Ancient Danger: Mata Hari Suspense Series #3

by Jo-Ann Carson

  But the connection the castle had with ancient Egypt interested her most of all. In the early twentieth century the fifth earl of Carnarvon worked with the famous archaeologist Howard Carter to unearth the tomb of Tutankhamen. He put his fortune into the excavation and took some of the treasures home.

  The early Egyptologists thought nothing of bringing back some of their spoils. Most of the Carnarvon Egyptian treasures were later sold to museums to help pay off the family death taxes. But, in the 1970s new treasure was found in a cupboard in one of the walls of the castle. Sadie had always wondered if more had been hidden away and forgotten.

  Now King Tut’s scarab had been found and was about to be shown to the world.

  ***

  Chills ran up Sadie’s spine as she drove through the woods and extensive grounds. Sunlight filtered through the morning mist, giving the landscape a mystical sheen. The sheer beauty of the rolling downlands of North Hampshire and the Kennet Valley teleported her mind back to a more pastoral time.

  She’d been to the castle once for tea with the countess, had toured the rooms open for the public, and seen the Egyptian exhibit in the cellar. This would be the first time she visited it as a spy.

  Ten years ago, when people thought of a castle, they would conjure up a Disney image, or, if they’d traveled their favorite European castle. But today Sadie wagered they’d think of Highclere, its beauty, its majesty, its elegance. Sure hope Bakari doesn’t blow it up.

  She parked in the almost full public lot and sent Jeremiah a text. “Arrived.”

  After a quick visual scan of the area, she got out of the car. Although many people would be dressed up for the occasion, Sadie had chosen to dress down, faded blue jeans, jean jacket and a white blouse. The only jewelry she wore were diamond studs in her ears, a Christmas gift from Sebastian.

  With an expensive camera hanging from her neck and a bulging camera bag full of spy gear on her shoulder, she blended well into the scene. She looked like a tourist with money for expensive toys, or possibly a photo-journalist working freelance. After it was all over, Sadie would thank Eleanor for leaving her the gear.

  Sadie tied her hair back into a knot at the nape of her neck. She wore her dark glasses and three weapons: a Glock at the base of her spine, her favorite knife strapped to her left leg, just above her boots, and a second gun in her bag.

  Three television vans were lined up by the entrance. People with cameras adjusted their lenses and snapped pictures. Their sweat smelled of anticipation. A growing buzz of excitement threaded through the growing crowd. Thirty minutes to go before the hand-over ceremony. She seeded herself into the crowd, avoiding eye contact and headed towards the door.

  Three uniformed policemen walked the perimeter of the castle with sniffer dogs. Bakari wouldn’t be able to set smoke bombs this time.

  A team of four security men monitored the entrance and everyone entering had to go through a screening alcove, the kind that finds weapons. When it was her turn, she zeroed in on the man in command, easy to spot because of the way he firmly held his jaw, part arrogant confidence and part warrior. He looked at her the way all men did and when she smiled back he moved closer.

  She leaned towards him, “Is it true the Queen is not expected to attend?” At least the code words weren’t about pigeons this time.

  Shaking his head, he said, “It is not on her itinerary.” His British accent was refined and his aftershave pricey. Had to be MI6. Without blinking he slid a cloaking device into her hand. She put her bag on the table for inspection. “I believe she’s busy in London.” He stepped back and she walked through the screening doorway without a problem.

  The ‘saloon’, the so called heart of the castle, couldn’t possibly hold the number of people who’d turned up. Most of them would remain outside. She’d noticed on her way in that two men were setting up a big screen TV on the side of one of the news vans.

  Having so many people left outside had it’s up and down side. If something happened inside, she had fewer people to assess and deal with, but if they took the trouble outside they could have reinforcements waiting there, or they could disappear easily into the throng. She noted her exits. Three uniformed security men stood outside, in front of the windows. Another three stood by the arched entrances. Someone had put a lot of money into security.

  Walking through the famous arches into the room, she marveled once again at its opulence. Decorated in a Gothic style, there were leather wall coverings that had been in the family since the seventeenth century.

