As Sam walked into The Foyer, she allowed herself the rare sentimentality of recalling how elegant her father had looked in his business suit when he’d brought her here, and how surreal it’d felt to eat those dainty treats in a taffeta dress and patent leather Mary Jane’s he’d bought her at Selfridges on Oxford Street. It was the first time she’d ever sensed the duality of her life, the first time she could recall how it felt to pass seamlessly through the membrane that separated the haven of the ranch and the world beyond. It was also the first time she’d discovered her own restlessness, her curiosity running wild as she experienced London, astonished at the range of experiences she’d never realized existed to her.
As Samantha stepped into the grand art deco restaurant, she spotted Avi Oded immediately. True to Rox’s description, he was a good-looking devil. Dressed impeccably in a dark three-piece suit, his piercing gaze finding and catching hers across the room like a bird of prey. He stood slowly, watching her with an alert look as she crossed the room toward the corner table he’d selected. Despite the intensity of his gaze, there was a certain lushness about him. Perhaps it was the fullness of his lips, his smooth, caramel complexion, or just the way he seemed to take her in with total absorption. As he waited for her to reach him, the whole room seemed to be aware of the effect of this striking, unusual man.
Avi clasped her extended hand, smoothly drawing her closer as he leaned in toward her.
“What a pleasant surprise,” he murmured, kissing her smoothly on both cheeks, his accent only slightly, exotically tinged. “You’re even lovelier than I imagined, Ms. Wyatt.”
She could see how Avi might be a lady killer. His voice was as silky as the sheets she visualized him reveling in.
“I guess that depends on how good your imagination is,” Sam replied lightly.
“I have an excellent imagination,” he told her with a confident look as he pulled out her seat. “And it’s vivid,” he added with the whisper of a smile.
“I’ll take your word for it,” she replied. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you too, Mr. Oded.”
“Avi, please,” he corrected, taking his seat. “If I may call you Samantha?”
“Certainly,” she acquiesced.
As the waiter brought their tea set of opulent delicacies with fine porcelain teacups of her favorite Darjeeling, Samantha raised a brow. He’d miraculously selected everything she would have ordered. All her favorites.
“Apparently, you’re not surprised to see me at all,” she remarked, pointedly glancing back at their tea service.
Avi’s returning smile was answer enough.
“How did you know it was me coming instead of Ian McCall, the head of my London office?” Sam asked as she selected a scone. “And how did you know what I like?”
“I wouldn’t be very good at reconnaissance if I didn’t know what my future boss liked,” he answered smoothly.
“I’m your future boss, am I?”
“Isn’t that why we’re here?” Avi replied. “We can dance around the subject if you prefer, but it’s my understanding you’re more the get-to-the-point type.”
Samantha bit into the scone, sighing a little at the taste. “Lovely.”
“Yes, you are,” Avi responded, his eyes appreciative.
“Let’s dispense with the flattery, Avi,” Sam replied casually, sipping her tea. “You know I’m impressed with you, or I wouldn’t be here. You have yet to answer how you knew I was going to meet you instead of my London head.”
“If Ian McCall wanted a meeting with me, he would have arranged to have it at his office or at his posh social club, to impress me and to assert his authority. Claridge’s is an elegant, feminine choice,” Avi pointed out. “Your personal assistant set up the meeting, not his, and as for the order—” he shrugged lightly. “I happen to know that the concierge here keeps detailed records of the preferences of his top clientele. Of course he’d remember you.”
“That’s a nice trick,” she observed. “Now are you going to ask why I wanted to meet with you personally?”
“Because you want to know why I quit the good thing I had going at Leviathan?” he guessed, sipping his tea.
“Not quite,” she smiled.
“You want to know why I’d like to work with you and Carey Nelson at Lennox Chase instead.”
Samantha shook her head with a small smile, glancing around the room as she sipped her tea. “I guess I could ask you the obvious questions, but I’m really more interested in why a Mossad agent would join Leviathan as a front?”
Sam could tell she’d upended his strategy, tossing the apple cart when he’d expected to wile away an hour or so with her, gathering information while he distracted and fêted, smooth operator that he was. But there was something she couldn’t quite put her finger on when she observed his reaction to her balls-out, blatant questioning.
Perhaps it was the combined effect of dozens of subtle facial movements, or the dissonance between his polished demeanor and what she suspected was lying underneath, but Samantha could see him trying to decide whether to come clean or keep up the pretense. She watched him decide she was worth trusting with at least some of the truth as he moved to pour them both more tea.
“You are direct,” he responded admiringly.
“I figure the Israeli in you will appreciate the Texan in me,” she replied with a shrug.
“What makes you think I’m a Mossad agent?” he asked idly, casually resting his arm against the back of his chair.
“I’ve seen your résumé,” Sam answered. “You’re no regular soldier, special forces or otherwise. And it’s in your eyes, Avi—they give you away.”
“Really?” he asked with an arched brow. “How so?”
