by N. J. Croft
Interesting, but hardly relevant, considering he’d been dead for centuries. She sounded confident now, talking about her work. He didn’t want her confident, he wanted her off-balance.
“I know your husband,” he said.
“Noah?” she asked, and he nodded. “He’s my ex-husband, actually.”
“We worked together. I liked him. I was just about to get married. He told me not to. He said the job doesn’t work with marriage.”
“Did you take his advice?”
“No.”
“And?”
He smiled. “She’s meeting with a divorce lawyer this morning.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need. It’s a mutual decision.” He sat down again. “I think you should go on the expedition.”
“What? Why?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure. I can’t see any connection between my terrorist and your trip to Mongolia, but I know it’s there. One way to find it is to do what they want. And for some reason they want you to go to Mongolia and find a spear.” Fucking crazy. His boss would love this—would no doubt see it as definitive proof that he’d totally lost the plot.
“I told you, I don’t do field work. And I told you why.”
“Mongolia is one of the safest countries on the planet. And it’s been twelve years. Don’t you think it’s time to move on?”
Her eyes flashed. “You don’t think I hate the fact that my life is controlled by those bastards?” She took a deep breath. “I’ve turned down the expedition of a lifetime—when I believed it was nothing more than a straightforward job. So why the hell would I say yes when there’s a terrorist connection? I’d be absolutely insane.”
Maybe she was right, and maybe he was the insane one for suggesting it. But you worked with what you had. “A possible terrorist connection. It’s likely a coincidence.” Because there was a whole load of those in his line of work.
“You don’t believe that.”
He shrugged. “What I believe is that the world is facing an unprecedented threat. We all have to stand up and do our part. My partner has been in a coma for the last three months. And right now, you’re my only lead in finding the assholes responsible.”
She stared back at him, her face expressionless, and he knew he had failed.
“I can’t.”
Chapter Five
The sound of screaming woke her. Eve shot upright, heart pounding, bathed in sweat.
A small lamp by the bed cast a red glow—she hated the dark—and the house was silent all around her.
The screaming had been hers.
She dragged the air into her lungs, fighting for breath. She’d been having a nightmare. Her favorite, where they’d been drowning her. Over and over again.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled, counted to ten, exhaled…
The door opened, and she flinched then forced herself to relax as Harper, her eleven-year-old daughter, appeared. “Are you okay, Mom?”
She curled her lips into the semblance of a smile. “Of course. I was just having a bad dream.”
Harper stepped into the room, came to stand beside her. She looked so much like her father, tall for her age, with black hair and blue eyes. “You’re having a lot of bad dreams lately.” She hadn’t been aware Harper had noticed. Which was stupid; Harper noticed everything. It wasn’t only in appearance that she took after her father. “Maybe you should get some help.”
“Help?”
“See someone. Talk about it. You know, a doctor.”
She’d had that kind of help before. And a lot of good it had done her. But she couldn’t go on like this. Maybe Zach Martin was right and it was time to face her fears. Maybe that was the only way she’d ever have a normal life again. “Are the twins okay?”
Harper grinned. “Still fast asleep.”
“Good.” She glanced at her watch. It was four in the morning. “Go back to bed. I’m going to get up and do some work. No more screaming. I promise.”
Harper gave her another look but then nodded and headed for the door.
Eve called after her. “Hey, how would you like to go visit your grandmother for a while?”
“I get to miss school?”
“Yes.”
She grinned again. “Then I’d love to.”
As the door closed behind Harper, Eve reached for the phone then punched in the number Zach had given her.
He picked up after one ring. Someone else wasn’t sleeping.
“I’ll do it.” And she ended the call.
Chapter Six
Eve had taken a sleeping pill before the flight, and while she hadn’t slept deeply, she had dozed off now and then during the eleven-hour journey.
All the same, a tight band of tension had formed around her chest and only loosened when she stood in the open doorway of the plane, at Chinggis Khaan International Airport just outside Ulaanbaatar, the capital city. It was nine in the evening and the sunlight was just fading.
But God, she was in Mongolia.
She’d spent so much of her life studying the country, its history and people, and now she was actually here. For a moment, excitement overcame apprehension.
Then someone coughed behind her; she was holding everyone up. She hurried down the steps and across the tarmac, into the airport building. She passed through customs with no problem and found her luggage easily. So far so good.
Now she had to find the Spirit Banner, and she had only four days to do it. When they had talked, Mr. Tuul had made it very clear his deadline was to be adhered to, and she’d already used up three days of her allotted week getting to this point. There was no time to waste.
As she came into the arrivals lounge, she glanced around. She wasn’t expecting anyone to meet her, and she planned to get a taxi to the hotel. She wasn’t even sure if the rest of the team would be here yet. Not that there were many of them.
Yuri, a Russian archaeologist she had consulted with for years, though they’d only met last year, when he had come to Cambridge to help her with some research. They’d gotten on well, more than well, and ended up having a brief fling—her first since she’d left Noah. Five years was a long time to go without sex. She’d missed it. But neither of them had wanted to take things further. He was based in Moscow and she wasn’t going there. But they remained friends, and he’d been an obvious choice for this team—he had almost as much invested as she did in the hunt for the Spirit Banner.