  A podium with a microphone had been set up in front of the windows. No sign of the treasure. The furniture had been removed to make room for people. There had to be thirty crammed into the room for the event. Wonder what the boy king would think of this pomp and ceremony?

  Everything about the event seemed solid. Wait… It was way too normal. She could smell trouble brewing. A shiver stole up her spine. She had to find the abnormality in the scene and she had to find it fast.

  To her right four minor British politicians and two Met directors chatted about museums. She gave them a pass. They were bureaucrats guilty of boring rhetoric, but they weren’t thieves. The rest of the crowd could be divided into three groups: regular people, some dressed up for the occasion and others looking as if they’d walked out of a London pub; press people who looked nervous and two people she recognized as belonging to the Egyptian embassy.

  Ebony did not appear in the crowd. Nor Chasisi. Who had Bakari sent? Or had he sent anyone?

  Maybe her intel was wrong. Maybe he intended to intercept the scarab after it left the castle.

  Nah. Her gut told her this was it. Whatever Bakari had planned would happen here and soon. Her chest tightened.

  She scanned the faces again, looking for clues. A blond lady in a blue, linen power suit chewed gum. She watched her for a minute. An anomaly. But, nah, she must have just stopped smoking. A tall man scanned the crowd playing with the telephoto lens on his camera. He looked like police, but she was not sure which organization. She studied face after face.

  Then she saw them. They weren’t together, but they were different. Dressed in dark inconspicuous clothing and looking bored, they speckled the celebrating crowd like pepper. She noticed them because they didn’t stand out. No facial tics, no excitement, no awe.

  Keeping her eyes on the one standing three yards from her, she pulled her cell-phone from her pocket. She snapped photos of the men and sent them to Jeremiah and to George, her back-up, who must be in place outside by now.

  The rising tension in the crowd was palpable. The chatter had risen in tempo and volume. The smell of excitement laced the air. Then everyone hushed. Walking through the middle arches, the eighth earl of Carnarvon and his wife, the countess, appeared, flanked by two security men. The earl carried a fancy, engraved wooden tray, and on the tray sat a golden box. Out of the corner of her eye, Sadie watched the three men she’d spotted.

  Her phone beeped. She checked it. Jeremiah wrote: “Confirmed. Bakari’s men. Notified MI6. More back-up on the way. Ten minutes out.”

  The earl climbed the platform and walked to the center, the countess at his side. He put the box on the podium. “Good evening…” he began.

  Bang. A deafening explosion within the house ended his speech.

  44

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chasisi piloted the helicopter. His men stole it from a news agency that morning and they’d been circling the area for the last hour. When his scout on the ground cued him that the treasure had been brought into the public view, he lowered the chopper.

  Those on the ground paid no attention to him at first, their eyes glued to the TV monitor showing the earl at the podium. But when he came lower a few looked up. One aimed a gun and pulled out a cell-phone. Perhaps, they’d been tipped off.

  It didn’t stop Chasisi. He carried out his final swoop as planned. His gunman opened the side door, leaned out and fired a missile into the castle. Right on target. The explo
sion sent shock waves through the air. It unsettled the helicopter, but Chasisi kept control. He thanked his good luck as he rose above the confusion on the ground. Fire, smoke, and at least a hundred frightened people ran for their cars.

  Gunfire glanced off the side of the chopper, but it didn’t take a direct hit. They gained elevation and headed for the drop-off point in a field not far away.

  ***

  Chaos took over. People screamed and pushed their way out of the room. From deeper in the castle, she could hear a different kind of screaming. People had been hurt, and hurt badly. Damn Bakari.

  Dark smoke flowed into the room through the open archways burning her eyes and nostrils, impairing her vision. Three men dressed in black moved towards the platform. Her heart raced. She had to get to them.

  The shrieking of the security alarms and screams of people filled her ears. No one could hear over it, but the security men should be communicating on their own system. Hopefully, they had a plan. She tried to swallow, but she had little spit left, and what was left had been seasoned with the bitter taste of destruction.

