by Gennita Low
“Stuff.”
“Ahh.”
John lifted a brow inquiringly. “Ahh?”
“Kel said—” She stopped when he groaned, lowering his head in a gesture of total defeat. “I’m sorry, is something wrong?”
“No, no, please continue,” he said, wanting to hear what other wisdom his Kel had imparted. “What was the “ahhh” for?”
Zaleiha sat down on the Victorian embroidered chair, and crossed and uncrossed her legs, studying how her new shoes looked. Finally, she put them together and tucked her feet femininely to the side
“Kel said,” she continued, as she tried to keep her balance, “that ‘stuff’ means the man doesn’t want the woman to know about whatever he’s doing. It’s part of the secret code of male domination, she said.”
John coughed. The woman was incorrigible, and he didn’t mean Zaleiha. “I think you shouldn’t take Kel so seriously. She has this strange sense of humor that isn’t really proper.” He could manipulate information just as well as his darling wife.
“She told me to ignore any insults you say about her,” Kaleiha informed him, and her eyes widened when she finally looked up from her feet. “Oh, don’t be angry. I don’t know how to make her good coffee to calm you down…and the other way is impossible.”
Okay, he’d bite. “Go on. What is the other way to calm me down? Drug me?” he suggested, with remarkable calm, he might add.
Kaleiha blushed and again, wouldn’t look him in the eye. He narrowed his suspiciously.
“Well,” she said, her voice shy. “It’s impossible because I don’t know what to do with a naked man, but Kel said, she can calm you down once you’re naked.”
John stared at the woman. Her face was bright red with embarrassment. “You know what,” he finally said, although the sound of his voice seemed a little choked to him, “I think I’m going to take you to Agra with me. I need to show you off to Kel.”
Delight fused with embarrassment. The woman, who, a few days ago, was probably the epitome of a demure and quiet female, jumped up, squealing. She quickly covered her mouth.
“Oh thank you, thank you! Kel said if I said the right things, you would take me along!”
John contemplated tearing the file in his hands in half. Fate giving him one manipulating female was cruel, but to then give him another who was obviously in training to be just as bad was simply evil. He had to go to the source, return this evil thing to the giver. He thought of Kel—he wasn’t going to let time pass again. She couldn’t hide from him, not ever again. Yes, he was going to find the evil woman in Agra and…and…get naked.
Knight’s Tour. A puzzle or task in which a knight has to move over an empty chessboard, visiting each square only once.
CHAPTER THREE
“AARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!”
John opened one eye, his right ear ringing from the high-pitched scream. “Take a nap,” he advised. “If you don’t look, you won’t see a damned thing.”
The woman beside him sat stiffly, both hands gripping the back rest of the front seat, as she stared with saucer-eyes into the traffic in front of her. In the driver’s seat, the turbaned Sikh had one finger poked into his left ear while steering with his thumb pressed insistently on the car horn.
“How can you sleep?” Zaleiha shrieked back over the din. “He is constantly making that horrible sound with the horn! How can you sleep with four hours of car horn?” Her voice rose into a hysterical pitch.
“He needs to do that,” explained John in a mild voice, “to let the people ahead of him know he’s right on their asses and if they don’t move to the other lane, there’s going to be a crash.”
“That’s it! That’s it!” Zaleiha yelled. “Why do they drive like there is just one lane? Even I can see there are two lanes clearly marked! Why are the drivers in the middle of the road and why must this driver keep honking until they move? When we used to have television, the people in the shows didn’t drive like this!”
John sighed and opened his eyes. It wasn’t easy explaining to somebody about driving in a country where no rules was the rule. First of all, there was probably only one traffic light from New Delhi to Agra. One traffic light, and that was near the palatial government building. After that, every citizen for himself, so to speak. Every driver, every school kid on a bicycle, every crammed-to-the-seams busload of Indians, every wagon of workers, every criss-crossing cow for himself. At varying speeds up to eighty miles an hour, he had to admit it could be harrowing to a first timer. He’d learned to just let go of the mounting horror of being killed and take a nap. If that was possible, that is, with everyone beeping their horns as if their life depended on it. Which they did. Just close your eyes, and pretend you’re in New York. In the year 2050.
