“So to influence anything on a large scale, we need to have influence in at least three of these four great nations,” Hyder replied, nodding as he glanced at his sister. At nineteen she was tall and lithe, her olive skin giving her an almost ethereal look, her sand-colored eyes as focused and determined as his own. “Our ultra-pure oil will give us some influence with the Saudis, the Americans, and the Russians, all of whom are entrenched in the economics of oil.”
Nishaani nodded and then sighed. “So it has to be those three nations we focus on. But even with our oil, we are still a tiny kingdom in the grand scheme. How do we make an impact big enough that it matters?”
“The biggest impact is not made by oil or money or guns or bombs. It is made by people. The men and women who make the decisions. Our royal status, wealth, and political connections have put us in a unique position, Nishaani. If we plan it right, we can find ways to be those men and women who make decisions at the highest levels!”
“Then we will plan it right,” Nishaani said firmly. “What are you thinking? What is the best way?”
Hyder took a long, measured breath, closing his eyes and waiting before speaking. “The best way is the oldest way. It is how alliances were built, power was built, influence was built. In the end we are dealing with people, with individuals, men and women with hearts and souls, needs and wants, fears and desires. So we have to get personal. Build influence and power at the most personal, the most intimate levels. Do you understand?”
Nishaani frowned and blinked, but then she nodded slowly, those sand-colored eyes shining like gold. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I’ve always understood.”
“I know,” said Hyder, and he took his sister’s hands in his and looked into her eyes. “And you understand that if we go down this path, we must do it without sacrificing our humanity. Indeed, we must do it while embracing our humanity, giving our own desires and needs the utmost priority. This is what is called the long game, Nishaani. A game we play for the rest of our lives, which means in a sense that it is not a game at all. It is our lives, and there is no point in life without love. Yes?”
“Yes,” she said, taking a trembling breath and squeezing his hands before looking down. “I understand. I am ready.”
Hyder nodded and squeezed back, smiling tightly as he looked at his sister with an affection so strong he thought his heart might burst. But there was excitement too, and he knew she could feel it as well. They shared that sense of adventure, that penchant for wild, perhaps insane plans, that need to make an impact so big it could not be denied. What was the point of living if you did not think big?!
“There is a man I want you to meet,” he said quietly. “A Russian billionaire named Yuri Gorka. Young, brilliant, charismatic. He can be a hard man, but he is honorable in his own way. He has a future in Russia, and perhaps you will choose to be part of it. The biggest part of it.” He cupped his sister’s face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. “Only if you choose it. Remember, we can never forsake our humanity to achieve our goals. And what makes us human is love. We choose love first, and everything else will follow.”
Nishaani looked back at her brother and nodded. They both stayed silent for a moment, brother and sister standing alone in the ornate chambers of a king, no witnesses but the red sandstone walls, the green curtains, those portraits of old Sheikhs and Sheikhas, the distant minarets and towers of the capital city of Sehaar visible through the large open balcony in the distance.
Finally Nishaani broke the silence. “What about my mother?” she asked.
“What about her?”
“You still believe she is American CIA?”
“Yes. What do you believe?”
Nishaani shrugged. “She has not been to visit in years. She might as well be a figment of my imagination at this point.”
“She will reveal herself soon enough,” Hyder said. “If things proceed with this man I am asking you to meet, then Mel will reveal herself to you.”
“And if things do not proceed with this man?”
Hyder took a breath. “Then she will reveal herself to me.”
Nishaani raised a carefully plucked eyebrow at her brother. “And how do you plan to accomplish that?”
“While you are endearing yourself to the Russians, I will walk the tightrope between the United States and Saudi Arabia,” Hyder replied. “I have made contact with an American named John Benson. He is a rising star in the Near-East division of the CIA, and he personally knows several Sheikhs of the region. It is said he is a man of principle, of integrity. A man who can be trusted.”
