by Gennita Low
For the first time since waking up, John felt in control. Negotiations and exchanges. That was his domain. Zaleiha was part of the H-A-X. “Can you tell me about the pilot that died? The one Kel…my Kaleiha talked to. How did your people find him?”
“The villagers saw the plane come down. Then they found him in a deep…how do you call it…valley? Deep valley?”
“Ravine,” John supplied.
“Ravine. Then they kept him for the Resistance. She showed up not long after. I think she talked to the pilot but I’m not sure.”
Kel had told him she did. “So the Resistance didn’t know the man was dying until they saw him, right?”
She nodded.
“Then Kaleiha showed up and talked to the Resistance and, somehow, you became involved.”
“I was chosen because I can speak good English and I’m not married. It’s hard to get married when you’re smarter than all the men in the village.”
John had to smile. He liked the woman’s directness. “Right. So you get to come with me, then. Did Kaleiha tell you what’s going to happen? Did she prepare you for the journey?”
She gave him an indignant look. “Of course. She was very nice to me and we brokered a deal.”
He cocked a brow. This he wanted to hear. “Oh?”
“If she chose me as the one to go to freedom, I’ve to treat you exactly the way she teaches me.”
John crossed his arms. He wished this wondrous teacher was around at the moment. There were several great ways to treat runaway wives in this culture. “And how are you supposed to treat me?”
Zaleiha backed away, her eyes wary. “Very carefully.”
***
Two hours later, John felt imminently better. He had freshened up by the river, taking in the banter of the other men in the camp.
Up so early already?
The mountain air wears one out, you know.
Can he make it down the mountain, you think?
He wondered what they would have done if they had woken up to find another woman in their tent.
They were all packed and ready to make their way down the mountain trail. Hashem was the only one in his group who knew the woman on the donkey cart, completely veiled now from head to foot, was not the same woman he had married.
The leader of the visiting group, Ahmin, had a twinkle in his eye when he shook hands with his new ‘brother.’ “I trust you are pleased with your woman.”
John lifted a brow sardonically. “I don’t have any complaints.”
“We are happy too. We needed the supplies you gave us.”
They climbed onto their horses, trotting side-by-side with him for part of the way to show respect. John studied Ahmin, who looked like a regular tribesman until he spoke in that New York accent. He wore an expensive wristwatch and gave the impression of being well-traveled, answering a few questions about other parts of the United States with a small smile, as if he knew he was being probed. John wondered at the circumstances that made an obviously Westernized, educated man decide to go to war. But it was none of his business. His job had always been only as the go-between, making sensitive, unsavory exchanges governments didn’t wish to be publicly known.
Lately, however, he had some questions he knew could get him into trouble. Little things about the last four or five operations had bothered him. Like this one. With the dead pilot and the obvious fact that an expensive wreckage lay abandoned in these mountains but wasn’t, somehow, considered important. That was too weird. Technology like the new Sphinx would make for some serious exchange-negotiations. So, how come the Temple still wanted to extract a dying pilot? And when they couldn’t, why did they send a courier? And to retrieve what?
As if reading his mind, the other man turned to him and said, in a low tone, “She is something special. If she weren’t so old, I’d have married her myself. She refused, though. She’s a tough negotiator. Wanted more than farm animals. She told me she intended to see the Taj Mahal. I hope you can afford such a wife.” Again, rich amusement rumbled through his voice, as if he was in on some secret.
John gave a slow smile. A test was a test, after all. The man wanted to see exactly how much John knew about the dead pilot situation. Kel didn’t really leave him totally in the dark; they did talk some during dinner.
“We Westerners have something called a honeymoon. She mentioned Agra last night.”
“So, we may meet again.”
Interesting. Had Kel set a date to meet up with this man? John shrugged. “If it’s important enough, I’ll be there,” he replied.
“Good-bye, then, John Dallas,” Ahmin said. “I do miss the United States, you know. New York pizza, nothing like it. And, of course, meeting with married women is unheard of here. I look forward to doing business with your wife. She promised me a good pizza dinner.”
John cocked his head. “In Agra? There isn’t any real New York pizza there.”
Ahmin gave a soft laugh. “I’m sure she’ll tell me the next time I see her.”
A message. Kel was going to pass on more than food between this man and someone in Agra. And maybe elsewhere. How many times had Ahmin and Kel met? Damn it, how well did they know each other?
They parted company, moving in opposite directions. It killed John not to be able to pull the man off his horse to ask him exactly when and how he was meeting Kel Grant. Kel Dallas, he corrected grimly. Oh, the journey downhill would provide ample time for him to think out a plan.
First, he would reassemble all the information Kel had given him last night. Then he would piece it together with what he’d found out through Zaleiha and Ahmin. Lastly, he was going to give his wife a hell of a surprise.
Pizza dinner, right?
Would she really mutter “I divorce you” three times like she claimed in the letter? John gripped his horse’s reins tightly as he motioned for the men to start moving out. Did she think she could just up and walk away like she did all those years ago? Did she think he’d be satisfied with a quickie Arab divorce, especially now he had her in his arms again? What was he, some sort of a one-night stand before heading off to a date with a pizza-loving, gun-toting, New York tribal lord?
