Covert Danger: Mata Hari Series - Book 1

by Jo-Ann Carson

  She turned the carefully sculpted piece of gold over in her hands. The ankh shaped like a cross with a loop handle represented the ancient Egyptian belief in eternal life. She never wanted immortality or power here on earth. All she ever wanted was a full and good life. Her breathing slowed as she pondered the symbol and her heart flooded with longing for Sebastian. She wanted him too. Time to get moving.

  She put the ankh necklace around her neck. It would be safest there. What harm could it do? She smirked at that thought. A hell of a lot of harm. If Bakari found out she’d hid it from him he’d skin her alive. But she’d talk her way out of that scenario. Goose bumps beaded on the skin of her arms and she gritted her teeth as she closed her suitcase and wheeled it to the door.

  ***

  Mitch’s eyes looked like saucers when he opened his door, bloodshot saucers. “Sadie?”

  “I need a place to hide.”

  At lightning speed he opened the door wide and she walked in. Normally, he kept his surroundings organized, not obsessively neat like people think all gay men do, but well-sorted. Today his clothes were sitting in heaps on the floor, his bed hadn’t been made and the air smelled like stale coffee, beer and weed. “I’m so sor…”

  “Don’t start.” She’d turned to face him and held up her hand. “I’m not ready to forgive you. Yet. But I need your help.” Watching his eyes soften she continued. “I need to disappear.”

  “Who are you hiding from?”

  “Sebastian.” No friggen way in hell could she see him again before she moved in on Anubis. Her feelings for the man were too strong and Jeremiah had been right, he—distracted her. Besides, he would go ballistic if he knew her plans.

  Mitchell’s eyebrows rose. “Seriously? The giant hunk with the blue eyes?”

  “It’s complicated. What I need from you is total trust and loyalty. Can you do that?”

  He nodded, but his face looked sadder than when he opened the door.

  “I’ll throw my stuff in the closet. No one can know I’ve stashed it here. If anyone asks about me, tell them you don’t know where I am. I already sent a text to Knickers saying I can’t work tomorrow.” She paused. “I’m heading out for a big date at noon. I may or may not…” Her voice caught. “Return to sleep here.”

  Mitchell said nothing, but his puppy dog eyes did their magical thing. Her resolve melted under their caressing scrutiny, but she couldn’t tell him more. Not after the whole ordeal with Jonathon. She couldn’t trust him completely. At least not yet. Flicking her long hair behind her shoulders she walked closer to him feeling her smile turn playful. Time to toss him a bone. “There is something else you can do for me.”

  “Name it.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Phone Jonathon’s mother.”

  29

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Asleep, Sadie’s mind drifted back to the scene of horror in the heart of western Africa, far from civilization.

  The oppressive heat hung in the air making it hard for her to breath. Her hair stuck to her face with sweat. The smell of the wild clung to her nostrils. The sound of wild animals moving behind her in the bush sent tremors up her spine. She was back in the center of it all, feeling helpless and alone—again.

  The drums beat loudly with a hard rhythm that would haunt her till her dying breath. Her awareness floated above the scene unable to stop it. The shaman dressed in a robe of vibrant oranges and red, bound JaJa to his dead mother’s body. He danced and chanted to his spirits. The grave digger stood beside him saying nothing.

  Every detail of the dream was the same as all the others, until the shaman turned his head and looked directly into Sadie’s eyes.

  Sadie screamed, but knew no one could hear her. The drums were too loud and help was far away. Why had she strayed away from the others? Why had she thought herself invincible?

  Three black holes tore open on each of the enchanter’s cheeks. Worms slithered out of them crawling through his blood to mount the surface of his eyes. He spat words at Sadie. “Do not think you are safe.”

  Sadie stared at the transforming figure of the witch doctor. A scream of horror caught in her throat.

  “Help Bakari, or the vengeance of the gods will fall upon you.”

  She woke up screaming as if her head had been submerged in a pond of black water. Mitchell shook her by the shoulders. “Sadie, Sadie,” he said.

