The Midas Trap

by Sharron McClellan

  “It should.” Rebecca had built it to last, but they’d have to test it. If it didn’t work…she blanched at the thought.

  If it didn’t, there was little to be done besides doing a snatch and grab. “But even with it, it’s a long shot.”

  “I know.” Simon met her apprehension with concerned eyes. A small smile turned his mouth upward. “You can always take Lily and shoot your way to the Eye.”

  He was joking but a huge part of her wished she could do just that. She was always more comfortable with her shotgun at her side, but in this case, that was going to be impossible. “Somehow, I don’t think I could hide her in my skirt.” She managed a small laugh, grateful for the levity. “No, with Michael out there, I think we should stick to the plan.”

  “Okay,” Simon said. “But there’s one more issue I think we need to address.”

  “What?”

  “If something goes wrong.” Simon’s smile died and Veronica gulped a breath of air at the thought. He continued, “We should have a rendezvous point.” He pointed to another spot on the map. “This area is a blind spot. The cameras don’t quite overlap.”

  She followed his finger to a spot on the west side of the house, directly under a main window and behind a row of hedges. “Good idea,” she agreed, wishing she’d thought of it. “We can meet there and wait until either the chaos dies down or, let’s say…” She tried to estimate how long would be safe for either one to wait, but came up with no good time frame so she picked an arbitrary number. If one of them were caught, it wouldn’t help to have the other wait until they were found, as well. “Until ten.”

  “Midnight,” Simon countered.

  Veronica sighed. Did he have to question everything? She shook her head, but shrugged the irritation off since she didn’t plan to be caught, and if Simon were, the last thing she’d want to do would be to abandon him unless she had no other choice. “Midnight then.”

  “Good,” Simon said, but he didn’t look pleased.

  Veronica turned to Nasim. “There’s one more thing. The codex.”

  Simon’s attention veered away from the laptop and back toward her. “What about it?”

  “We can’t take it with us. If we’re caught, have no doubt that Fakhir will confiscate it.”

  Simon’s face darkened but he didn’t disagree. She didn’t like leaving it, either, but there was little choice. Once again, she turned to Nasim. “Will you watch it for us? Keep it safe?”

  He hugged her to his barrel-shaped chest. “Of course. I will treat it like a baby.”

  “Thanks,” she said, relieved. “We’ll also need transportation ready as soon as we come back. The longer we stay in Turkey, the more likely we’ll be caught, and the last place I want to end up in is a Turkish jail.” She shuddered at the thought.

  “It will be dangerous, Veronica,” Nasim replied, seriousness overtaking his normally cheerful features. “Is this Stone worth it? You do not even know if it’s real.”

  She laid her hand on his, deep conviction moving her. “It’s real. I know it.” Finding the Midas Stone was no longer a matter of want. It was a matter of need. The Stone called to her, and she couldn’t resist.

  Nasim dropped the pair off at the hotel late in the evening. The next day crawled by even though Veronica spent most of it practicing her dance and trying to ignore Simon’s heated gaze and occasional comment.

  By the time evening arrived and they had to leave for Fakhir’s mansion, she was more anxious about her performance than stealing the Eye of Artemis.

  Retreating to the bathroom, she skillfully applied her borrowed makeup—kohl to line her eyes, lipstick the color of merlot, gold, glittery shadow on her eyes, and a shimmer lotion on her skin.

  Brushing her hair until it fell softly down her back, she slipped on her red and gold dancer’s costume, and added a crystal bindi to her forehead before slipping on her wrist and ankle bracelets.

  Straightening her posture, she surveyed herself in the small bathroom mirror.

  Even she had to admit she looked good.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and entered the small bedroom where Simon waited.

  “Wow,” he whispered. “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks,” she said, feeling more confident. “You look pretty amazing yourself.”

  Simon was wearing a pair of Nasim’s pants. The cocoa-colored cotton slacks were belted tight around his lean waist. A borrowed, cream-colored tunic set off his tan, and brown leather boots completed the outfit.

