Bakari exhaled. Somehow he’d make everything work out. He’d do whatever he had to for his family.
After a couple of minutes, Chas spoke. “Why are you leaving so early? The heist is not planned until next week.”
“I have business to attend to.”
Chas’s right brow rose. “What business?”
Bakari hesitated. Part of him didn’t want to talk about Sadie. Chasisi would never understand his feelings for her.
Even Djeserit had counseled him to pursue her. Like an unfinished story, he needed to see how it would unfold, had to see what possibilities the future held for the two of them. Maybe she was playing him but, on the off-chance she wasn’t…
“Bakari?”
He had to tell Chas. Not only was he his brother and closer to him than anyone else in the world, he was also the head of security for the family. While he didn’t like to think that Sadie Stewart meant to harm him, he had to consider all possibilities. “I’m meeting with a woman. I’ll take two of our best guards for protection, but I don’t anticipate trouble.”
“A woman?”
“I met her some time ago, and she called me, and…” He left the rest for Chas’s imagination.
Blowing smoke rings in the air Chasisi leaned back. “It’s hard for me to imagine a woman who would pull you away from Cairo now, when Khalid has just arrived, and when we plan a most difficult heist.” He sucked on his cigarillo again and blew more smoke. “And then there’s the fact that you have several women here to screw.”
Bakari said nothing, hoping Chas would leave it alone.
Tapping the arm of his chair with his free hand Chas’s body stilled. He leaned forward, eyes wide. “Not her.”
“Who I sleep with is my business.”
“Not when the CIA is involved.” He waved his hands in the air. “You don’t fuck the CIA.”
“I have to see her.”
“Let me take some precautions then.” Chas growled. His face turned red. “I tell you she’s dangerous. Everything about her is dangerous.”
Bakari laughed. Sadie’s soft, moss-green eyes—the eyes of a temptress came to mind—followed quickly by her sensuous mouth and body. He’d never wanted a woman more than he wanted her, even if it were only for one night. “Dangerous is good for the blood.”
“Like hell. Two guards won’t be enough.”
“Then assign more. I don’t care who watches over me, as long as they give me some privacy.”
“I tell you this is a really stupid thing to do. I’ll send Gahiji. He won’t let her, or anyone else, harm you.” Chasisi stood up. “Where is she now?”
“New York.”
23
Chapter Twenty-Three
New York
After Sebastian closed the door quietly behind him, Sadie was left alone, utterly alone. Was she crazy? He’d opened himself up to her, made himself totally vulnerable and exposed, and still she had told him to go. She shook her head as if that would clear it. Never had she loved anyone the way she loved Sebastian, yet she pushed him away.
Tears filled her eyes, which made her mad. She didn’t have time to cry, damn it. And CIA operatives didn’t cry. She picked up one of her favorite books an old-fashioned spy story and threw it against the wall. It hit with a dull thud. Then she picked up a small glass statue from Venice and threw it at the wall. It shattered into a million pieces. That felt better. A bit. Who needed men? They were nothing but trouble.
Puppy had scurried under the sofa and watched her with his big brown eyes.
Grabbing a broom from the hall closet, she grumbled. She needed to be focused, but she felt anything but. The statue had left a mark on the wall. Would that be all she’d have left to remember him by? He’d opened himself up to her. He’d loved her, as no man had ever loved her before. The way he made her feel was something she could never forget, cherished beyond words. It wasn’t just that he could make her laugh, though he did, often. Or that he was terrific in bed, which he was. It was all about the magic between them.
Puppy attacked the broom and she found herself in a tug of war. She let him drag it away from her and went to the window to check on the weather. The strong wind pushed against the glass and the expected heavy rains poured down, beating so loudly she could hear it though the double-glazed windows.
The black sky and rain made everything dark. No one walked on the sidewalks and only one car motored along the usually busy street. So unlike the New York she loved.
Before turning on the TV for an update, she tore Puppy away from her broom. He’d already eaten part of it. She grabbed herself a glass of water.
