She pulled out her cell and checked the time: 11:59. Still, no sign of that man or any other suspicious looking person. What would a messenger from al-Sharif look like? She kicked at the cigarette butts on the cobble stoned patio. Disgusting, how many got left behind. Where was the bloody messenger?
Her throat dried and her mouth tasted sour. She swallowed but it didn’t help. When had she last eaten? She sat at a chair next to the round stone fountain. She smelled the coffee being served at a nearby table and wished for simpler times. Maybe she’d take a vacation after this op and go back to Africa. She’d love to hold JaJa in her arms again. He may not be her son by blood, but he was the only family she had. The only person other than Mitchell she felt a connection with.
A group of American students walked by laughing, teasing one another about their lousy command of the Dutch language. She made a habit of listening to other people’s conversations, part natural nosiness, part job requirement. Their gentle good humored gibes reminded her of being young and carefree. How quickly things change.
12:02. A car beeped impatience and a tourist fingered another tourist. Cities, too many people in too small a space and everyone in a hurry to be somewhere. Where the hell was her freaking messenger? The uncertainty reminded her of an exchange that went bad in Zurich six months ago. They’d lost a good operative that day. She shook her head. Not the time to think about her.
The messenger was late. That’s all. Her chest tightened.
She reached into her purse and felt for the gun Delilah had given her. It brought her comfort. How weird could her life get? She didn’t usually carry a gun in her purse, because it could easily blow her cover. But it sure felt good right now. This messenger dealt in body parts.
In the many ops she’d completed over the last eight years, she’d only used a gun a handful of times, and then only when necessary. Her job was to gather intel, which usually involved slipping into places and slipping out with secrets. Still, Sadie had been trained to use weapons. She sighed. Shooting a gun would be better than losing a pinky. Anubis and his people played dirty. Dee’s finger came into her mind again, sitting in a pool of crusted blood, smelling of dead meat. Sadie shuddered. She’d nail this bastard.
The cool wind off the North Sea chilled her body. She hadn’t considered the weather when she ran out of her room for the shoot. She looked up at the darkening skies. With her luck it would rain. 12:08. Damn, he was definitely late. Didn’t he have a watch?
The waiter, a square shaped man with a Hercule Poirot mustache dressed in perfectly pressed pinstripe pants and a matching vest appeared. When he lifted an eyebrow in her direction she ordered a café au lait.
Staying relaxed and in the moment during a meet felt like trying to hold on to the trunk of a friggen palm tree in a hurricane. It didn’t matter how many ops she’d been on, her nerves rattled. But the elation at the end made it all worthwhile. Minutes passed slower than the drip out of her old espresso machine.
The waiter nodded and said, “Thank you.”
“Et une kafé verkeert,” said a man’s voice behind her. Oh sweet sweet Jesus. The Dutch hulk had returned. His now all-too-familiar voice grated on her ears like nails sliding down a blackboard. She turned to see Sebastian lope into her space with his long conquering stride. His crystal blue eyes shone like he’d just caught a giant whale by the tail.
“Who the hell invited you?” Her voice came out raspy. This stupid oaf would ruin everything.
“I like the way you kiss.” He folded his giant frame into a chair at her table and gave her a devilish grin. The corner of his sensuous mouth quivered as he appeared to be struggling to contain a smile. Either that or he was an idiot. Her vote was on idiot.
The beast. Heat rose in her cheeks.
The waiter raised his bushy eyebrows and fled.
“Sebastian, I told you to get lost.” She ran a hand through her thick mane of hair.
“There’s something you should know about me.” He reached towards her and softly touched her cheek. “I don’t always do what I’m told.”
“Screw you,” she said. But the warmth of his hand on her cold skin felt yummy. Not fair. Her body liked his, way too much; her female chemistry made her a traitor to her mission. Her hormones went on overload.
“Ow. Such language from a lady-crook.”