“You’re watching the older gentleman to my left reading his paper while reading the lips of the couple pretending to be work colleagues to my right. You scouted a table location that gives you perfect observation capabilities, while keeping your back to the cameras in the dining room. You’ve asked me no questions you don’t already know the answers to, but you’re watching my micro-expressions for tells. And you don’t hold yourself like a soldier,” she concluded. “You carry yourself like a man who blends into the environment he needs to.” She ran her eyes over his handsome, dove-gray suit. Sam leaned forward, pouring them both more tea.
“I could just be observant,” he replied casually before thanking her for the tea.
“As a woman, I can tell you unequivocally that no man’s that observant unless he’s paid to be,” she laughed. “So now that we’ve established that you’re no soldier of fortune, don’t leave me hanging. Tell me why Mossad wanted you operating in Leviathan in the first place.”
Chapter 22
Dec 16th—Afternoon
Mayfair, London
S A M A N T H A
“It’s shocking to me that with your own powers of observation, you don’t work for the CIA, Samantha,” Avi replied, bemused.
“Turns out, I’ve got a problem with authority,” she shrugged.
“Oh?” Avi asked. “Why is that?”
“Because I am the authority,” she smiled pleasantly. “I have yet to have anyone convince me otherwise.”
Avi laughed softly, teeth gleaming. “Fair enough, though we both know you’re no megalomaniac.” He sipped his tea. “But before I answer any of your questions, I’d like to know why you’re so interested in hiring me, knowing who I’m really retained by,” he answered, sipping his Darjeeling.
“Didn’t you hear, Avi?” Sam replied with the tilt of her head. “I’m collecting chess pieces.”
“So I’m just another pawn?” he asked quizzically.
“Hardly,” she shook her head. “You’re the rook. And in this instance, you’re one of the most powerful pieces toward my endgame. I have a feeling you can help deliver the checkmate I need.”
Avi cocked his head. “So the rumors are true.”
“There are so many rumors, Avi,” Sam laughed. “You’ll
have to be more specific.”
“That you want to kill Ibrahim Nazar,” he responded pointedly.
“So do about a hundred other people,” Sam shrugged.
“But not many have the will and the means to accomplish such a feat,” Avi observed.
“What can I say?” she smiled. “I enjoy a challenge.”
“I believe your government has placed a moratorium on his status as an enemy of state,” he pointed out.
“We both know my government wouldn’t slap my hands if I rid the world of one of the biggest drug kingpins who ever lived,” she replied.
“What of the vacuum that killing a man of his prominence would create?” Avi asked. “The ensuing chaos of mujahedeen warlords fighting for factions that could destabilize that region further.”
“Let them eat each other alive,” Sam replied with a shrug. “Better to destabilize the heroin supply chain than to allow a man like Nazar to prosper under the pseudo-protection of realpolitik.”
“You really do have a problem with authority,” Avi commented, his mouth curving.
“Apparently, you do as well,” Sam observed. “I’m willing to bet the farm you acted directly against Mossad orders when you resigned from Leviathan after being asked to go join Nazar’s protection detail.”
Avi laughed at that. “A Jew who doesn’t want to go to Afghanistan? Who could blame me? That’s just good common sense.”
“I don’t think so,” she shook her head. “Want to hear my theory?”
“Avidly,” he answered, captivated.
Samantha leaned toward him, her tone dropping conspiratorially. “I think you were told to protect Nazar for reasons beyond your understanding, but you want him gone as much as I do. I just haven’t figured out why yet.”
Avi watched her for long moments, the mechanisms turning behind his eyes.
“So we both want Ibrahim Nazar dead but neither of us knows why,” he admitted. “As the French say ‘A confesseurs, médicins, avocats, la vérité ne cèle de ton cas,’”33
“I am neither your physician nor your lawyer,” Samantha pointed out. “But I would like to be your employer and your confidante, if only for a little while, until we both achieve mutually-satisfying needs.”
“Tell me why you want Nazar dead,” Avi said instead.
“I will after you tell me why Mossad planted you within Leviathan in the first place,” she replied easily.
Avi sat back, regarding her. “I can see why you were a good interrogator,” he said after a moment.
“And I can see why you have had a long career in counterintelligence,” she acceded.
Avi placed his teacup on the saucer slowly, his eyes traveling a slow circuit around the room before they came to rest on her. “Lucien Lightner has been taking up with some highly-questionable bedfellows in the past few years.”
“You mean terrorists,” she clarified.
Avi shrugged lightly. “‘Persons of interest’ would be the more politically-correct term. Now that wars are becoming more subversive and economically-based, factions are no longer clearly delineated by country of origin. The protection service Leviathan provides got me close to potential enemies and allies. Intelligence gathering is considerably easier when it’s part of your day job,” he shrugged.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
“Until you’re asked to not only protect your enemy, but to cultivate a relationship that routes heroin into your own country.”
Sam’s brows shot up in surprise. “I knew Israel controlled the party-drug trade between Russia and Europe, but heroin is a vast step up from Ecstasy.”
“The so-called ‘party drug’ trade has been a lucrative source of income for my country. Not unlike marijuana in yours.”
“So you’re a moral intelligence officer,” she smirked. “That’s rare.”
“I don’t know about moral,” he shrugged. “But I’m a father and an Israelite,” he replied succinctly. “I won’t knowingly help to addict my own people to opiates for any price. I don’t care who orders me to do it.”