“A CIA officer who can be trusted? Ya Allah, Brother, I thought you told me we can only trust ourselves, and sometimes not even ourselves!” Nishaani smiled as she teased him.
Hyder smiled back. “You have to choose whom to trust, when to trust them, and how far to trust them.”
Nishaani nodded. “And why should this John Benson trust you?”
“The best way to gain someone’s trust is to actually be trustworthy. I will give him what he wants—names, dates, proof of ties to terrorism and terror groups—and ask for nothing in return. And the truth is, I do not want anything in return. I want the men and women who hide behind the cloak of Islam and support terrorism to be rooted out and destroyed. And along the way I will build trust, accumulate favors, develop political capital. Eventually I too will become known as an asset to the CIA, and eventually Mel will reveal herself. She will have no choice. The CIA will bring her into it because of our family connection. Just like they will bring her into it because of your connection—if you ever do connect with Yuri Gorka. And then we will all be one happy family in the CIA!”
“Hyder,” Nishaani said, her eyes betraying her excitement. “Tell me truly. Do you believe that my mother killed our father?”
Hyder took a breath and shook his head. “No. I did when I was younger, but I no longer believe it. Father had a weak heart from years of heavy smoking. He lived an unhealthy life, and he paid the price. We all paid the price, perhaps your mother too.”
“What do you mean?”
Hyder shrugged, running his hand through his thick black hair. “Father spoke of your mother during his last days, when he was on a potent mix of painkillers that made him very talkative at times.”
“You never told me! What did he say?”
The Sheikh smiled and shook his head. “Ya Allah, you were still a child! I could not repeat what he told me! In fact, forget I even mentioned it, because I cannot repeat it now either!”
“You are turning red, Brother!” Nishaani squealed, covering her face with her hands. “By God, tell me! I am an adult, you know! I know what sex is, Brother! Please!”
Hyder laughed and shook his head. “All I will say is that he spoke of his time with Mel as being . . . memorable. Very memorable. Warm and memorable. He described the passion as—”
Nishaani waved her hands and then covered her ears. “OK, stop. I do not think I want the details after all. This is my mother we are talking about.” She laughed and shook her head. “Though it is a relief to know that she is capable of showing affection to someone at least.”
The Sheikh laughed and shook his head, touching his sister’s cheek and kissing her on the forehead. She was so damned strong, so at ease with herself, so mentally at peace with everything that hadn’t been perfect in her life. She would change the world. He knew she would.
“Ya Allah, Hyder,” Nishaani whispered after the moment had passed and the reality of the lager conversation returned. “We are really doing this, are we not?” she said, her voice trembling with excitement. “Spies. Secret missions. Undercover operations. We have become our own intelligence agency! We should have a name for this mission, should we not? All great missions have great names!”
“You choose the name,” Hyder said. “Go ahead. First thing that comes to your mind.”
“Nigh
tshade,” she said without hesitation. “Operation Nightshade.”
“Nightshade it is,” said Hyder. “Operation Nightshade. Inshallah and God Bless.”
22
Nightshade, came the word as the Sheikh strained his neck in ecstasy and buried his hands in Kathryn’s thick hair. Operation Nightshade.
Now he understood that he’d indeed been hypnotized in a subtle, almost unrecognizable way. But it hadn’t been complete, and he hadn’t let his guard down all the way. Hypnotism was not truth serum, and after years of keeping secrets and manufacturing the truth based on who he was dealing with, Hyder’s answers to Kathryn’s questions had been a strange mix of reality and fiction, designed to both confuse and illuminate.
“Kathryn,” he muttered as he caressed her hair and bucked his hips as she moved up and down on him. “Ya Allah, Kathryn. I want to tell you the truth. I want to tell you everything.”
