“I bend the laws of the universe. I transform fantasy and desire from mere thought into tangible reality. I make it possible for my clients to attain their deepest desires—their darkest fantasies, their most heartfelt wishes, their most passionate dreams. I am the master of life and death. That’s what I do.”
Amanda had no idea what he was talking about, but she was quite certain that he was the biggest liar she had ever met. For a girl who had met as many liars as she had, that was quite a statement. Still, she did not wish to sound ignorant or uninterested, so she answered, “Awesome.” She did want to direct the conversation from its current strangeness back to the show, so she tried to change the subject. “Tell me about the party tomorrow.”
“Yes, tomorrow. Tomorrow at 6:00 you will attend a party at the palace of one of the most powerful men in the world. He lives right here in Dubai. Twenty of his colleagues and fifty of the world’s most beautiful women will be in attendance…and, of course, you. You will arrive at the palace at 4:00 for check in.”
“Uh, Stan said that the party was at the Armani Club.”
“We had a change of plans…the party will be held at the palace. And you will arrive at 4:00.”
There it was again—that same ice-cold tone that made her afraid to ask any more questions. “And the fashion show?”
“The fashion show will be held on Sunday. Immediately after it ends, my car will take you back to the jet, and you will return to New York.
“I wish that I could go with you to the fitting this afternoon, but, unfortunately, I am detained with other pressing matters. I have personally selected the dress that you will wear for the party. You will go this afternoon to be fitted. The dress and the accessories will be delivered to your hotel suite tomorrow morning.”
Josef was standing over her again staring that same cold stare. “You truly are a stunning woman. I just have one small request of you. I hope that you won’t mind.”
She looked up at him.
“I am very sentimental. When I meet a remarkable woman, I always ask for a lock of her hair as a keepsake. Would you mind very much if I took a lock of yours? I can promise you that I will cut very discreetly. No one will be able to tell.”
“Of course…of course you may have a lock of my hair.” Secretly she was thinking that she hoped he did not ruin her hair, but she could not say no. She saw that he was already holding the scissors. She stood and turned her back to him, and he lifted up her hair. Within seconds she felt a little snip and her hair and his hand were resting against her shoulder.
That appeared to be the end of the meeting. Amanda picked up her handbag and turned to say goodbye to her strange host. “Will I see you again?” she tried to muster her flirty provocative look, but all she could manage now was an odd smile at the strangest and most truly frightening man she had ever met.
“I can absolutely guarantee it. Not tonight, though. I really am held up with a pressing matter to which I must attend.” He kissed the side of her face again, and his servant opened the door. Amanda felt weak as she rode the elevator to the first floor—not in a giddy romantic way but as if she had just been in the presence of a force that had drained the life from her. She hoped with everything in her that she would never see this man again. She was still shaking when she stumbled into the limousine.
Josef carefully took the lock of hair he had cut and placed it in a small sterile bag. He then poured the wine remaining in her glass into a small sterile container and secured her used wine glass in a separate sterile bag. Every trace of DNA would be important and highly useful—later. Amanda Sutton was a spoiled, stupid American girl, but she was beautiful, and Josef always had both personal and professional uses for beautiful women. For the moment, however, he had much more important concerns and not much time.
The same day that Anis Shaheen had come to visit him, Josef had sent him a couriered message with a note that said only, “I have reconsidered and will comply with all your requests.” That message bought him the time he needed to locate Amanda and bring her to Dubai, but it did not begin to rise to the level of humility that Prince Abdul and Anis were expecting. Now that he had all of the pieces in place, Josef must send an appropriate apology. He had the girls—all he needed now was a gift.
The same private jet that had transported Amanda had also brought Josef’s peace offering—twenty-four Jeroboams of Dom Pérignon White Gold—the world’s most expensive champagne in the world’s most expensive bottles.
The champagne would be delivered to the party along with the girls. Opening his desk, Josef took out a piece of his personalized cream-linen stationery with his black initials, JH, and neatly and meticulously wrote his note of apology to Abdul.
“I spoke in haste in my recent meeting with Anis Shaheen. I am honored by your long patronage of my company, and I humbly ask your forgiveness for having offended you.
“As a token of my remorse, I am sending you all of the girls you ordered, along with Miss Amanda Sutton of the USA, the model you requested. Miss Sutton is not a copy; I have flown her here from New York City for your enjoyment.
