Covert Danger

by Jo-Ann Carson

  Mischief played in Mitchell’s brown eyes. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

  Her pulse spiked. What now?

  “Tell me about your son. If I’m to take charge of him if anything happens to you, I want to know about him. Hell, I’d like to meet him.”

  Sebastian’s brows rose into a question mark and he grabbed her hand. “A son? Good Lord woman you have a lot of secrets.”

  Oh hell. Here we go. “A year ago I was in Nigeria doing some work for the CIA between photo shoots in South Africa. There was this…” She gulped. She’d never had to describe what happened to anyone. Never had to put it into words outside her head. “ A Shaman was burying a newborn baby boy alive.”

  The silence in the room was deafening.

  “He’d strapped the infant to the body of his mother who’d died giving birth to him. It was a remote part of Africa, cut off by deep rivers, a place where old beliefs lived on. The villagers thought the child caused his mother’s death. They believed him to be evil.

  “His newborn cries grabbed me. Without thinking, I acted. I couldn’t let them bury him alive.

  “I ripped him from his mother’s breast and escaped. Trust me, getting out of an isolated area of the jungle isn’t easy, but I did it. I’ve seen to his care ever since.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “His name is JaJa. It means respected. My life has never been the same since he entered it.”

  “You adopted him?” Sebastian’s voice flowed with understanding.

  “No. I considered it, but it would be too complicated. I’m single and well busy. I wouldn’t know what to do with a baby. I also didn’t want to take him out of his culture, albeit a brutal one. So I placed him with other babies rescued from infanticide, in a home run by Christian missionaries in Abuja, Nigeria’s capitol. They are raising a group of fifteen children with love and understanding. I send money regularly. When the children are older they will be told their stories. The hope of the missionaries is that when they are grown and fully understand forgiveness, they will be reunited with their kin, someday when the old beliefs have faded. The government is trying to educate its people.”

  Sebastian squeezed Sadie’s hand. “Did you kill the shaman?”

  “I wanted to,” Sadie said, a bitter taste flowed into her mouth. “But it’s a backwater place where the old ways still survive, cruel ways. He was only doing what he believed to be right. He believed the baby was evil, and getting rid of him would protect the village. He knew no better.”

  “So you just grabbed the baby?” Mitchell asked his eyes wider than she’d ever seen them.

  Sadie smiled remembering the satisfaction she felt at that moment. “I attacked the grave digger, a tall lean man, first, grabbed his shovel and hit him on the top of the head with it. He went out cold. Then I pushed the Shaman away from the open grave and screamed Latin words at him to sound scary. He ran away. I grabbed Ja Ja in my arms and ran in the opposite direction. No one followed me. They probably thought I was an evil demon. I can only imagine the story the shaman told the village.”

  “So I’m an uncle.” Mitchell’s smile spread across his sculpted face.

  “Yes.” Sadie said, “an honorary uncle.”

  “And what does that make me?” asked Sebastian.

  41

  Chapter Forty-One

  The next day in Washington DC

  After flying around the world chasing truly wicked people, returning to the offices at the CIA always rankled Sadie. She’d never been an office person and the petty politics, paper-pushing and dust of the place put her into a heightened state of agitation. She likened it to an allergy attack. Part of her wished Sebastian was by her side, but she knew she had to deal with this business on her own.

  Right on cue, her stomach became nauseated on the elevator ride up to the seventh floor and a dull throbbing sensation began in her temples the moment she stepped out of it. Normally, she’d shrug off these feelings as part of the price she had to pay for a job she loved. But not today. She felt anything but gracious.

  Sadie’s chest tightened every time she thought about Bakari. She was a devout patriot. Whatever else she might have questioned in her life, she never questioned her allegiance to her country. She believed in America, like others believed in religion. It was the best place on the earth to live. Its constitution ensured basic freedom to everyone. She was proud of her country’s history and accomplishments. Working for the CIA had been an honor and a privilege. She’d been proud to put her high cheekbones and ability to lie to good use.

  But after her encounter with Bakari, fifty shades of doubt clouded her mind. He’d sold arms to people who would put them in the hands of child soldiers. His business was an eye sore to humanity. And yet the CIA had funded him. Her CIA, the only family she’d ever had. Sure, they wouldn’t have been behind everything he did, but he’d made it clear that they’d been good customers.

  Sweet Jesus, she didn’t like hearing that. Sure, she understood that the company had to manipulate the world stage. She knew better than most the delicate situations in some areas of the world required a certain amount of smoke and mirrors. But to use Bakari? Evil Bakari? A shudder ran up her spine as she thought of the severed head of his dead wife. She had more than a few words to say to Jeremiah.

  Dressed in an Italian black business suit, she walked through the cubicles to Jeremiah’s office, her stilettos making a rhythmic clicking sound on the vinyl flooring. She flicked her hair back behind her shoulders and kept a cool all-business expression on her face. People, her people, looked up from their desks, but she gave them head nods and kept walking. She needed to set things right.