“Sebastian, I swear if you don’t leave…” Anger brewed inside her gut like a witch’s stew: half lust and half disgust, peppered with self-loathing. She had to get rid of the guy. Not even an insane criminal with a death wish would approach her with this… this… this Dutch giant of a man at her side. She narrowed her eyes at him.
Catching the sudden motion of a man in the crowd from the corner of her eye, she turned to look, but he’d vanished. Shit. Shit. Shit. She faced Sebastian and growled.
“Glad you don’t have a glass of water yet,” he said.
“Why can’t you leave me alone?”
“Cause, you sweetheart, can lead me to some nasty art dealers.” The tone of disapproval in his voice dug into her. How much did he know?
Time to barter. “Look, if you leave me alone right now. And I mean right now. I’ll meet you later and tell you anything and everything. I promise. I’ll answer all your questions.” She wasn’t sure how she’d get approval to do that, but it didn’t matter at this point. He had to get out of her way. Now.
It would be easier to move a mountain.
***
Sebastian didn’t like the strained look in her eyes, or the lines of tension around them. Desperate people did desperate things. His gut burned. Clearly, the art thieving mob squeezed her. What did they have over her? Maybe, it had something to do with that low-life ex-husband. Seb scanned the crowd, while he made his decision.
“When and where?” he asked. No harm in pretending to agree. He could give her a long leash. Well, as long as she didn’t hang herself with it.
Their coffees arrived.
Her face flushed. “Now, Sebastian. I beg you. Go now.”
He got up, leaned over and kissed her softly on her cheek. Her skin tasted sweet like apricots. “Be careful,” he said. He kissed her other cheek and then the first again, the traditional Dutch kiss for parting. She didn’t pull away. He took his coffee and headed inside the restaurant.
Xander and Seamus would shoot him if they saw how he responded to her. Maybe, he had been letting his dick do the thinking, but he preferred to think he chose his intuition over facts. Yeah-no he didn’t know what that situation was, but for whatever fucked up reason, he trusted her. Was he a fool?
***
Sadie forced a sip of her drink down her throat. 12:20. Had a traffic jam stopped him? She had no idea. He or she probably had a reason. It could be a woman. She shrugged as she watched the snarled traffic.
Thinking about Delilah gave her the heeby-jeebies and she couldn’t not think about her. Where had Anubis stashed her? How much pain was she in? Would he ever free her?
A bicycle bell rang close to her and its small sound felt like a big city siren. Talk about jumpy. Another sip. The velvety coffee flowed smoothly down her throat. 12:30.
A black haired man on a motorcycle came to a stop near where she sat. He lowered his aviator glasses and glared at her with bloodshot eyes. She got up and walked towards him putting her hand into her purse to clutch the amulet. He took a box out of his pocket and put it on the ground. By the time she reached the box, he’d roared back into the traffic.
So much for telling him about the third amulet.
Her spirits hit the cobblestones. The box looked the same as the one she received last night. She opened the lid. The insides were dark with blackened blood and in the center was a thumb. She gulped as her fears pushed from neutral to high gear surging a toxic mix of anger, revulsion and hate through her body. She shivered.
Her cell phone buzzed. A text from an unknown source read: “Lose the jerk-off. Meet me tonight outside Central Station 7 p.m.”
Sadie stumbled
back to her seat. Her whole world crashed around her. Poor Delilah. How long would they keep her alive? How many fingers… The sooner she took down Bakari al-Sharif, the better.
She knocked back the rest of her coffee in a couple mouthfuls. Knickers wanted to fire her. Dee was in danger, or dead. Anubis was severing cutting body parts. Sadie bit her bottom lip. There had to be a way to use the two remaining amulets to meet al-Sharif face to face. She didn’t want to deal with the middleman.
The hardest thing to finesse would be retaining her silly-model image and not letting her seasoned spy side slip.
No one would fault her back home if she pulled out of the mission at this point. Clearly it looked dangerous. She was strictly an intelligence gatherer, not a hit-lady or swat-team type at all. Not even a honey pot like the Mata Hara.