Leroy Jones, her favorite anchor came onto the screen with his heavy New York accent and ice blue eyes. Getting the news from someone she’d learned to trust made her shoulders drop a little.
“Breaking news,” he said in his deep resonant voice that made her backbone vibrate. “The path of hurricane Bob has veered east into the Atlantic. The city will continue to be battered by the edge of the system. We can expect storm force winds of fifty-four miles per hour—ten on the Beaufort scale—for most of the night, and torrential rain. Meteorologists say the hurricane will not, I repeat, will not, hit us directly, as previously expected. People are still cautioned to stay inside during the storm, but are no longer encouraged to evacuate. Again… Hurricane Bob will not hit us directly.” He leaned his long body back in his chair and took off his glasses. That’s why she liked him. Unlike other media gurus he didn’t just announce the news, he felt it. “Bob will not be another Sandy. I’d like to add—” She muted him at this point, hearing the buzz of her cell-phone.
A message from Bakari. Finally! “Fly to London. I will send a car to the airport for you. We can spend a few days together. Take care.”
He sure didn’t waste time. Would he rush things in bed, too? At least it would be over quickly. Laughing at her own sick joke, she ran a hand through her hair. Time to pack.
Puppy scratched at her leg. The little guy had sharp nails. She picked him up and pulled him in for a cuddle. Maybe having a dog wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Time to get to work.
First, she had to call a dog sitter. But they’d only just met. Looking into the soft, playful eyes of the puppy she sighed. Damn that Mitch. He knew how to get to her. This little sweetheart had wormed his way right into her heart, despite the fact that she’d peed on her best friend’s shoe and pooped on her new flooring. She stroked his soft fur. Puppy had to be the softest and cuddliest dog ever. She nuzzled him. Some tough spy.
Mitch said she could call his vet friend to take care of the dog, but she didn’t want Puppy to be institutionalized at such a young age.
The ting-ting sound of a message came through. A report from Jeremiah on her new neighbor Beatrice. She scanned it quickly. The woman had bought the apartment a month ago. Real Name – Harriet Lewinski, born 1950 Hungary, moved to US in 1960, lived most of her life in Vegas, first a show girl with some talent, then a mistress to a series of mobsters. In 1995 she became the bookkeeper for Big Cajones aka Salvadore Sanchez.
Sadie smiled. Beatrice was a mobster gal, an old-time moll, who got into her own business on the side. I’m getting to like this woman. Not perfectly clean, but I’m guessing loyal. That could be a good thing. At the end of the report Jeremiah wrote, “Don’t see any ties to our business, yet, but I’ll keep looking.”
“Have you got her telephone number?”
Cole gave it to her and clicked off.
Beatrice would do. Sadie phoned her.
“Honey, you want me to do what?” said Beatrice.
“Take care of my puppy until my friend Mitch returns to town. It will be only for a day or two and the pup…” Of course she didn’t know how long it would really be, but a couple days would be a good start.
“How’d you get my numba” Every word dripped with her vintage New York accent.
“The supe,” Sadie lied. “Name your price. I’m desperate.”
Beatrice cackle
d. She actually cackled.
Sadie’s eyebrows knitted together. “I have to leave town,” she said.
“I used to have a dog, a white miniature poodle I called Precious. Okay, I’ll do it, but not for money.”
Not for money? This is New York. Sadie waited.
“You can pay me back by being a good neighbor.”
What the hell did that mean? “Okaay,” Sadie said.
Beatrice hung up. Great. Now she owed a favor to a neighbor who was tight with the Mafia. How many other unwritten spy rules could she break today?
Sadie tried to pack with the puppy at her heels, but the adorable little fluff-ball kept getting in the way. She stepped on him twice and then he stole a pair of her nylons and went for a run. She caught up with him and walked him over to Beatrice’s apartment with a bag full of supplies and a card with Mitchell’s phone number on it.