Okay, that was probably not usable advice for a young woman on her first car ride outside a chauffeured slow vehicle. So he patted her on the shoulder in the awkward manner he’d seen his pals use to comfort a crying child.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said, in what he hoped was a soothing tone of voice. “They’re used to it. Really. We are going to arrive in one piece. Right, David?”
David Singh, the Sikh driver, nodded. “Oh yes,” he said, shaking his head in typical Indian fashion. “No problem. We’re there in no time at all. Maybe five minutes. The Miss has nothing to fear, nothing to be afraid of. I’m a very good driver.”
John looked back at Zaleiha. “See? Everything’s under control.”
At that moment, the car swerved hard to the left, barely missing a wayward cow. Zaleiha’s high-pitched scream had both men wincing.
“What control? What control?” she asked, as the car bounced over several packages that fell from the cart ahead. “This is madness! This is a killing field! Why are there cows on the road?”
“They’re holy. They can go wherever they want.”
“I know they’re ho…look out!” She pointed to another cow lumbering toward them, then threw herself against John, hiding her face in his chest as she prayed in her dialect. Her stranglehold on his neck was amazingly strong, and John couldn’t disentangle her hands as she sobbed, soaking his T-shirt. He looked up and caught David Singh’s sympathetic gaze in the rearview mirror.
John sighed, sinking back into the seat. When they reached Agra, the car would slow down and maybe he could dissuade this woman from making a giant hanky out of him. He’d forgotten exactly why he’d chosen to bring her along…oh yeah, to give her back to Kel. Let her be Professor Higgins.
He forgot about the woman in his arms as soon as they entered the limits of the old city. The head-splitting honking stopped. That was because there wasn’t a moving car in sight. Not a soul walking anywhere. It looked like an abandoned town, but with cars parked haphazardly all over the place.
“David?” he asked.
The driver shrugged “We’ll reach the hotel in no time at all—no traffic!” He drove on, obviously unperturbed by the non-activity around them.
John frowned. He’d been to Agra before, and at the height of tourism, it was impossible to navigate on foot the closer one traveled to the Taj Mahal. Hawkers roamed everywhere selling fake marble items and bad replicas of the tomb. Beggar children literally chased the unwary foreigner all the way from the hotel to the famous site. And there were the thousands of visitors, locals mingling with the very obvious foreigners, taking photographs and buying mementoes.
Where were they? This was the equivalent of walking down Fifth Avenue all alone. For a moment, he thought that maybe some sort of terrorist virus attack had killed off the population. Then he caught sight of a few cattle strolling down the street. Okay, strike virus-attack off the list.
When they finally arrived at their destination, they found Indian troops in front of the hotel. One of them demanded identification as soon as David Singh rolled down the car window. Hot humid air immediately gushed into the cool interior. David exchanged a few words with the soldier, and then turned to John.
“W
e aren’t allowed to stay here.”
John arched a brow. “We have reservations.”
“Yes, but the President of the United States has a suite here at the moment. First Lady wants to visit the Taj. Those people in the lounge are all like in the movie Men In Black, you know?”
“Secret Service,” John confirmed, as he eyed the black-suited, expressionless men wearing dark sunglasses. Well, at least he now had an explanation as to why the city was deserted. Probably under curfew.
“No one is allowed to move around in the city. Soldier said if you give him some rupees, he will make problem go away.”
John sniffed. He doubted it. The Prez’s blacksuits weren’t going to let an unidentified car slip away without checking him out. “Tell the soldier I’m on my honeymoon, David,” he ordered. “And my wife is suffering from the heat.”
“Yes, sir.”
The soldier looked through the window and studied John, who was still holding Zaleiha.
He shook his head. “Sorry, but security reasons,” he said, apologetically. He shook his head sympathetically when Zaleiha moaned into John’s chest.