  Slipping into her dancer persona, Veronica didn’t bother to hide the fact that she was dressed as a belly dancer as they walked past the night clerk. She even flipped her hair and flashed the startled man a seductive smile. Normally, she’d wear a cover-up, but better if the staff noticed her, then there was less chance that Iamar or Nasim would be implicated in what she and Simon were about to do. They were two crazy Americans acting even stranger than they already were.

  “Did he notice me?” She threw a cape over her shoulders once they cleared the lobby.

  “The only way a man would not notice you is if he were blind or dead, and even that is debatable,” Simon replied, ushering Veronica into a waiting taxi. The white car smelled of cloves and cigarettes, and Elvis blared from the radio.

  Veronica blushed at the compliment. It had been a long time since she’d been in full dancer regalia, and while she knew she made a presentable appearance, it was still nice to hear it confirmed.

  In Turkish, she instructed the driver to take them to Fakhir’s mansion, and to hurry. The small, dark-haired man nodded and simultaneously gunned the car into traffic.

  Silent, she watched what scenery she could in the dimming light of the day. From big cities like Istanbul to the quiet villages, she loved Turkey. She’d spent so much time in the country that it felt like home, or as much like home as anywhere else.

  But it wasn’t the country itself. It was Iamar and Nasim. They trusted her judgment. Supported her despite her somewhat questionable goals.

  Not even her parents could say that.

  Her parents. She sighed. If they knew what she was doing, they would have a conniption. Sure, they’d loved adventure, but usually the low-risk kind reserved to a dig.

  They passed the Blue Mosque. The sun was setting behind it, creating a glow around the edges. “Too bad we can’t take a tour,” Simon said, glancing out the window.

  “Next time,” Veronica replied, orienting her thoughts on the dance. If she didn’t get mentally prepared, there wasn’t going to be a next time.

  By the time they reached the mansion, the sun was down, the stars were out, and they were late. “I should have gone with Iamar and the other dancers,” Veronica said, wringing the edge of her cape as unfamiliar worry crept over her.

  “And leave me behind?” Simon asked, leaning in until his mouth almost touched her ear. “What would you do if something went wrong? Who would guard your back? Another dancer? And what are they going to do? Dance them into submission?”

  His voice was tight with irritation, but she also heard the worry beneath the tone.

  “I can handle myself,” Veronica replied calmly. “You should know that.”

  “I do,” he said. “But we’re partners, and we do this together or not at all.”

  The taxi drove to the heavy iron gates that guarded the mansion and stopped, so Simon was directly in front of the guard. True to the map, cameras were mounted on either side of the entrance and there was a manned guardhouse.

  What the map didn’t show was that the guard that waved them through carried a 9 mm Glock in a shoulder holster.

  “Do you want to go back? Give up?” he asked, his voice low.

  “Not a chance,” Veronica whispered. “Let’s do this.”

  Simon cranked the window down and handed the guard the fake invitation, printed on a heavy cream paper. Simon had made the forgery himself, which didn’t surprise Veronica. Nothing he did surprised her anymore. But the forge
ry wasn’t perfect. She prayed it would hold up if the guard chose to give it an intense scrutiny.

  Another car pulled up behind them. The guard handed the invitation back, told them to go to the back of the house and waved them onward. Veronica’s breath blew out with a whoosh.

  Simon slowed down. “What did he say?”

  She’d forgotten that he didn’t speak Turkish. “Go to the back of the house. All the entertainment must be off-loading there.”

  “Thanks,” Simon replied. Slowly, they drove past the front of the mansion and Veronica tried to spot any potential hazards they didn’t already know about.

  “Wow.” The modern building was impressive from the street, but up close, it was spectacular. Made of stone and glass, quite unusual for the region, it was four stories tall with a recessed entryway out into the middle of it.

  Veronica scouted the layout of the mansion’s grounds as best she could in the growing dark. Strategic lighting illuminated the grounds, but less than she thought there would be. It seemed most of the attention was focused on the entrance and the people who entered the oversize portal.