The words came out slurred and broken, obscured by his grunts and the sound of her lips sliding back and forth on his smooth, glistening shaft. Tears ran down the sides of his face as he twisted and turned under her touch, and as he looked down at the woman with him, he couldn’t help but think back to that last question his sister had asked when she returned after that fateful meeting with Yuri Gorka, where she’d decided that this was a man she could indeed love, a man she could believe in, a man who would understand her, be worthy of her:
“And when are you going to choose a woman who will join Operation Nightshade?” she’d asked.
“I am working on it,” he’d replied curtly. “I am working on it.”
And I am still working on it, am I not, he thought as he grimaced in pleasure as she sucked him so hard he thought he’d pass out. Even though I have found her, I am still working on it. There are so many layers to unravel, so many chasms to bridge, so many lies to overcome. For years I have been focused on this goal of ours, this childish dream of a brother and sister, a dream of saving the world by influencing American, Russian, and Saudi policy all at once . . . and doing it without sacrificing our individual needs and wants. Is it possible? Or are we truly just children, naïve and foolish with too much time and money at our disposal? What have we changed so far?
A lot, he decided as he thought about it. Many supporters of terrorism are behind bars or dead because of you. And Nishaani is on her way to becoming a player in Russian politics, a woman loved by the people, a woman who could rise on the swell of public opinion if the stars line up right. Yes, they had indeed achieved a lot, and in a way this thing was only just beginning. Operation Nightshade was the long game, he reminded himself. The game that would be played their entire lives.
And what is the point of life without love, came the disjointed thought as he looked down at Kathryn and pulled her off him, bringing her in for a fierce kiss that carried with it all his thoughts, all his fears, every dream, every ambition. It was a kiss that carried all his love, and he damned well knew it.
“Hyder,” she gasped as she broke the kiss for a gulp of air before succumbing to him again. “Oh, Hyder.”
“I love you,” he muttered, kissing her again and flipping her so she was beneath him. He rubbed her between her legs, spreading her with his fingers, his cock straining as its tip teased her wetness. He pushed in a few inches and waited, looking into her eyes and smiling wide. “I love you, in truth and in lies, in the real world and in this fiction we have created,” he muttered. “Ya Allah, I love you, no matter how impossible it seems.”
Kathryn cocked her head and looked up at him, but then he was inside her, pushing every inch of himself into her warm vagina, and her eyes rolled up in her head as she opened her mouth in raw ecstasy.
“I don’t care if it’s impossible,” she groaned as she spread her thighs and then closed her legs around him, pulling him in as he drove and pumped. “It’s happening. Oh, God, it’s happening.”
She screamed as he came inside her, his hips pushing in one last time as her legs held him there. Hyder felt his balls seize up and deliver his load, massive bursts of semen spurting deep into her valley as they declared their love like it was their last day on Earth, as if they were two people who knew they were living a fiction, pretending in a way, acting out what they so desperately wanted to be true.
When they were done he rolled off her and pulled her close, the two of them panting in the darkness, their eyes wild and alert, their hair matted and wet, their bodies hot and shining.
“I’m waiting,” she said.
“For what?” he said.
“For you to tell me everything. You said that, didn’t you?”
The Sheikh chuckled and pulled her close, kissing her mussed hair and then her lips. “I was delirious. I did not know what I was saying. And perhaps you did not know what you were hearing.”
“Oh, right. OK. If that’s the way you want to play it, so be it. But I know that everything you told me while under hypnosis wasn’t true. Some of it was true. Some of it was a lie. Some of it was a lie you’ve told so long that you believe it’s true.”
The Sheikh closed his eyes and fought the urge to let it all out, to tell her everything, things he’d told no one else. But he knew he had to wait. He had to let things play out. Wild declarations of love aside, it was still too early. In a way, this was still the first date, was it not?
And so he stayed silent and closed his eyes, and through the dark silence he heard the sound of what was coming.
“What the hell,” Kathryn whispered, sitting bolt upright and grabbing her robe. “No. It can’t be. Please tell me that sound is one of your helicopters, and not . . . oh, God, I know that engine. It's a Blackhawk chopper!”