  The crowds stampeded out of the room, swearing, and yelling.

  Within seconds, she reached the platform, but the scarab was gone. One of the men dressed in black had to have it. But which one? They’d headed in three different directions through the open arches. She swallowed. Her dry throat burned from the toxic crap in the smoke.

  Which one had the scarab? What was his destination? It was like playing a shell game on a boardwalk, only the stakes were higher, much higher. Adrenalin pumped through her body, giving her tunnel vision, but that didn’t help her make a decision.

  Which one? Two moved like trained operatives, agile and athletic. The third was slower. He’d slipped out the doorway. Each carried a satchel over his shoulder. Which one?

  Sadie had to guess the thieves’ escape route. The sound of the chopper faded quickly, so the assailants weren’t likely to be heading to a high point for pick-up. They must be planning to escape on foot, in front of everyone’s noses. Bakari had balls of steel. Sweat trickled down her spine. There was only one way to beat a man like that. She needed to be even ballsier.

  The security team would monitor, possibly even seal, the exits.

  She’d follow the slow guy. Her gut said to go for him, because he was the least likely.

  Did he have a limp? If he did, it would be Chasisi for sure; a deadly opponent, but one that needed to be brought down. She pushed her way through the crowds and as soon as she was clear ran in the direction he’d taken. He exchanged his satchel with another man dressed in a conservative business suit then headed through the front door.

  A brush pass. Who would the other man be? He headed for the grand staircase. Panting from exertion she climbed the stairs after him, closing the distance between them. As she climbed she pulled out her gun and clicked off the safety. Ten yards, eight, six… one.

  At the sound of her safety clicking on, he turned to look at her.

  Sadie froze. Bakari stood three steps above her, aiming a gun at her face. “Habibti, don’t make me do this.”

  Holding her Glock steady with both hands, she pointed it directly between his eyes. A kill shot. At this distance she couldn’t miss. “I can’t let you go.” Her voice trembled and sounded hoarse. The damn smoke made it hard to breathe.

  “This scarab will heal Rashida,” he said.

  “You hurt people Bakari.” I’ve been trained to shoot, not to talk.Why the hell am I talking? She should shoot. Get it over with. Take down her target. Rid the world of a seriously bad-ass guy. But her trigger finger froze. It would not move. It was as if it was… cursed. The sound of African drums beating filled her ears. She shook her head to clear it.

  “Give yourself up,” she said. If only there was another way… Her whole body trembled. She had to shoot him.

  “It’s all for Rashida,” he said as his eyes darkened to an unfathomable blackness. The click of the safety on his gun echoed in her ears. “You understand. I have no choice—”

  A shot rang out. Bakari fell to the ground, holding the cloth bag. The acrid smell of gunpowder flooded the air. Sadie turned to look for the shooter. At the bottom of the stairs stood Sebastian in a shooting stance, arms extended, pointing his Beretta 92 in her direction. Determination was fixed in every muscle of his face, and a killer coldness flattened his eyes, in a way she’d never seen before.

  Behind him a figure stepped from the shadows. Khalid Badru. She pointed and Sebastian turned, but the figure had already vanished.

  “Freeze,” shouted a policeman. Within seconds they were surrounded by uniforms.

  ***

  Sadie breathed a sigh of relief as a middle-aged man with short, brown hair and wispy eyebrows threaded his way through the policemen. She didn’t want any of the evidence destroyed. Reginald Kensington, dressed in a beige trench coat and Italian, black leather loafers, was an old buddy of Sadie’s from MI5. They’d worked a few missions together, but she didn’t know he’d joined this one. He talked into the ear of the head policeman. The man jolted in response to Reggie’s words and gave the immediate command for his men, to stand down.

  The policeman had just released the handcuffs from Sadie’s hands when Reginald made it to her side. “Istanbul?”

  His proper English accent flowed over her like a warm shower on a cold morning and she smiled. A tiny glint of light shone in the corner of his hazel eyes.