There was also Tarkhan Ganbaatar, whom she had never met but had worked with over the last few years. He was in his eighties, a scholar who had spent most of his life studying Genghis Khan, mainly compiling and analyzing the various translations of his life story, The Secret History of the Mongols, which provided a wealth of information on the warrior. It had been the basis of all her research. She was looking forward to meeting him.
The third member of the team wouldn’t be joining them in Mongolia—Star had said she would be more use working from home with her systems. She was probably right. Star was a space archaeologist—a cross between a computer hacker and an archaeologist—who identified places of interest using satellite and other imaging techniques. Many of the methods were used to see below ground level, and this had revolutionized the field of archeology. Digs in the past had always been a little hit-or-miss. You were never sure you would find anything. Now they could check beforehand. Star wasn’t her real name, and Eve had never met her in person, but they’d spent many hours online together, examining images, discussing what secrets they might reveal. And Star would be on hand to provide information once Eve had closed in on her target.
And the final member of the team had been added at the last minute by the funding organization. John Chen would act as driver and translator. She’d told them that they wouldn’t need a translator, that Tarkhan spoke English fluently as well as his native Mongolian, but they’d insisted. It had made her twitchy. She blamed that on Zach Martin and his terrorist conspiracies. He had to be mistaken.
There
was no reason a charitable organization that funded the search for ancient relics would be in any way connected to terrorists. It made no sense at all. So she’d made a conscious decision to dismiss the idea. Now she was here, and she was going to enjoy herself. This was the job of a lifetime. She was going on a search for the lost Spirit Banner of Genghis Khan, and she was going to find it. Then she would find the tomb, and it would be the culmination of years of work and study.
She looked around for something that would indicate a taxi rank, but instead she found a man holding a handwritten sign with dr. blakeley written across it. The man was of medium height, his black hair pulled into a ponytail. He didn’t look Mongolian, maybe part Chinese, with pronounced cheekbones, and distinctive crystal blue eyes.
John Chen?
She headed over and stopped in front of him. He glanced at his sign, then at her. “Dr. Blakeley?”
She held out her hand. “I’m Eve.”
He slid his hand into hers and smiled an easy, uncomplicated smile, and she was instantly drawn to him. She’d learned to trust her instincts with people, and she decided she liked John Chen.
“Welcome to Mongolia,” he said with a slight American accent. “Let’s get you to the hotel. The others are waiting.”
“Yuri and Tarkhan are here?”
“They both got in about an hour ago. And the journalist arrived this afternoon.”
“The journalist?”
“You didn’t know? The university requested his inclusion. He’s going to do a piece for National Geographic on your search.”
She frowned. “Nice of them to tell me.”
“Apparently it was last minute. But Zach seems like a good guy.”
She stopped moving. “Zach?”
“Zach Painter, the journalist. I got the impression the two of you knew each other.”
Zach Painter. It couldn’t be anyone but the MI6 agent, even with the change of surname. What the hell was Zach doing here? So much for forgetting about that angle. Why hadn’t he told her? Had he found out something new? Some other connection? She looked around, expecting to see someone watching them, but of course there was no one.
“Are you okay?”
“I took a sleeping pill on the plane—I hate flying—and I’m still a little woozy, that’s all. And yes, I’ve met Zach, once, briefly. So I wouldn’t say we know each other.”
They carried on walking. There were no prickly feelings down her back, no sense of being watched, and by the time she was sitting in the front passenger seat of John’s black SUV, her heart rate was back to normal.
She rested her head against the seat as they left the airport. The sky was a sea of darkness above the backdrop of streetlights. Her stomach rumbled. Dinner first, and then a meeting and a decision about where to start.
The road was pretty quiet. They were driving fast and were about ten minutes into the journey when she became aware of a vehicle behind them. She didn’t know why she noticed it. Maybe the bright headlights. They were close. Too close.
She turned her head slightly to look at John, saw him glance in the rearview mirror. Their speed increased, but the vehicle kept pace with them. A sick feeling twisted in her stomach.
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
He cast her a smile. “Of course not.”
The vehicle hit them from behind. She lurched forward and was jerked to a stop by the seat belt. The car swerved and John swore in a language she didn’t recognize. She went still, quite unable to move, her gaze caught by the bright headlights in the side mirror.
They were hit again and a small whimper escaped her mouth. Her heart was thundering, her pulse hammering. She stared straight ahead.
John swore again, and the car suddenly skidded to a stop. He yanked the wheel around and they shot off in the opposite direction before she was even aware what was happening. They passed the other car, but she only saw a blurred impression of a black vehicle. Her hands were clenched on her lap and her eyes screwed shut, but she felt the car slow and stop again.
“Eve? It’s okay. We lost them.” He touched her hand lightly, and she jumped, forced her eyes open. His brows were drawn together in a frown.