  Jeremiah cocked his left eyebrow when she stalked into his office with as much an air of authority as she could gather in this hollowed place. He wore a suit and tie that made him look like the other million men who went to work in the city that day, but his amber eyes studied her like a tiger. “Welcome home Sadie.”

  She frowned and took the seat opposite him.

  “I’m glad you’re safe.”

  She nodded while she ordered the words and emotions jumbled in her mind. How best could she bust his balls?

  “You could have kept in touch.” He steepled his fingers, not letting his eyes flinch.

  “Jeremiah, I trusted you.”

  He looked down at his fingers as if an answer lay there. “As you should. I am your handler.”

  “Then why? Why on God’s green earth did you not tell me everything about Bakari?”

  “Would it have made a difference?” Not a muscle on his clean shaven face had moved to suggest emotion. The man had to be made of stone to not feel the anger wafting off her.

  She looked at his chess board. The pieces had been realigned for a new game. He thought in terms of moves and counter-moves. Maybe, he’d been right. If she’d known, she might not have had the stomach to take the assignment. Bull shit.

  “I had the right to know. You sent me in without a full picture of the man. He wasn’t at all what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?” Jeremiah sat back, his face tense.

  “Evil. Pure evil.”

  He shook his head and pursed his lips for a moment. “I suppose pure evil exists somewhere, but for the most part people are a mixture of good and bad. Bakari has more evil than most. We needed your help to take him down.”

  “You know he wanted the power to heal his daughter.”

  Jeremiah broke their eye-lock, leaned back in his chair and looked out the window. “Yes.”

  What the hell? What else was he hiding? Was this all another charade to keep her in the fold? Every King needs his pawns. “She’s dying of cancer.”

  “Yes.” He looked back at her. His eyes actually softened to a molten orange. “And I can’t blame him for wanting to break a few laws to do something he believes will save her. But we couldn’t let him steal from the museum.”

  “Do we have a right to hold artifacts from ancient Egypt?”

  He tilted h
is head the way he did before he offered a gambit, a sacrificial offering in a chess game. “That’s debatable. Personally I hope that someday, in a better world, we will make replicas of them and send the originals back to their homeland. For now, we keep them safe and people from all around the world are able to share their beauty.”

  “They don’t belong to us.” She’d always known this, but having met Bakari made it even more clear in her mind.

  “How safe are they in Egypt? The looting of artifacts has gone on for centuries and continues today. In fact it’s increased since the 2011 Arab Spring. New archeological sites are being ravaged and old museums ransacked. There’s big money in artifacts. Every day treasures are lost. So is it so wrong to want to protect some?”

  “You make all the good points, but I don’t blame people for hating the west for interfering with their history and heritage. For taking it from them.” She blew out a breath she’d been holding. “Still…” She hesitated.

  “Still what Sadie?”

  She grimaced. “It’s more wrong for Bakari to want to keep the treasures for himself.” Jeremiah’s chess set grabbed her attention for a moment. Everything about this man came down to strategy. Had he anticipated this visit?

  “Right, wrong, the world is more complex than that.”

  “It bothers me that we’ve stolen fragments of their past. We have no right to own Egyptian treasures. I understand our intent is to protect them and share them with the world, but I also understand Bakari’s anger.”

  Jeremiah leaned forward again and steepled his fingers on top of his desk. “Do you think he would take better care of them?”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “No. Bakari doesn’t share. He wants the amulets for personal power.”

  “Did you have sex with him?”

  “No.”

  “It sounds to me like the man got under your skin. I warned you about going too deep into this op.”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Her chest tightened. “Have you found Bakari?”

  Jeremiah looked at the chess pieces and said nothing. His mouth flat lined.

  As silence fell in the room it hit her. Oh-shit. All the lost Lego blocks in her head snapped into place one by one in an instant. She closed her eyes. “I’m such a fool.”

  “You did your job and you did it well. You got the information you were sent in to get and no one was hurt. I’ll recommend you for a commendation.”

  She gritted her teeth. Her people had played her. They sent her to track Bakari and find out the details of his plans. What a fool she’d been to think they wanted to stop him. They had no intention of interfering with him unless he threatened lives. Even then… she wondered. Ancient relics and museums weren’t part of the CIA’s big picture. Keeping their international operations in play was their sole intent, and they needed Bakari for that. Her mission from the start had been more of a cover story than anything else; a pretense of stopping the man. And she’d almost slept with the man. Well, they could stuff their shiny medals up their yahoos.

  Sadie’s mouth tasted bitter. “Rashida?”

  “She’s looking better. But she is a very sick young woman. I don’t know that amulets can do what medicine cannot, but faith has a powerful influence on healing.”

  Okay, maybe she did need to grow up and see the world’s not all black or white, but textured in shades of gray. Maybe she needed to let go of her rigid view of good and evil. She grunted. Damn it all—this ending just didn’t feel right. It fit wrong, wrong, wrong.

  Jeremiah’s jaw hardened.