  With valet parking and people dressed as if they were attending the Oscars, the modern mansion made an interesting juxtaposition to the ancient city of Istanbul.

  There was little time to gawk. The taxi turned the corner and parked, letting them out. Simon handed the driver a few bills and the taxi pulled away, spewing gravel. Iamar was at the back door, waiting.

  Show time. Veronica handed Simon her cloak and they hurried in. With Simon following, Iamar led her through the kitchen and down a hallway, chiding her loudly for her tardiness and informing her that if she were one of her dancers, she’d be fired.

  Veronica protested in Turkish that Iamar was being too harsh, and her mentor, in performance mode, grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Do not talk back to me,” she demanded, her voice harsh but her eyes filled with worry.

  “I apologize.” Veronica dipped her head. “Please forgive me.” For asking this of you.

  “You are forgiven,” Iamar said, tipping Veronica’s chin upward. “I was young once, and not always so patient or proper.”

  Relief rolled through Veronica. Thank you, she mouthed.

  Then they were at the entrance to the dance floor.

  Beyond her was another dancer finishing her performance.

  The ballroom floor served as the stage for the dancer. The rest of the room was dimmed and a small stage light followed the current dancer as she twirled and undulated. Surrounding the dance floor were the guests—a sea of people, dressed in tuxedos and ball gowns, who stood transfixed as the dancer finished her performance and the music faded.

  There was a thunder of applause and the artist bowed, leaving the floor in a flutter of blue and silver silk.

  Quickly, Simon cut away, and skirted the wall behind the guests, making his way towards the Fakhir’s gallery so he could evaluate the situation while everyone was busy watching the dancers.

  Veronica followed him with her eyes, but otherwise made an effort to pay him no more attention than she would anyone else.

  “Make me proud,” Iamar whispered, and pushed Veronica out onto the now dim floor.

  Veronica moved smoothly to the center of the space, head held high, took a deep breath and held it as she centered herself. She cast her attention to the crowd and her pulse lurched. This is just a dance, she reminded herself, calming the butterflies in her stomach. Nothing mattered. Not Simon. Not the Eye. Nothing.

  She took another breath and held it. Just the dance mattered. Only the dance.

  With her veil tucked into her waist, she put her arms above her head, creating a graceful frame for her face. The beginning flute began and the lights rose. Veronica emptied her mind of anything but interpreting the music that strummed through her body.

  Slowly lowering her arms, she stretched them out to the side, undulating them with the classical snakelike move that the entire world seemed familiar with. Keeping up the supple movement, she moved them in front of her as if beckoning the crowd. The main, stronger beat took over. She added a simple hip shimmy and curved her hands away from the audience as she moved toward them and away.

  The music grew, increased in complexity, and the real dance began. Discreetly, Veronica undid the veil tucked in at her hip and shoulder, executing a series of turns, the veil swirling about her like wings, and she was propelled into the music full-force. Arabian beat mixed with South American, driving her onward and filling her with sound until she was oblivious to the audience and there was nothing left but the dance.

  The performance felt as if it ended in a blink, and Veronica found herself kneeling on the floor, head bowed, the veil in a puddle about her and the final chords of the music fading.

  Then the applause began and a rush of energy surged through Veronica. She lifted her head and smiled at the crowd. Her knees shaking from both the dancing and excitement, she rose, bowed and then exited with a wave, her feet pointed as she almost skipped across the room and out the opposite door.

  She slipped through the curtain to find Simon waiting for her. There wasn’t anyone else. The other dancers were either preparing to dance or part of the audience. “Did you see?” she asked, knowing she sounded a tad overexuberant and not caring. The applause was for her. Her!

  “I’ve never seen belly dancing before. Well, in bad B movies, but that’s about it. This was different. Beautiful. You were amazing.” He handed her a towel. There was no sarcasm in his tone, just sincere appreciation.

  The praise warmed her more than the dancing. “Thanks, I was hoping you’d see the beauty of the dance.”