The treasures in the New York City Met Museum of Art were at stake. Besides when Anubis hurt Delilah the op became personal as well.
One step at a time. There’s a way out of all of this. There always is. She motioned for the waiter.
She’d take control of things, one way or another.
***
Watching from inside the restaurant Sebastian saw Sadie bend over to pick up a box off the road. He couldn’t get a good picture of the courier from this distance with his phone, but he got a partial on the license plate. Probably stolen, but he’d run it anyway. He straightened his back. See—he wasn’t just thinking with his dick. Well, at least not all the time.
The box resembled the one in Sadie’s hotel room, the one she didn’t want him looking at. His scalp tingled, the way it did when danger headed his way. Why couldn’t he fall for a nice Dutch girl?
19
Chapter Nineteen
Limping through the narrow cobblestone streets back to her room, Sadie’s mind spun through every fix-it option she could think of, like a wacky filmstrip on speed, but nothing looked right. She had honed her spy craft, and she knew she’d find a way to get her man. But a deep sense of foreboding nipped at the edges of her confidence. Bakari al-Sharif’s violence went beyond anything she’d experienced. She balled her hands feeling sharp nails bite into her skin. She hadn’t lost the war, only the battle.
The steady noise and smells of the chaos and clamor of everyday life in Amsterdam enveloped her. Looking ahead, her first crap shoot would be facing the wrath of Knickers. How could she turn things in her favor? Sweet Jesus that woman was impossible to like.
Could Sebastian help her? The image of the strong Dutch man flickered through her mind. Talk about a sexy wild card. If only she’d met him between ops. He made her laugh—plain and simple. That must be the attraction. He made her feel glad to be alive. And womanly.
And then there was the way he kissed. She touched her lower lip. A flood of tingly excitement coursed through her. Damn it. This wasn’t the time to go twisting sheets with a man. And, she had no right to complicate his life with her mission. Not if she cared about him. Cared about him? Oh Shit.
The sound of pounding on the door broke her thoughts. “Sadie.” Mitchell’s voice boomed through the wood.
As if the hounds of hell were on his heels, he rushed past her into the room when she opened the door.
“Okay, spill it,” he demanded, his hands on his hips.
Spill? What exactly should she spill? Fingers? Overly protective Dutch men with rat connections? Looted art? Sadie cleared her throat. “What do you want to know?”
“Your son. Tell me about him.” Mitch held the muscles in his face so tightly they began to vibrate.
She didn’t want to play twenty questions. “His name is JaJa. He’s safe for now, but I need your help.”
He tilted his head to the right. “Anything.”
“I need you to find a woman by the name of Delilah Sagwaski.”
“Your fence?”
“You know her?” Sadie felt her stomach fall.
“Of her. I’m not stupid. I’ve seen you together and guessed your relationship.” He reached over and gently squeezed her arm. His mouth firmed into a straight line. “Why are you looking for her?”
“You said you wanted to help.” She gave him her no-nonsense look.
“Can’t you just text her?”
“That’s just it; she’s not answering her cell phone.” Sadie hesitated, searching for words, “She may be hurt or something.”
“How hurt?” A shadow of concern clouded his eyes.
“Mitchell, you ask a lot of questions for a friend who said he’d do anything.”
“That was for your baby. Your fence is another matter. You know I don’t like stealing.”
She turned away from him and walked to the large window overlooking the canal. Outside light rain fell, dimpling the surface of the gray flat canal water. She pulled her sweater closer around her body. “Please Mitch.”
“Where would I look?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know where she stays. She should have called me. For all I know she lives in a castle, but I doubt that.”
“She’s the kind of slime that slides out from under a rock when the sun comes out. Probably rents a moldy room down a dark alley,” he said.
Sadie’s mouth twitched. “You’re right. She lives in the shadows and only shows up when she smells money.” Sadie tried to smile, but it didn’t work.