Beatrice answered her door after the first knock, with the sound of three dead bolts being slid open. The curlers were gone from her head and her platinum blond hair had been combed into a perfect bob. Her housecoat had been replaced by a shocking pink outfit. Brighter than any pink Sadie had ever seen. Beatrice’s spandex pants clung to her thin legs. Her floral-pink shirt exposed two inches of wrinkled and freckled cleavage. Around her neck she wore one large, gold cross. After giving her body a sweep, Sadie made a point of keeping her eyes on the woman’s face.
Beneath a cheap pair of false eyelashes were hazel eyes, the kind that showed little emotion, like they’d seen enough in their lifetime. Sadie stepped past her into the apartment with the puppy. It had been built exactly like her own, but furnished in a kind of boho, Vegas, garage-sale style that brought a smile to Sadie’s face.
“She looks a bit like a poodle,” Beatrice said as she bent down and picked up Puppy.
“He’s a Labradoodle.”
Beatrice didn’t say anything to that, but the look she gave could have fried a tomato. Obviously not a fan of yuppy dog breeds.
“What’s his name?” Beatrice rubbed under the puppy’s ears, sending his tail into a wagging frenzy.
“Puppy, until I can think of a better name.”
“With his big brown eyes he’s a woman killer. I’d call him Casanova.”
“That’s it. That’s his name. A perfect fit.”
They watched the puppy for a few minutes, then Sadie remembered her mission. “He’s a good puppy,” she said, lying again.
“You in some kinda trouble, honey?” The woman’s eyes swept over Sadie.
“I need to get to London, that’s all.” Damn, she shouldn’t have mentioned her destination. She was really losing it. Time to get her head back into the game.
“A man?”
“Something like that.” Truth always worked better.
Beatrice nodded and scratched Casanova behind his right ear. The puppy nuzzled her back. Sadie put the bag of supplies by the kitchen counter and headed for the door. She turned back to take one more look at her puppy.
“Hope he’s worth it,” said Beatrice.
Funny how she knew it was about a man.
24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dressed in black yoga pants and a loden-green jacket, Sadie boarded the first flight to London three hours later. Bakari had pulled strings to get her a seat on the overbooked flight. Sitting in first class, she sipped water and reviewed the material forwarded by Jeremiah. The information boiled down to three things: what the CIA knew about Bakari’s plans, or at least said they knew; what they wanted her to do; and a backup strategy.
What they knew: Bakari planned to steal the scarab to save his daughter. The amulet would be shown to the public at Highclere castle for the first time on Wednesday. A ticket under her own name would be held for her at the door.
Wednesday. That gave her three days to find out more. Seventy-two hours. A team of Bakari’s men flew into London yesterday. Their location and plans were unknown.
Would Gahiji, Bakari’s torture loving sidekick be one of them? She shuddered and read on. Bakari boarded a plane an hour ago, also heading for London.
Bakari’s wacko plan to steal another amulet had started. How could he still believe that pretty objects from the past could heal his daughter? He seemed like such an intelligent man. Someone had filled his mind with powerful superstitions. Could she change his thinking? His beliefs? That wouldn’t be easy. He had constructed his own warped religion.
But if she could change his mind… The scarab would be safe. So would a lot of lives, that were about to be put at risk.
George, a CIA operative she’d worked with many times over the years, would be her back-up. He’d flown into London from Belgium and would tail her from the airport. More backup would be called in as needed. Her MI 5 liaison would be Reggie, an old friend with a reputation for fast thinking in the field. They had history, mostly good. As long as he stayed out of her way and played his part, things would work out.
What exactly did they expect her to do? She re-read Jeremiah’s report hoping to find more details. Towards the end, Jeremiah wrote: “Kia believes Rashida’s illness has pushed Bakari’s mind over the brink of sanity. To quote her: ‘He’s always been highly volatile. He’s even more unpredictable now.’” Great news.
Jeremiah finished with: “That is why we are sending you in. Bakari’s men have prepared another shipment of arms for the Islamic State. If we stop him now, we can save lives.”