  They could have read her in, could have respected her, and could have not treated her like a pretty cover girl. Her mind cast back to all the times Jeremiah had told her how much he liked working with her, what a good spy she was… how much the company valued her. Bull shit—all bull shit. Glaring at Jeremiah she rose to her feet. She’d spit, and that might feel good, but that wouldn’t be lady like.

  He cocked both of his eyebrows.

  She leaned over and slowly slid his chessboard into the trash can. Turning and walking to the door she said over her shoulder, “Don’t call me.”

  42

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Cairo

  At midnight, a sealed envelope was delivered to Bakari. The spring air filled Bakari’s room with the smell of lotus flowers. He dismissed the two women he’d had mediocre sex with and sat up in his bed. It seemed nothing could satisfy him. A note? Maybe putting his head into business matters would straighten him out.

  He reached for the glass of scotch sitting on his bedside table and took a sip. Beside it lay the last quarter report of the family business; a compilation of numbers, columns and bottom lines. After the excitement of the last month, none of it held much meaning for him, but he’d been forcing his eyes over the pages to keep himself from thinking about other things.

  And there were a lot of other things to think about.

  But getting mail in the middle of the night grabbed his attention. The first thing he noticed was that the envelope was from someone’s personal stationary, made of expensive paper in an off-white color. On the front there was only his name. He turned it over. The back flap had been secured with a personalized seal of blood red wax. Did people still do that in this century?

  The Eye of Horus sat in the centre of the wax stamp, the ancient Egyptian symbol for protection. The all-seeing eye. As he traced the image with his finger, a tingling sensation flowed into his body. Who would create such an emblem?

  Not wanting to break the seal, he grabbed his switch-blade from his bedside table, opened the side of the envelope and turned it upside down. A folded note smelling faintly of kypher fell out. Carefully, he opened it.

  “Come to me,” it said in Arabic. Just one sentence. Signed Djeserit.

  The high sorceress had never sent for him before. He’d always sent for her.

  The tingling sensation slid into his body and clutched at the base of his skull like the strong claws of a raptor with sharp talons. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He bellowed for his butler.

  ***

  Five hours later he knocked on the cabin door of Djeserit’s houseboat in Amsterdam. Not hearing any response he let himself in. The room smelled of incense and death. He rushed in.

  Djeserit lay on a bunk at the side of the hull wrapped in a gold embossed blanket. Her black hair wet with sweat lay tangled across the white pillow. Her face had little color left in it. But her eyes were still lively.

  “You came.” Her weak voice resonated through him.

  He knelt beside her bed and picked up her hand. “Of course.”

  “I have much to tell you.”

  Bakari pushed strands of hair away from her face. “Let me summon help.”

  “No.”

  “You are suffering.”

  She nodded. “For once Bakari, really listen to me.”

  “You need help.”

  “I have been poisoned and there is no antidote. I should already be dead, but I’ve used all my powers to stay alive to talk to you.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, but the words could only express a fraction of the depth of his feelings. His chest tightened. He hadn’t realized to this moment how much this wise woman meant to him. “I don’t want you to die.” His eyes hardened.

  She gave him a weak smile.

  “Who did this to you? I will have them killed at once.”

  “Our son.”

  “What?” His breath caught in his throat. It was like all the air in his lungs…in the room… had been sucked out. A hurricane of emotions hit him all at once. How the hell could they have a child? He’d never slept with Djeserit. How could this be?

  And yet, she sounded so certain. “A fever is touching your mind,” he said as gently as he could, but even as he said the words, he knew them not to be true.

  “My mind is clear. You must listen. Seventeen years ago I came to you, dressed as a prostitute. I wanted to have your seed, your strength and I got i
t.”

  He’d slept with many prostitutes over the years. His mind scanned back, and the vivid memory came to him in an instant. “The red head in the black mini-skirt in Amsterdam.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  It had been the most unusual sexual experience in his life, but later he had decided it was just because she was a pro and knew things regular women didn’t. Besides they were in Amsterdam a city where sexuality has no limits. He remembered waking in the morning, deeply satisfied, with a raging headache. He told no one, because the details he remembered were… so otherworldly. Shit. That was Djeserit.

  And she’d left him and bore him a son. He’d always wanted a son. “How could you keep this from me?” he said. Shock and anger mixed in his blood.

  Her thin hand covered in blue veins came from beneath the blankets and held his arm. “Calm down Bakari. We have no time left for emotions. There is too much at stake.”

  “A son.”

  “I had hoped he would have your strength and my heart, but children come into this world with their own souls and I fear his is as black as the night.”

  “Are you sure he poisoned you?” Bakari’s body trembled with an anger stronger than any he’d ever experienced. Sweat burst from his pours, his breathing became erratic, his thoughts frantic. He wanted to kill someone. But he could never kill his own flesh and blood. He buried his head in the blanket that covered her.

  “Yes. He told me so.” She stroked his head. “He wants my power, and by killing me he will gain some of it. But not all. I have made sure of that.”

  Bakari lifted his head. “I have so many questions.”

  She held up her hand. “His name is Khalid.”