The more he thought about that last question, the more incensed he became. He needed the information she’d retrieved. There was something going down at the Temple and he intended to find out what. It was important enough to draw Kel out to see him again. His eyes narrowed. Unless, of course, that move was just meant to distract him.
So many missing pieces. He hated it. He wanted to know everything about Kel Grant…Kel Dallas, he muttered under his breath. She wasn’t divorcing him until he was damn well ready.
***
It wasn’t easy leaving her warm sleeping man in bed. Kel closed her eyes, picturing John asleep, one arm flung over his head, the other holding her hand as if taking her for a walk in his dreams. His mouth had been slightly open, and she’d placed a soft kiss on his lips before leaving.
A night of loving had left her wanting more and her heart screamed at the unfairness of it all. She sighed. What heart? She’d already left it with John Dallas a long time ago, little did the stubborn man know. In many ways he was still the same man she left—damned good at figuring people out; lousy when it came to dissecting his own emotions. Somehow, she confused him. She could see it in the way he constantly fought himself. As an opponent, she could take advantage of this so easily, but as the woman who loved him, she wanted him to be very sure about her. She certainly didn’t want him to think she forced him into anything. It wasn’t her way.
Of course, she imagined at that moment he probably wasn’t confused at all. In fact, he was probably trying very hard not to roar like an injured bear. Poor baby. Kel grinned. He was always such a sore loser. The mild sedative she gave him was just enough to stop his determination to ask too many questions. His motor skills, she recalled in amusement, were functioning just fine. Eyes closed, she crossed her legs as heated images of their time together flooded h
er mind.
Peeling the underwear from her half-inebriated man was the most erotic thing she’d done in a long time. John Dallas totally in her power. Oh my. And totally responsive, calling her name in that demanding tone, even with his brain addled. Take me, Kel, he’d whispered. Her heart thrilled at those words.
Every inch of his magnificent body was committed to memory. She’d touched him.
Stroked him. Kissed him. Tasted him. And he’d done the same to her.
She quivered as if his hands were caressing her again. The way they moved up her inner thighs. The way he massaged the sensitive area at the top. Then his thumbs moved inward and parted her like a curtain. The growl he gave had her near orgasm, and when he touched her, she’d almost screamed.
He’d explored her like a blind man, slowly and deliberately. Well, the drug gave the effect of pleasant drunkenness, so he probably hadn’t been able to focus. Which was what she wanted, she thought, opening her eyes at last. She hadn’t wanted him to see too closely, otherwise he’d question things—like her tattoo. She’d just wanted him to touch her.
Damn, she didn’t want to think about that right now. She was lonely and missed Dallas.
She hadn’t allowed herself to indulge in Dallas-fantasies too often. It made the loneliness even worse afterwards. But this memory was so good. The man was definitely talented in bed, even half-conscious.
She frowned at the twinge of guilt again. Oh, stop. He wouldn’t have let her leave on her own and Kel was glad to be away from the traditional confines of the mountain people. To pretend to be subservient 24/7 was no easy feat. She was used to working alone but that wasn’t possible in a culture that disapproved of their women getting attention of any kind. In some ways, it’d worked to her advantage; she could move among men without being noticed. Who would have suspected a woman courier? So after the Sphinx’s crash she’d managed to slip past the guards and those who patrolled the villages.
John wouldn’t have understood. And he’d have definitely insisted on knowing why his presence was needed at all, when the pilot was already dead. His guess that the pilot’s message was more important than the aircraft was too close to the truth. Her instructions from HQ had been specific. The message was only for the King’s ears. Nobody else.
Once she’d reached the meeting point, changed clothes, and flew across the border to New Delhi, India, she was back in the hustle and bustle of Asian culture, with its open markets and noisy, haphazard traffic, the intense mix of modern industry and ancient temples. Here, after a quick conversation with HQ through a secured line, she became a tourist, constantly hounded by beggars when she ventured out onto the streets.
In this heat, at least, there was air-conditioning in the hotels. And she was glad to have escaped the suffocating head-to-foot burqa. And yes, there was food. Her burp was loud and unladylike as she leaned back from the room service trolley. God, it was wonderful to eat good food again. She had been constantly hungry up in the mountains, restricted by custom and the constant company of other women. The power bars she’d hidden in the folds of her garment tasted like sweaty cardboard after a while. She made a face at the memory.
Indian food had her vote for sure. She looked at the dishes before her. Biryani rice with chicken. Kebabs. Beef baked in clay pots. A culture could be studied by the food its people ate—she popped a piece of the kebab into her mouth—and Indian culture was unapologetically spicy and overdone. She liked it.
The hum of the fax machine by her bed caught her attention, and wiping her hands on the tablecloth, she stood up to check the message. Her new instructions.