“Why do you think something’s happened to her?”
“It’s complicated, but she should have called me.”
He moved in and wrapped his arms around her. “I’ll ask around,” he whispered into her ear.
His hug gave her strength. She didn’t like to ask anyone for help, but she needed it. And no one in the world was more trustworthy than Mitchell.
“Thank you,” she said, pulling away from him. “Don’t let this get to your head, but sometimes Mitch your friendship is all that keeps me going.”
He tilted his head again, the way it did when he acknowledged how much their friendship meant to him. She loved the way Mitch could communicate so clearly with her. He didn’t need to use words.
He touched her arm. “But I want something from you.”
She waited.
“I want you to sleep. The circles under your eyes are growing. Soon they’ll take over your face, and no amount of makeup will hide them. I’ll tell Knickers we’ll do a second shoot at 3:00.”
She scowled.
“And while you sleep, I promise I’ll look for Delilah.”
As the door closed quietly behind Mitchell, Sadie put on a selection of Bach violin concertos. Then she dug out a face mask to block the light. She had to stop thinking about fingers and Sebastian’s smile…and sleep. All her problems and maybe some answers would be there when she woke up. Slowly she slid away.
And found herself in the Nigerian wilderness. The dense humidity made it hard to breath and the little air she managed to suck in came laced with the fetid smell of the jungle, which hit her like a psychedelic drug. Her vision blurred and became distorted. Sounds of the witch doctor chanting and the villagers’ drums beating filled her ears. The shaman poured a fluid on Jaja’s head marking him for death and picked up the vine to tie him to his dead mother.The smell of death surrounded her. Sadie screamed and woke up.
***
The blisters on Sadie’s feet had grown worse and now exposed raw meat. They screamed as she hobbled along the famous Kalverstraat road and neared the Dam. She ignored the pain, determined to be on time for the shoot. Knicker’s warning echoed in her mind. If she was late one more time, she’d lose her job.
The CIA liked her modeling as a cover, and her supervisors would be disappointed if she lost it. They had assured her they would create another cover if they needed to, but this one worked well, and they wanted her to use it as long as she could.
Her company cell phone rang. While cell phones are never totally secure this one used highly encrypted codes. She stepped into a side alley and leaned into a brick wall. No one appeared interested in her. She swiped her password on the
top of the cell and pressed her thumbprint into a scanner.
“Jeremiah, what the hell?” she said into the speaker when the connection went through. In her mind’s eye she pictured him, the seasoned spy who had done it all and now worked deep inside the company pulling the strings. Women chased him for his body, but she preferred his brain. She enjoyed going for drinks with him and listening to his spy stories.
“You’re not the only one out there,” he said. While his words admonished her, his tone acted like a tonic on her nerves. It felt good to talk to someone she didn’t have to lie to.
“Tell me if I can read Sebastian in. He knows about the looted art. He knows a lot of people in Europe. I think I can depend on him and he could be useful.”
The phone went silent for a minute. “You have feelings for him?”
“No.” She lied.
Silence returned. “I’d prefer you didn’t, unless you absolutely have to. Got your texts. You’re getting closer to Anubis. Hang in.”
“For what?”
“Chatter on the Internet indicates you intrigue him, in more ways than one. He has a picture of you and his people are asking a lot of questions. Give it more time.”
A picture? A chill ran up her spine. “But the fingers?”
“Delilah ran a shady business. A number of people could have cut off her fingers.”
“Could have…”
“Yes, I agree it fits Anubis’s profile, but hold your hand a bit longer. Tease him out with the amulets. Delilah and her fingers aren’t our business. We need to take down Anubis. Remember your target. Stay focused.”
The greater good. That’s what it came down to. It didn’t matter how much collateral damage, how many people were hurt or killed during a mission, as long as they reached their objective. She’d been trained to believe that her job was to execute the plan, not to worry about who would get hurt. She needed to focus.
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