  She snapped to wakefulness and pushed his hands off her. “Just a dream.” Her whole body, drenched in sweat shivered from something much more malignant than the chill of the night air. She felt violated, like she’d been touched by…

  Mitchell sat on the side of the bed and reached for her hand. She let him take it in hers and they sat in silence as her body calmed down.

  “I think someone or something is trying to warn me,” she said.

  Mitchell’s puppy brown eyes probed hers. “I’ve felt nervous before a big-date before, but you sweetie take the jitters to another level.”

  She laughed.

  “You know,” he said pushing her sweaty hair away from her face. “The ancient Egyptians had a thing about dreams. I’ve seen their Dream Book in the British Museum that dates twelve hundred years before Christ. It’s the first document in human history that talks about dream interpretation and it dates to more than a thousand years before Christ.”

  Of course. The missing piece in her mind fell into place with a solid thump and she felt like her lungs filled with lead toppled into her stomach. Somehow Bakari and the amulets were affecting her mind. She didn’t think that could happen if she didn’t believe in their power, but maybe it could. Superstitions had their own power. She bit her lip.

  Mitchell not picking up on her response continued. “They thought dreams were messages from the gods, omens that could help you predict and prepare for the future. They believed that when you dream your eyes are opened to a larger reality.”

  Great. She shuddered not wanting to accept any of this happened to her, the skinny girl from Seattle who liked to play football with the guys on the weekends. Oh my God, now she was thinking of her childhood. What had gotten into her? Why wouldn’t the damn dream go away? Why did it choose now, of all times, to change and become more… more horrific? “Could they manipulate their dreams?” She had to ask.

  Mitchell’s eyes widened. “They thought so. They believed in conscious dream travel. The initiated communicated through dreams. They could cross time and space and shape shift to do so.

  Would they choose to be worms? That sure as hell wouldn’t be her first choice if she could shape-shift. She shuddered as the image of the shaman’s disfigured face appeared in her mind. Dream walking? Hocus pocus gobbly gook … She took a deep breath. It didn’t matter how many silly words she strung together to try to diminish what happened to her, the dream had got to her, like a warning. In every cell of her body. Could her unconscious really be trying to speak to her? Or someone else? When had the room become so cold?

  “They would chart their dreams,” Mitchell continued.

  Sadie put up her hand. “Enough,” she said. “My head hurts and I need sleep.”

  Mitchell kissed her on the cheek and left. Over his shoulder he said, “I’m just outside the door.”

  Sadie didn’t think she’d fall asleep again, but she did. Like a rock. And this time she didn’t dream.

  ***

  When she woke, sunlight streamed through the bedroom window warming the top sheets of the bed, giving Sadie a delicious cocooned feeling. It would be so nice to hang out all day and enjoy it. But Dee would never again see the magical morning light of Amsterdam that inspired so many painters over the centuries. She owed her.

  As she stretched, a lingering feeling of horror seeped back into her mind from her nightmare, like a sticky mental residue. Gritting her teeth, she forced the memory of the last time she saw Jaja into the forefront of her mind, a healthy boy laughing with his new brothers and sisters. Her pulse beat steadied.

  Time to
focus on work. The sensible thing to do would be to stash the ankh necklace not with her stuff, but somewhere else, somewhere no one would expect it to be. Ideas scrolled through her mind. A safety deposit box, the Bed and Breakfast front desk, the mail… None of them felt right. An inexplicable attachment to the damn thing had grown in her heart. She didn’t want to part with it and a small voice inside her, the one that had saved her ass on many occasions, whispered, Keep it. It didn’t seem like the right time to question her intuition, so she put it back on.

  She had to focus. What do you wear on a dinner date with one of the most evil… scratch that… the most evil man in the world, a bastard who sells guns to anyone with cash, knowing some would end up in the hands of child soldiers. A man who chopped up his wife, Delilah and who knows how many others.

  She took a deep breath. He was still just a man and she could handle him. She’d been graced with good looks for a reason, her calling was to work with the CIA. Her face and fame got her into places other people couldn’t go.