She read it twice. Interesting. She’d thought it was going to be a simple meeting with Ahmin in Agra, the historic city, four hours away. That was another thing John wouldn’t understand, she thought. The fact that she was meeting the man again after the exchange. Ahmin wanted an audience with the person in charge of this H-A-X. He, like so many in her business, was more than he seemed. In real life, Ahmin was a commando of a top secret US outfit at Command Center, and he certainly knew how to use his very diverse bloodline for his own interests. The few times she’d dealt with him, she’d found him a man very different from the one he portrayed while with “his” people.
Kel scratched her nose as she contemplated the coming meeting. She had a feeling many things were going to happen in Agra. She’d better figure out how to handle them all.
***
“You look different in T-shirt and jeans,” Zaleiha commented.
John looked up from the file he was studying. After several dusty days down the mountain trail, they’d finally reached their destination, where they were given papers and changes of clothes. It was the usual drill—bribes, phone calls, more bribes at the checkpoint, and the liaison at the waiting place—but for Zaleiha, it’d been an eye-opener. She’d pulled a dress out of the small suitcase that had been given to her and held it up to her body, exclaiming at how clever Kel was to know the correct size. Then, she’d taken a look at slender pumps included in the case and had fallen in love.
John grinned at the memory. It was funny watching a woman drool over footwear. He’d seen Kel with the same look in her eyes when she shopped for shoes, so he recognized the reaction immediately. Women and shoes. He shook his head. Why there must be three pairs for each outfit was a mystery to him.
“You look different too,” he told Zaleiha, who stood at the door of the office. Without those confining clothes, he saw that she was thinner than he’d thought. Her dark hair was traditionally pulled back under a scarf. Her almond-shaped eyes didn’t meet his. She was shy, he realized belatedly. He scratched the back of his neck. Hell, he had no knowledge of how to treat shy women. “Umm…come on in. Let me look at you properly.”
She obediently walked into the room, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, like a model. “Do you think where I am going, I can buy more shoes?” she asked.
John frowned. “Why, don’t you like the three pairs you have?”
“Oh, yes! But Kel said I have to buy another outfit, a nice one, for dinner dates. And I’d need more shoes for that.” She bit her lip. “Taller shoes, she said, I think.”
“Ah…high heels,” John told her, then shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t believe that he’d been assigned the role of professor Higgins to Eliza Doolittle here. High heels and evening gowns, indeed. His frown deepened. “You’re not thinking I’ll be taking you out to dinner, are you? I won’t be around once the next liaison arrives. He or she will take care of you.”
“Of course not. You’re a married man!” Zaleiha exclaimed in shock. “When I go out to dinner with a man, it will be with an available one. Kel said to look for the right kind.”
‘Kel said’, ‘Kel said’. John felt his temper rising again. “Kel seems to have spent a lot of time with you.”
Zaleiha nodded. “She asked me many questions, said she wanted to make sure this was the right step for me. She didn’t want me to feel out of place, alone and unwanted.”
Something glowed inside him, hearing about Kel’s concern for a stranger. She very seldom showed this soft side of herself, and he’d forgotten how it made him feel whenever he caught her doing the unexpected things that had nothing to do with The Temple or her job. When he was asked to profile Kel as part of her trainee evaluation, it was the first thing he’d noticed about her. She was very protective of people she cared about.
“Tell me, Zaleiha, how did Kel explain the situation to you? Did you have any idea then who she was and what was happening?”
“Well, I kind of understood some kind of exchange was going to take place. The Resistance likes to do that—trade things with different people. That’s how we all survive. Kel told me that she works for a group which specializes in brokering deals between agencies.”
Zaleiha frowned, trying to work it out in words. “It’s complicated, but she put it in the simplest way, and now I’ve forgotten how exactly. It has something to do with the war game, ch
eckers.”
“Chess,” corrected John. “Go on, try to remember exactly how Kel explained it.”
“Ummm…something about her job as moving the pieces in the game to make sure the right pieces…the right moves? No, the right pieces…make the right move.” Zaleiha shrugged. “I understood it when she said it but not anymore, I’m sorry. She told me about you too, that your job was more active because you were the negotiator, while she is more like a messenger, with special powers.”
Kel’s explanation was important to John because it told him what she had in mind and how she was playing this particular game. As a negotiator for the Temple, he’d had to set up a dummy corporation as a cover. The parties involved never really knew who they were buying from or exchanging with; usually, they were more than happy with the money and the terms. And if they happened to be inquisitive enough to search deeper, they would just come up with Knights Inc., the dummy front, a company that specialized in treasure hunts. His own group of “knights” were hand-picked by him. He trusted them.
What Kel said to Zaleiha wasn’t too far from the truth. He was a negotiator and she was a courier, a messenger. Simple as that. Who they worked for was a little more complicated to clarify. The game wasn’t for everyone. Its participants were very selective.
He shuffled through the papers in the folder as he analyzed what he’d found out in the last few days. The thing was, what was he suppose to be negotiating for? And what message did Kel get from the pilot? Usually, all the details were given to him to ensure his success, but lately, it seemed as if someone up there wanted him to fail. This wasn’t the first time that he’d conducted business that seemed to have nothing worthwhile in return. He frowned. What was so important about a damned message?
“What are you reading?” Zaleiha interrupted his thoughts.