“Sorry. I’m not good with…things like that.” She cleared her throat. She felt like such an idiot. The intrepid explorer. “I had a bad experience a few years ago, and it comes back occasionally.” Her mind started to clear. What had just happened? “That car tried to run us off the road.”
“It was likely just local carjackers. They prey on tourists on the airport run, especially at night. I got the plate number—I’ll give it to the local cops. Or maybe it was kids having fun.”
“Weird sort of fun.”
He shrugged. “That’s kids for you. Are you all right? You look pale. Honestly, we weren’t in any real danger.”
How could he know that? She fumbled with her seat belt, managed to get it undone, reached for the door handle, and almost fell out of the car. She held onto the door as she retched. She hadn’t eaten much, and it was more noise than anything else. Glancing up, she found John standing beside the vehicle, eyes narrowed. He handed her a bottle of water and she took a gulp, then spat it out and took another. Swallowed. He went back to the car and, this time, gave her a small flask. “For emergencies.”
She took a sip. Malt whiskey. Smoky and warm. “Will they come back?”
“No, we’re safe. Too much traffic here for carjackers.”
She looked around. They were in the city now, pulled up on the edge of a busy road. Vehicles whizzed past them.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
She nodded, took another gulp of whiskey, and held it out to him.
He shook his head. “You keep it. You look like you need it more than me.”
She shoved the flask into her pocket and got back into the car, keeping her mind blank. Beside her, she could sense John giving her little sideways glances.
Ten more minutes and they reached the hotel. “Thanks for the ride.”
“We’re all meeting in the bar at ten thirty,” he said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ll see you then.”
Once in her room, she collapsed onto the bed, shaking. She pulled the flask from her pocket, took a swallow. She was a mess, but hadn’t she already known that? Wasn’t that why she was here, to face her fears, get over them?
Good job so far.
Had it been nothing? She didn’t think so. If it hadn’t been for John’s skilled driving, that car would have pushed them off the road. And they’d been driving along an overpass at the time. If they’d gone over the edge, they would have died. Probably in a fireball. Nothing left for carjackers. So it didn’t make sense. And John had impressive driving skills for a translator. Christ, she was seeing bogeymen everywhere.
She brushed her teeth, avoiding looking at herself in the mirror. She didn’t have time to freshen up anything else. There was something she wanted to do before she headed down to the bar. It would be morning in DC now. She got out her phone and punched in Noah’s number. It went to voicemail. What a surprise.
She thought for a moment, then tapped in another number. This time it picked up on the third ring. “Eve?”
“Hello, Peter. I was trying to get hold of Noah.” General Peter Blakeley was Noah’s uncle but also his commanding officer. He was the one person from Noah’s family who had been at their wedding. She liked him, and he’d told her if she ever needed anything to call him.
“I’m afraid he’s not available at the moment.”
“He’s undercover, isn’t he?” Shit.
“You know I can’t talk about it.”
“That’s why he missed Harper’s birthday. Bastard. And don’t give me that ‘he’s doing it for his country’ crap. He enjoys every second of it.”
Peter snorted. “Maybe. But that doesn’t preclude him doing it for the greater good.”
“The greater good? What the hell does that even mean?”
&
nbsp; “Did you need him for anything in particular?”
She thought for a moment; should she ask Peter instead? Really, though, it was a no-brainer. If Noah had worked with Zach—assuming the man had been telling the truth about that—then there was a good chance Peter would have heard of Zach as well. “I had a visit from a Zachary Martin recently. He said he was MI6 and that he knew Noah. I just wanted to hear what Noah had to say about him.”
Peter was silent for a moment. “What are you involved with?”
“Nothing, really. At least I don’t think so. He was just asking questions about the organization that funds my research. I think he believed they were laundering money or something similar.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall, sandy-blond hair, gray eyes. Had a small scar through his lip on the right side. You know him?”
“We’ve met. As far as I’m aware, he’s MI6 and a good agent. But let me check for you. If I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Peter. And if you are in contact with Noah at all, tell him he forgot his daughter’s goddamn birthday. Again.” She was about to hang up when she had another thought. “Could you look up someone else for me?”
“Go on.”
“John Chen. He’s likely Chinese-American, medium height, black hair, blue eyes. He’s a translator, employed by the Mongolian Historic Society. I just have a feeling he’s something more as well.”
“I’ll look into it and get back to you.”
It occurred to her as she ended the call that she did have a connection to terrorists after all. Noah, her ex-husband and the father of her children, spent his life hunting them down. Could this be some way to get at Noah through her?
Truth? She had no clue.
Finding Genghis Khan’s spear was a whole lot simpler than unravelling a terrorist plot.
Chapter Seven
Zach had chosen a chair facing the door. So he could watch her as she came in.
He was curious as to how she had reacted to his presence here but hadn’t wanted to ask John. He was unsure of what John Chen’s role was in all this. He certainly had the promised skills. His Mongolian was perfect—or at least appeared to be—he had no problem conversing with the locals. Zach’s Mongolian was non-existent. The country hadn’t been a place of interest to MI6. Before now.