  And now it had got her a dinner date with Barkari. She’d learn his plans for New York and pass them on. The CIA would work with the FBI and stop him. Her gut no longer clenched when she thought of the man. Worse, it hollowed out like a void. And the damn chill that liked to visit whenever she thought of him crossed her body once again.

  Enough already. One week from now this would all be over and she could be… She stopped, aware of exactly where she wanted to be. In Sebastian’s arms.

  Bakari had told her they’d be dining, but didn’t say where. She assumed the restaurant in whatever fancy hotel he stayed at, or worse his hotel room. What would a man like him want her to wear? A man who could pretty well have any woman he wanted.

  She smirked at the thought. He wouldn’t want her to look cheap. And she couldn’t do exotic. Her face was far too all-American girl next doorish. Her strong card had always been a classic look. Yves St Laurent, Chanel… That’s what she’d do. Wear some classic designer knock-offs. She had lots of them.

  Starting with Italian black lace lingerie to outline her finer points, she checked herself out in the mirror. It didn’t matter what clothes she put on, to her she still looked like the skinny kid from Seattle with no ass. But she knew the rest of the world saw her differently. Women envied her cheekbones, men—other parts.

  She stepped into a pencil skirt over her head, navy with classic pinstripes that would hug her curves and look demure at the same time. Sliding into a matching blue V-neck blouse she’d picked up in Florence, she enjoyed the sensation of the smooth silk flowing over her body. How long would he let her stay in her clothes?

  Studying herself in the mirror, she shrugged. The clothes weren’t expensive, but comfortable enough. They’d fit the “stylish but hungry” image she wanted to present. She stepped into the highest and most expensive heels she had to complete her femme fatale ensemble. Men like stilettos and with her long legs she looked good in them.

  Putting on a thick layer of lipstick, the one she called her Mata Hare Red, she assessed herself in the mirror like the run-way model she was. This would do. But the most important part would be a cloak of confidence she’d have to hold in place.

  Could she go through with it, if he wanted sex? Her heart rate increased as she picked up her hair brush. Of course he’d want sex. The thought of his hands, covered in black hair on her body made her shiver. She’d close her eyes tight and think of the flag. She laughed at her own sick joke.

  Taming her long hair into a French bun took some time and a lot of bobby pins. She kept her eye and cheek makeup light, but effective, accentuating her high cheekbones and almond shaped green eyes. When she looked in her face in the mirror one last time, she made a weak smile. A woman going to battle. Good enough.

  ***

  In the bright noon day light, Deadeyes waited for her at the entrance of the Bed and Breakfast, a half-finished cigarette in his mouth. He smelled disgusting and this time it was more than garlic. Sneering, he gave her a once over that would have chilled molten lava. He motioned to the waiting taxi.

  Sadie didn’t waste a smile on him, but she did wiggle her nose. At least she didn’t have to wear a bag over her head. Been there done that. She got into the back of the car and the bulky bodyguard took the seat beside her. “How long have you worked for Bakari?” she asked.

  His eyes focused on the back of the driver’s head. His hand stayed in his pocket, probably holding a gun. “No talking,” he said in a thick accent. His breath reeked. Did the Neanderthal not know toothpaste had been invented? She let herself have a momentary fantasy of putting him in a mouthwash commercial.

  Smiling at her own humor, she leaned back and looked out the window. The amazing scenery of Amsterdam normally enthralled her, the canal houses, old shops and the comings and goings of millions of people. But not today. Numbness settled into her bones making them heavy with a foreboding that wouldn’t let go.

  The car crossed through the medieval part of town and kept going. Jeremiah’s blood pressure would be climbing about now, as he followed the GPS in her cell phone on his own maps. She smiled at the thought and concentrated on keeping her breathing steady. She needed to stay calm and professional.

  Where would you take someone to butcher them? The outskirts of the city seemed like a good idea.

  No, Bakari wouldn’t hurt her yet. She trusted the look of wanting on his face. He wouldn’t be so quick to dispense of her, not when he wanted to play… She gritted her teeth and glanced at her companion.