She howled in frustration, and the Sheikh grabbed her arm and pulled her from the tent just as they heard the first rattle of the chopper’s short-range artillery break through the roar of its engines.
23
“The Saudis,” the Sheikh said as morning broke in the East, the rising sun casting the open desert in swaths of red and yellow. “The US sells Blackhawks to Saudi Arabia, and Saudi military and Special Forces use them to conduct occasional raids on nomadic tribes like the Hashimi, who are technically illegal immigrants squatting on Saudi-owned land.” He shrugged as they scanned the horizon and then prompted their camels onward. “It also gives their new pilots some combat training.”
“You’re kidding me,” Kathryn said, her eyes narrow with rage. She wondered which of her new friends amongst the Hashimi had been killed or wounded, and she felt sick to her stomach. “We have to go back, Hyder. They may need our help.”
“We will be in a better position to help by reaching Sehaar as soon as we can,” Hyder said, shaking his head. “What good can we do by returning now? We have no medical supplies, no food, very little water. If anyone is wounded, their best hope is for us to send help as soon as possible.”
“Your phone,” Kathryn said, shaking her head as she tried to figure out what made sense and what didn’t. Did anything make sense? Of course not. “Now’s the time to use it, don’t you think?”
“I left it,” the Sheikh said quietly. “I thought it better to take you along instead.”
“Bad choice,” retorted Kathryn. “And I can take care of myself, thank you very much.” She took a breath and watched her camel glide along in its stately way, seemingly immune to any of the madness that was happening around it. “Do you really think it was just a coincidence that the Saudis chose to use that particular Hashimi camp for target practice, Hyder? One goddamn day after we arrive there? One day after some F-16s shoot us out of the sky? Two days after some Russians try to gun us down in our bed?”
“Would it make you feel better if I said it was not a coincidence?” said the Sheikh, raising an eyebrow as Kathryn’s camel turned as if to look at him accusingly.
“How can you be so calm?” Kathryn shouted. “Those poor Hashimis might be dead or dying becau
se of us! Your pilot is already dead because of us! Someone is responsible, and we need to find out who!”
“And do what? Make them pay? Yes, my American hero?”
“Yes!” Kathryn screamed. “Fuck, yes! We make them pay!”
Hyder tilted his head back and laughed, his thick black hair shimmering in the rising sun as he shook his head. “So we make the Russians, the Americans, and the Saudis pay for their sins? That is what you want?”
Kathryn thought a moment, and then she nodded. “Yes,” she said, almost surprised at her own sudden calmness. “Actually, yes. That’s exactly what I want.”
The Sheikh took a breath and narrowed his eyes, glancing at her and then quickly looking away, as if he was afraid she’d see something in his eyes—see something he didn’t want her to see yet. “Good,” he whispered, almost to himself, perhaps to his camel. “Now save your breath. The sun is rising, and we have a long ride ahead of us. There is an oasis three hours ride from here. We fill our canteens, water the camels, and then push hard to get to Sehaar by nightfall.”
“So long as no Blackhawks, F-16s, or AK-47s delay us,” Kathryn muttered, shaking her head and patting her camel’s neck, making sure to scratch its favored spot. “All right then. Giddy-up, boy. Yee-haw.”
24
They arrived at the outskirts of Sehaar just as the sun was setting, and Kathryn watched in amazement as men, women, and children leaned out of their windows, gathered in their balconies, and ran out of their homes to wave, whistle, and greet the Sheikh like he was either a god or Justin Beiber.
“I rarely visit the far reaches of my kingdom these days,” the Sheikh said, a hint of regret in his voice as he smiled and waved and reached out and grasped the outstretched hands of his people as their camels moved slowly through the crowd.
“Why is that? Your kingdom isn’t that large.”
The Sheikh turned and raised an eyebrow at Kathryn. “Did no one ever tell you it is dangerous to laugh at the size of a king’s realm?”
Assassin for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 11) Page 12