“Look, here are one thousand rupees.” John handed over the money. Nothing was going to budge the man until he saw cash and he needed a way to get someone from the Secret Service to talk to him. “My wife really needs some fresh air. If we could just rest up at the restaurant for an hour, then maybe she would feel better. Besides, we aren’t allowed to move around the city, so how are we supposed to find other accommodations?”
The soldier pocketed the bill. “You are right, sir. No traveling because of curfew, so you have to at least stay here until I find out what to do.”
“Thank you,” John said, wryly. He whispered in Zaleiha’s ear, “Keep it up.”
When the soldier opened the door, John climbed out with Zaleiha in his arms. He took the stairs and walked into the lobby. The Secret Service men spoke to the soldier John had bribed. The one in charge approached.
“How is your wife, Mr….?”
“Dallas. We didn’t know about this or we wouldn’t have made the four-hour trip from New Delhi, I assure you.”
“Why don’t you sit down here and we’ll get some water for her?” the man said. “I need to ask a few questions, if it’s all right. You said you’re registered to stay in this hotel. Every guest in this hotel has to be accounted for, and identified. Can I see your reservation papers?”
“No problem,” John said. “I understand thoroughly. Can you pull the envelope out of my pocket? My wife is still feeling rather weak. Here, honey, let’s just follow this man and sit down in the lobby for a few minutes, okay?”
The man glanced through the papers, then looked up quickly, new respect in his eyes.
“You’re John Dallas, CEO of Black Knights, Inc.? Your executive secretary is already here, I believe. A whole suite is reserved for you and there are instructions left with us detailing your arrival. You’re late for the Taj Mahal, I’m afraid, but the President and the First Lady are scheduled for another quick tour to Asoka’s tomb.”
John nodded. No wonder the Secret Service was willing to talk to him; the President wasn’t actually in the hotel right now. Interesting how things could change just like that too. He must be getting more important in the Temple’s standings, meeting with the President of the United States now. When one didn’t know what the hell was going on, the golden rule was to go with the flow.
“Yes, I’m aware of that. My delay was unintentional.”
“We’ll call up to your suite to announce your arrival. Just pick up the keys at the front desk and go straight up, Mr. Dallas. Sorry that your wife feels so sick.”
“She’ll be fine.” John wondered whether she had fallen asleep, she was so still.
They went to the registration desk and the Secret Service agent gave the papers to the clerk, nodding his approval. “He’s on our list. He can come down and sign in later,” he instructed. “Let him get Mrs. Dallas upstairs first.”
John thanked the man and took the electronic key cards in the small folder. John Dallas. Kel Dallas. His heart skipped a beat. More and more interesting.
There was a weapon detection device just outside the elevator. John didn’t put Zaleiha down, smiling apologetically at the security guard who waved them through. The elevator door closed before he spoke again.
“Are you awake?”
“Of course. But it feels good to be carried.” She looked around her.
The elevator door opened and, lo and behold, who was waiting for them outside but his dear wife. The real Mrs. Dallas. John scowled at her. Arms folded, she scowled back.
“Carrying your wife across the threshold, Dallas?” Kel greeted with heavy sarcasm.
The tone of her voice perked John’s attention. My, but he finally got some positive reaction—he took note of the glare, the glint in those light hazel eyes, the set of her lips. Yes, yes, all the signs of a jealous woman.
He stepped out of the elevator. “Do show me the bridal suite, dear executive secretary.” He smiled.
Kel continued glaring at him, then turned around, marching down the carpeted hallway.
John followed, his smile widening as he studied the stiff back of the woman ahead. She was wearing a pair of old jeans that clung to her in all the right places, and he eyed them appreciatively. He used to love seeing Kel in jeans. Guessed he still did.
The suite was huge. He immediately noticed that it had several bedrooms. He settled the very quiet Zaleiha onto the expensive-looking brocade sofa. Her eyes were still round as saucers as she looked about her.