  Deadeyes held no love for her. He could do anything.

  They stopped at a small private airport. That, she hadn’t expected.

  ***

  A beautiful, petite woman with Cleopatra eyes dressed in a maroon suit welcomed Sadie aboard a seventeen-foot private jet, built for four to six people. She’d flown in one before during a secret mission in Brazil. Hell she’d even landed it after the captain went and died on her. She liked the plane.

  “Please take a seat and make yourself comfortable,” the woman said in perfect English. Sadie took the first seat. Deadeyes who had followed the women into the plane, walked past them to the pilot’s cabin. He entered and closed the door behind him. The sliding sound of a heavy-duty lock slipping into place echoed in the small space. The engines started up.

  “Would you care for a glass of wine, or perhaps a coffee?” the flight attendant asked.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  The woman smiled at her. “Cairo, of course.”

  Of course.

  “My name is Eboni and I am here to make your flight as comfortable as possible. Perhaps a magazine?”

  Sadie matched her smile. “No, thank you, but—” She hesitated for effect. “Flying makes me nervous.” Not really, but she hoped she sounded believable. “Could you sit with me?”

  The woman took the long chair on the opposite side of the aisle and fastened her seat belt.

  Sadie did the same, crossing her fingers that old Deadeyes wasn’t the pilot. “Have you worked for Bakari for long?”

  “Our flight will take four and a half hours. Once we’re in the air, I can serve you a snack or a drink perhaps.”

  “You don’t want to talk about Bakari.”

  She didn’t say anything, but the look in her eyes telegraphed her answer: No one talks about Bakari.

  When the wheels were up and Amsterdam had faded into the distance, Sadie said, “I think I’d like a drink now. Perhaps a glass of white wine and some cheese if you have some.”

  As the attendant poured the wine, Sadie asked, “Do you live in Cairo?”

  “Yes. I am very fortunate to have this job, which allows me to see other parts of the world.” Once in the air, Eboni undid her belt. “I’ll pour the wine.”

  “I do hope you’ll join me.” Was this woman one of Bakari’s lovers? She wasn’t one of his wives, because Sadie hadn’t seen her face in the dossier on Bakari she’d been sent at the beginning of the mission. How much did th
is woman know about the man and how much would she be willing to tell her?

  They drank and nibbled on cheese for four hours talking travel and girl stuff that didn’t matter. The price of the leading nail polish kept rising. Geraldine Lake, the highest paid model in the world, looked awful on the front of the last issue of Vogue. Maybe the rumors that her celebrity lover left her were true. But Sadie steered the conversation back to their present. Didn’t Deadeyes need a fashion consultant and mouthwash. They laughed.

  But the woman wouldn’t talk about her boss. When Eboni seemed relaxed and bonded in a girl to girl kinda way, Sadie tried a new tact. She said: “I’m scared of Bakari.”

  Eboni’s black eyes widened.

  “His take-charge manner turns me on, but…”

  “But?”

  Sadie laughed. “I know about Safa.” The image of the dead woman’s eyes roamed through her mind.

  Eboni nodded and leaned back. A shadow crossed her face. “Safa was kind hearted. I never thought he’d hurt her. Not her.” She put her hand to her mouth as if it could catch the words that had fallen out.

  “That’s all right,” Sadie said quickly. “I’d guessed it might be him. But why? Why would he kill his own wife?”

  Eboni shook her head. “I don’t know that he did. But… it’s possible. You know how it is. Some men can be gentle one moment and cruel the next. Balari’s moods fluctuate by the second.”

  The door to the pilot’s cabin opened and Deadeyes stepped in. He cast an angry look at both of them. Had he been listening? “We are about to land.” He took a seat in their cabin.

  As she disembarked from the plane Sadie thanked Eboni for her companionship.

  The woman nodded and held out her hand. When Sadie shook it she felt a slip of paper pass between them and smiled. Sometimes help comes from the most unexpected places. It was the sort of serendipity she counted on.