  “The last time I saw you was Istanbul,” he said, prompting her again.

  “Copenhagen,” she replied in code. She was all right. It was over and she could speak freely.

  Four policemen were releasing Sebastian. Their expressions clearly indicated that they didn’t want to be doing this. One of them sported a black eye. Sebastian had not been easy to restrain.

  Reggie touched Sadie’s arm and together they approached Bakari’s body. The bullet had hit him in the head, throwing his body backwards onto the stairs. Brain matter and blood splayed over several steps. His body lay still.

  Sadie’s throat constricted. Her chest tightened. She shouldn’t feel remorse for the death of a bad-guy, a man so evil that he supplied guns to child warriors and barbarians in the Islamic State. She shouldn’t. But she did. When all was said and done, Bakari al-Sharif was a man who loved his family. Love to him meant total commitment. He risked his life, his fortune, and he would say, his karma for his daughter. A man like that had to be admired at least a little. Right?

  Okay, so maybe his big cajones and devilish charm had gotten to her.

  She gritted her teeth. “Can I see the bag?”

  Reginald had been scanning the death scene. His eyes turned to the man beside the satchel and cocked a brow.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sebastian was suddenly beside her, his large hand caressed the base of her spine.

  Reggie opened the bag. “Bloody hell.” He turned towards the chief and yelled, “Seal the exits immediately.”

  “Nothing?” Sadie asked.

  “Nothing. We’ve been duped. King Tut’s scarab has been stolen from right under our noses.”

  45

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Vancouver, Canada

  One week later

  Chione answered the door of her Victorian-era Kitsilano house, expecting a neighbour she’d invited over for morning coffee. Instead, a young woman dressed in an Express Mail uniform stood on her door step holding a parcel. “Ms. DeWolf?”

  “Yes.” Her senses sharpened.

  “Got a parcel. You need to sign for it.”

  She wasn’t expecting anything in the mail, but she’d known something was heading her way. That unmistakable feeling of awareness had been with her since her sister Djeserit died six months ago.

  Taking a deep breath, she wondered if she could change the future by not accepting her mail. The air held that distinct, Vancouver autumn smell, part falling maple and alder leaves and part ocean. She loved her adopted home. The coastal
mountains loomed on the horizon like sentinels.

  Years ago she had left Egypt her homeland, for the beauty and serenity of the west coast of Canada, hoping to escape her past and her heritage. But there was no running away from who she was meant to be.

  As she grasped the package, a shivery feeling spilled into her hands and slithered up her arms to the base of her skull. “Thank you,” she said as she wrote her signature on the tablet.

  After the messenger left she took the brown package, the size of a loaf of bread, into her house and placed it on her round table, beside her favorite tarot cards. The creepy awareness that her life was about to turn on its heels remained.

  She touched the crystal she wore around her neck and closed her eyes for a moment, then as she lit the candle sitting in the middle of the table, she whispered a prayer of protection. The air in the room stilled.

  The package looked so harmless, but she knew it was not. Closing her eyes, she saw images of her younger sister Djeserit. Her gentle smile and wise, gray eyes, deeper than the Nile, called to her. A gift from the grave?

  Chione opened her eyes and carefully stripped the paper off the box. Sweat beaded on her forehead and at the nape of her neck. Duct tape had been used to keep the box inside sealed, so she had to fetch scissors to loosen it. With one final rip, the box opened.

  Her breath caught. Inside lay Djeserit’s ivory wand, nestled in tissue paper. Etched with hieroglyphics and charmed with ancient incantations it was the most powerful wand she’d ever seen.

  Beside the wand lay an envelope with her name typewritten on it. Djeserit would never use a typewriter to craft a note to her. That would be too impersonal. Someone else had sent her this package. Her stomach tingled.

  Chione reminded herself to breathe. She had wondered what had happened to Djeserit’s wand. No one mentioned it after her death; but then only a few knew how powerful it was. If it fell into the wrong hands… It could give too much power to the dark side.