  His gaze skimmed her body. “Oh, I did.”

  Veronica flushed and patted the back of her neck. The heat of more than a hundred bodies had made the ballroom uncomfortably warm. Or was it the way Simon was looking intensely at her?

  “You ready to do more than dance?” Simon asked, admiration gone and suddenly all business.

  She steadied herself. “That’s why we’re here. Did you get a chance to verify the Eye’s location?”

  “Down this hall,” Simon said, nodding toward his left. “I walked down on the pretext of looking for a bathroom and was turned away, but not before I got a glimpse of Fakhir’s personal gallery.”

  “Is there a guard?”

  “One.”

  “And the storage closet?”

  “Before the entrance to the gallery.”

  “Perfect.” She tossed the small towel into a corner, pleased. It seemed that something was finally going their way. “I’ll try to catch Iamar’s attention and let her know we’re going for it.” She peeked back out through the curtain. Two dancers, both with swords, were performing. Quickly, Veronica scanned the entranced crowd, hoping to get Iamar’s attention.

  She didn’t see her and realized her mentor was probably helping the next set of dancers prepare. Veronica started to turn back, and as she did, a spotlight panned over the mass of people.

  It was for a split second, but it was enough for her to make out details. Standing in the front of the throng was a man.

  Blond. Tall. Lean. Familiar.

  Michael.

  “This isn’t good.” Veronica leaned against the wall, sweating, and it was no longer because of the dance.

  “What?” Simon barked, alarmed.

  She bit her lip. “Michael’s out there.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Simon growled.

  “Exactly.” Veronica said, surprised at Simon’s departure from Mr. Enigmatic. She stuck her head back outside the curtain.

  Michael caught her eye, held it and mouthed the words “Hello, Veronica.”

  She ducked back in. “He’s seen me.”

  Simon rolled his eyes. “He saw you dance. It was hard to miss.”

  Veronica’s mind ran through several scenarios, searching for a way to salvage their plan. Now that they knew Michael was here, there was no way they could wait until the party ended. He was h
ere for the Eye of Artemis, as well.

  “I say we do this now,” Simon said, his black brows pinched in an angry frown. “Everyone is busy. We break in, take the Eye, then we get the hell out of here before they know what’s happened.”

  Veronica felt her flesh grow cold. “What about the guard?”

  Simon clenched his hands into fists. “I’ll take care of him.”

  “And get shot?” She glared at him. “Don’t be foolish. I’ll take care of him.”

  “How?” Simon asked, incredulous.

  Men. “I’ll seduce him,” she explained, exasperated. “Get him to take me to the gallery for a more private dance.” She rocked back on her heels waiting for the agreement she knew was coming.

  “Screwing a guard is not an option,” Simon replied.

  Veronica crossed her arms indignantly. “I didn’t say I’d have sex with anyone, and that you can even think that is beyond me,” she said with disgust, surprised that he took the scenario that far. “Is that what you think of me?”

  “Veronica, it’s not that—”

  “You can follow me, and once the alarm system is turned off, we can tie him up, get the Eye and leave before anyone knows the Eye is gone and before Michael shows up.” They were following her plan whether he liked it or not.

  For once, Simon looked sheepish. “I apologize. I wanted to—” his eyes proclaimed his uncertainty “—protect you.”

  Veronica ran a hand through her sweaty, stiff hair feeling like a total bitch. He meant well. She should have known that. It was his nature to protect. She knew that from how he tried to keep her friends safe.

  If she were any other woman, his gesture would be appreciated. But she was Veronica Bright, and the day she let someone else do the tough jobs because she wore a 36C and had ovaries was the day she’d give up her business, stay home and raise a pack of children.

  “Do you really think I need protection?” she asked, her tone softened.

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Then trust me,” she implored him. “Don’t treat me as if I’m an amateur who doesn’t know what she’s doing. I’ve been retrieving artifacts longer than you. Going into situations that were tenuous at best. Dangerous at worst.”