Kia was a top CIA profiler and she was rarely wrong. Could the news get any worse? Sadie exhaled slowly. Bakari was losing his marbles and in league with barbarians. What the hell was Jeremiah suggesting? Take him out any way, at any cost? She wasn’t a hit woman. Far from it.
She ran a hand through her hair. She didn’t have Kia’s fancy psych degrees, but she knew men. Bakari had not shown himself to her as the power-hungry lunatic she’d expected. Yeah, she’d read the CIA dossier on him. He’d been an international bad-ass since his late teens, selling weapons to anyone with money, but that wasn’t the whole story.
She drank more water. Her, “must hydrate on flights,” mantra interrupted her thoughts. She’d need to be in peak condition when she arrived.
Closing the message screen on her cell-phone she plugged in her ear phones and turned on some light rock music to soothe her nerves. History was a collection of opinions, at best. It didn’t really matter what had been written in the CIA reports. Sadie knew the man, knew he wasn’t proud of everything he’d done, but that he’d done it for his family. He had integrity and good intentions. Well… some.
The image of his beheaded wife, Safa, came to mind. How much of the violence attributed to him had been Dead Eyes’s fault? That was her name for Gahiji, one of Bakari’s henchmen, a man so dark and evil it made her flesh crawl to be near him.
“Bakari gives the orders,” cautioned her inner voice. “Bakari is in control.”
Damn that voice.
And what about his brother, Chasisi? He’d been at the Met Museum when the last heist went down. Sources said he acted as Bakari’s right-hand man. How many orders did he give?
Still, her gut told her that Bakari was in charge, always in charge. She’d met few men as alpha as him.
Could she turn him? Or would she have to trap him? Kill him? She rubbed the bridge of her nose. One way or another she’d get her man.
The miles ticked slowly by. She’d seduce him. There’d be no putting him off with innuendo this time. When it came to pillow talk, she’d manipulate him as best she could. It wasn’t the greatest plan, but it was a start.
Her throat dried, and her stomach felt heavy. She’d flirted a lot as a spy, but this time she had to be ready to do more. Jeremiah had warned her that it would change her. He’d cautioned her against it. But a spy has to do whatever it takes in the field to meet their objective and stay alive.
It was just sex. And it wasn’t as though she hadn’t slept with her share of men. She’d fake the passion. The old—“shut your eyes and do it for t
he flag.”
Could she act totally turned-on with a man who sold guns to terrorists? To a man almost twenty years older than herself? A man who had three living wives and one he buried in the sand? A man who intrigued her with his charm, but didn’t flip her switch physically? And, worst of all—to a man who wasn’t Sebastian?
Sebastian would be furious, but she pushed her thoughts and feelings for him away. She had a job to do, and no one in the world could do it better.
The plane landed and she disembarked. With her head held high, she strode through customs to look for her driver. She hoped he’d send Eboni and scanned the crowds for her face. Her hope died when she saw him. Standing to the side, with a scowl so dark it would make the devil flinch, stood Dead Eyes. When he saw her, he spat on the ground.
25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Groaning, Sadie walked up to Dead Eyes. Without any change in his scowl he grunted, turned and walked towards the exit. His communication style had not improved since they last met. Nor had his body odor. Sadie followed rolling her carry-on bag behind her. He hailed a cab and she sat in the back next to him, but as far from him as possible. His pungent body odor filled the space—part garlic and part him.
Sadie looked out the window. Dense traffic sped away from Heathrow in the low light of the autumn afternoon. A low ceiling of clouds held the city captive in a blanket of subdued colors. Thirteen million people live in London, one of the largest global cities on the planet, known for its financial district and cultural sites. But despite that, London for her was a “gray.”
She often thought in colors and London was a definite gray, a place where nature had been pushed to the edges and replaced with a dull cityscape of concrete, filled with grim people who wore gray and black every day of their lives. It didn’t have the joie de vivre of Paris, a passionate pink to her mind, the hip vibe of Amsterdam, an orange, or the electric buzz of New York, a neon yellow. It suited business men and academics, but not her.
Ancient Danger Page 11