“So you quit Mossad?”
Avi’s laugh was mirthless. “No one quits Mossad, Samantha. Just like no one quits the CIA.”
“Given my personal objectives and the fact that I have the luxury of selecting my clientele, I doubt I have anything Mossad wants,” Sam observed.
“That’s not exactly true,” he said. “You’re one of the largest private oil owners in the United States, and you’re Chairwoman of the Board of Directors at Wyatt Petroleum, are you not?”
Sam tilted her head, trying to deduce where he was going.
“There is a Jewish irony in that Moses led the Israelites into the only land in the Middle East with no oil,” Avi smiled ruefully.
“It’s my understanding that your nation is looking into methods of melting kerogen into petroleum,” Sam pointed out. “That kind of technological advancement could mean your country could produce fifty to a hundred thousand barrels of your own oil someday. You’d have enough to not only use through Israel and the Palestinian Authority—your country would also be able to export.”
“You know your oil industry,” he admired.
“My daddy used to say we Wyatts had black gold running in our veins.”
“Everything you say about our efforts is true,” Avi agreed. “But the reality is that the technology is about a dozen years out. Meanwhile, whenever we have a flare-up with Hamas over the Gaza Strip, oil tankers are not permitted into our ports. We’ve looked into pipelines with Turkey and Kurdistan—”
“But the United States and most of Western Europe opposes that option due to the deteriorating situation with Iraq,” Sam concluded. “So you traded Mossad’s interest in controlling black tar heroin for gaining more immediate access to black gold oil. That’s smart,” she observed.
Avi shrugged. “It’s more useful to our economy, and frankly, I’d like to be able to look at myself in the mirror when everything is said and done.”
“That’s a reasonable expectation,” Samantha agreed, sipping her tea. “So what can I do for you, Avi? What do you want in exchange for helping me take down Nazar?”
He sat back with his tea. “All I ask is that you allow Israel to call upon you once for a favor when we need it.”
“I’m not in the habit of writing blank checks, Avi,” she warned. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
Avi shrugged. “You wield considerable influence in the oil-and-gas sector of your government. I’m not certain when we’d need to play that card, but I can promise you it will be only once, and only when absolutely necessary.”
“I’m not a lobbyist,” Sam informed him in no uncertain terms.
“No, but Wyatt Petroleum has several powerful lobbyists in its employ,” Avi pointed out. “And one call from you makes movements felt in global energy markets like so many ripples from a skipping stone, doesn’t it?”
Sam considered him for a moment. “Avi, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re asking for the big blind when I don’t even know what you’ll be adding to my hand.”
“I should prove myself then.” He tilted his head. “I know where Nazar is,” he stated bluntly. “I know who is protecting him from Leviathan and how they work. You’re not looking for a massacre, Samantha,” he observed. “From what I can tell, that’s not your style. But we both know you’re going to have to go in black ops, and your manpower won’t equal what Nazar has got lined up. I’m your best chance of getting in and out quickly.” Avi leaned forward, his voice dropping. “Let me be your rook, Samantha. I guarantee you won’t regret it.”
She considered the alluring, mysterious Mephistopheles in front of her, and the potentially treacherous trade he offered in exchange for his collusion. She weighed the benefits with the consequences, the pros of his assistance in this operation coming out on top at a narrow margin.
“I won’t agree to help your country with anything that I morally or ethically
oppose or that gets me into hot water with my own country,” she qualified.
Avi smiled, his eyes crinkling attractively. “We both know your moral and ethical boundaries are more delineated shades of gray, but I know better than to back a woman into corners. When the time comes, I’ll want your influence in the energy sector as an oil baroness. Nothing more.”
“Oil baroness?” she asked with some amusement. “That’s a new one. I’ll have to add that to my calling card.”
“You have many faces, Samantha,” Avi said as he leaned toward her conspiratorially. “What’s another title to a woman as complicated and protean as you?”
“You’re a silver-tongued charmer, Avi,” Sam remarked casually. “But if you double-cross me, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever do.”
Avi Oded’s answering smile was slow and dazzling. “It’s a good thing I enjoy living dangerously then.”
*
Dec 16th—Afternoon
Kandahar, Afghanistan
W E S L E Y
When Alexander the Great founded what would become the city of Kandahar in 330 BC, he recognized the value of its strategic location in Southern Asia, leveraging its position to control the main trade route linking the Indian subcontinent to the Middle East, Central Asia, and the Persian Gulf. Now, the second-largest city in Afghanistan and the traditional seat of power for the Pashtun people for the larger part of two hundred years was far more than a major trade hub for agriculture, silks, and tobacco. It was also considered the birthplace of cannabis indica and was one of the highest-volume areas for opium transactions in the world.
As Wes wound his way through one of the four local bazaars, moving past dense stalls of beautifully-embroidered shirts, earthen pottery, hand-woven Turkoman rugs, and colorful prayer beads, he arrived upon Char Suq Square, the hub of the bustling city center. Wes shaded his eyes against the searing white glare of the Afghani sun as he located the little tea house where he’d meet his contact.
Complicated Creatures: Part Two Page 24