustion was catching up with her all of sudden and she wanted nothing more than a hot meal and a warm bed.
Forty-Three
Krivi had had a very trying day.
First, he had barely gotten any sleep the past couple of nights, traveling and setting up in Lhasa. But he suspected it was more…it was her…desire and need for her… a fever in his blood that refused to cool down all through the last night they had together.
He had reached for her again and again, needing to establish the bonds of flesh that could bind her to him, physically and spiritually, as if having his scent, his mark on her body could somehow keep her safe from what was to come.
As if holding her for one night, every night, had given her some sort of claim over him too.
As if there was no Krivi without Ziya anymore.
Which was utter and base nonsense, because there was no Krivi and Ziya. They were not together. They were not a couple, had not even gone out for one damn meal together out in the real world, which was probably a deal breaker in the relationship playbook somewhere. Ergo, they weren’t a couple.
They were lovers. That was undeniable.
But, being lovers were not the same thing as being loved and he was the first to make the distinction.
But, she was in love with him, his brain reminded him, as it was so often wont to. That meant that they were romantically involved. And he missed her. Since the second she left his side to walk with Harold to the outside world, he missed her with a virulence he couldn’t believe himself capable of.
It only got worse as the next days passed.
As he led the communications team on their military ops flight to Tibet and then into the little comm-van. The van, outfitted for satellite uplink and downlink to keep track of the GPS on Ziya, and a couple of other things
that meant they could hack into anyone’s cell phone as long as their WiFi was turned on, and the rotation already creating squabbles amongst the men, rode behind Alpha Company, tailing the car she was in, right this minute.
He wondered how she was doing.
If she was okay with traveling by herself, because, since the explosion he had made sure not to leave her alone anywhere for more than a couple of hours. He had been afraid she would fall to pieces at any time and he wouldn’t be there to protect her. Pick up the fallen pieces and put them together.
It surprised him that he had wanted to do so at all. And alarmed him that she hadn’t so far.
After the ride, she had checked into the hotel. They had parked the van at a discreet distance so that they would blend in with the other parked cars on the street. She had come out again wearing jeans, boots and a Sherpa jacket cinched around her slim waist.
He had been violently jealous of every passerby who had given her even a passing glance.
She was hot and beautiful and the consummate tourist and hot-blooded men were only interested in flirting with a “Tummo”, a hot, fierce woman who came in their line of vision. He was even jealous with the way the three men on rotation were ogling the screen that gave them sat-images of the GPS chip.
He, Krivi decided sourly, was losing his frigging mind.
And he resolved to keep his cool and not lose his head over a damn woman, even if the woman was Ziya. Amazing, beautiful, messed-up, warrior-like Ziya.
Ziya, who was nothing like Gemma, who had been as shallow and selfish as he had been, back then.
But, things only got worse when she met the Hagen bloke for drinks at the Tibet Hotel.
That man had hugged her for three seconds too long than was proper and the satellite camera did not reproduce images in hi-def, but Krivi was pretty sure he had tried to feel her up. They had cloned the dude’s phone when he had walked into the bar, so audio was pretty damn clear.
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