Kel leaned against the well-stocked bar nearby, her eyes glittering. “Nice, dutiful husband,” she mocked. “The call from the lobby a moment ago said that Mrs. Dallas was suffering from the heat. I don’t see any such thing.”
“She was hysterical.”
“Sure she was. Heat can make a woman like that. She sure looks hysterical now too,” Kel came back, disbelief in her voice.
“It was the ride from New Delhi that frightened her,” John explained amiably. He was enjoying this jealous Kel a lot.
“We came this close to hitting some cows!” informed Zaleiha, thumb and finger emphasizing the danger they’d been in. “I was so frightened, and John comforted me. He is a very nice man to hug.”
“Uh-huh,” said Kel.
“I’d better go down to reception to finish signing us in,” John said. This was the perfect moment to let the woman stew. Now Kel knew how he’d felt for the last few days. “Care to fill me in about what I need to do?”
Kel’s sideways glance was expressively clear about what she thought he needed to do. He grinned. Things were looking up; he was the one screwing with her mind this time. “I can do that later,” he continued, and studied her luscious figure, “but business before pleasure, and all that.”
“Did you check up on your next assignment?”
“I did a lot of checking up,” John told her, and this time he watched her closely. “I’ve quite a few questions for you, Kel Dallas.”
She blinked at the sound of her married name. It sounded strange to him too, but certainly not as strange as he’d thought. And, most importantly, she hadn’t mentioned anything about changing it back to Kel Grant.
“Questions later. You’re a VIP guest here,” Kel said, as she walked into the room. She handed him an envelope. “All the IDs you need right now. What did you tell them about not being here for the Taj Mahal trip?”
John shrugged as he tore open the envelope. “Delays, whatever.”
“Go down and leave a message for Dr. Dante. Follow the instructions in the envelope.”
“Yes, ma’am. I want to do things exactly your way.”
She snorted. “I doubt that’s what you want, Dallas.”
He wanted to kiss her, actually. But that wasn’t in the instructions. He had a feeling if he kissed her right now, he would forget to go downstairs. Besides, there was Zaleiha. “We’re finally here, Z
a. Where’s your big hug for your friend Kel?”
Zaleiha was looking at them like they were both wild beasts. “You had better make some coffee for her,” she advised. “She has the same evil look in her eyes that you did the morning I first met you.”
“Like a drunk donkey?” John asked helpfully. When Zaleiha nodded, he added wickedly, “Sorry, Za, coffee won’t do it. There’s only one way to soothe Kel.”
Zaleiha’s face went red. “Oh,” she squeaked.
Kel was scowling again. Oh, he was enjoying this. Let’s see her stew in her own juices.
“See ya both in a bit,” he called out, as he strode out of the suite.
The moment he was in the elevator, he pulled out the envelope. The information was the usual deal. His next job. Yet, there was an odd feeling about the whole thing. His instincts told him the last few assignments were connected somehow. If only he could see past the obvious. But he must be doing something right, or they wouldn’t have sprung Kel on him.
Twice. Twice, after three years. He chewed on his lower lip, as the lift descended back to the lobby.
Did she know how much she affected him? Was that why they sent her—so he might be distracted for a while? He frowned at that thought. Mostly because he had been distracted.
There were several bedrooms up there and he’d lock both of them in one. The elevator door opened with a quiet hum and he exited, giving the security guard an absent-minded smile, his mind on the woman upstairs. He had plans for his own personal version of an information exchange.
It took him quite a while to get to the registration desk. Security was tight, what with so many important people within the walls of the hotel. He wondered whether the people working at the desk were really employees; their smiles of welcome were a bit too fixed.
He copied the message he’d read in the elevator onto a piece of hotel paper, folded it, and asked the desk clerk to make sure to put it in Dr. Dante’s box. He gave the man twenty rupees for his trouble. If the clerk was really an undercover agent and snuck a peek, it’d read just like an innocent business message. This Miklos Riman Dante guy sounded familiar.