“As a final expression of my obeisance, please accept these cases of Dom Pérignon White Gold for your opening toast. I am sending my personal wine steward, Lutz Von Hess, to pour the opening toast for your party. He was born in Germany, but he trained in Paris and is regarded as one of the world’s foremost wine connoisseurs. I remain your humble servant, Josef.”
He put down the fountain pen and smiled as he re-read the flawlessly-penned note. Personal notes in beautiful penmanship were a lost art. Abdul would be flattered. Anis would be jubilant.
He folded the note carefully, placed it in an envelope from the stationery set, and called down to the concierge. A courier from the Burj Khalifa would hand deliver it to Anis within the hour.
Walking to his wall safe, Josef opened the door and carefully removed a pair of specially-designed latex gloves. Karl had formulated these for handling highly-toxic substances. After placing them on his hands, he reached into another locked compartment of the safe and carefully removed a hypodermic needle and a small black bottle with an orange mark on its label.
Each bottle of champagne had to be treated—one drop injected through the cork with the hypodermic needle. One drop of Diablo was all that was needed. It was very tedious work requiring special care not to spill even one drop. For all of his technology, for all of his inventions, for all of his breakthroughs, Josef had still never discovered any poison as effective as this primitive one from the Brazilian jungles bottled by his father more than a quarter of a century before. “Sometimes the old ways are best,” he thought as he finished his work.
After several hours all of the bottles were ready for transport. He had received a photo from the design director at Armani of Amanda in her dress. It was perfection—a sensuous sleeveless gown fitted perfectly to her exquisite figure. Even in a room with the world’s most beautiful women, all eyes would be on her. Everything was ready.
At 3:00 the following afternoon, the limousine picked up Amanda to take her to the palace. She was wearing the champagne-colored Armani gown fitted with a draped neck and a long slit up each side to reveal her shapely legs and gold high-heeled Armani sandals designed specifically to complement her dress. It was the most beautiful dress she had ever worn. Diamond earrings dangled gently from her ears, and she carried a small clutch that completed her outfit. On her right hand she wore the only item that belonged to her—a simple band completely encrusted with cubic zirconia cut to resemble pavé diamonds. It was the first piece of jewelry she had purchased after moving to New York and firing her mother as her manager, and she wore it tonight as she always did, “for luck”.
The drive to the palace, which was just outside the city, took forty-five minutes. From the exterior, the palace appeared to be a huge rectangle with a series of domes and spires protruding from the top—Amanda thought that it looked a little like the palace in Disney’s Aladdin that she had watched ov
er and over as a child. The excitement of being here, of visiting a real palace in the Middle East, eased the anxiety that still lingered from her meeting with Josef the day before. The chauffeur escorted her to the door which was opened by a male servant.
The rooms were massive—gray marble floors were inlaid with colored marble mosaics to mimic Persian rugs. Amanda stood drinking in the sights. On her first trip to New York, her mother had told her that she should always look up when entering old buildings because the most remarkable architecture was usually in the ceiling. That was true here—from tray ceilings with intricate mosaic marble designs hung massive crystal and gold chandeliers. The pale gold light reflected off the gray marble walls. She walked along behind the man who had beckoned her to follow. Even in the intense heat, the marble made the room feel cool.
At one end of an almost empty room was a massive spiral staircase with walnut colored wooden banisters and patterned gray and brown marble stairs. Amanda walked carefully up the stairs—the stairway was very long and difficult to navigate gracefully in her long dress and high heels. She would feel so foolish if she tripped as she made her entrance.
At last they came to the stair landing, and she paused to take in her surroundings. Above her was another story, another intricate tray ceiling—this one with an elaborate mural. Below her she could see the full view of the room they had just left. It was so beautiful—and yet so cold. This palace reminded her of something—someplace. What was it? Suddenly she had a memory of being at her grandmother’s funeral in Louisiana when she was eight years old and of seeing her grandmother laid to rest in a mausoleum. That’s what it reminded her of—it felt like a tomb. As the thought came to her, the same icy fear that she had felt the day before returned. She wished in that moment that she had not come here—that she had told Stan Westbrook to keep his money.
“Follow, please,” her guide curtly interrupted her thoughts. It was too late now. She told herself that she was being silly. She had never been so far away from home, and she had not been able to tell anyone where she was going—not even her mother. All she needed was to breathe deeply and relax. She was going to a party, and then a fashion show, and then home.
They walked through a hallway lined with gilded chairs upholstered in rose pink velvet. The hallway was so wide that even with the large chairs on both sides, two people could easily walk unobstructed down the center. Still, she wondered why anyone would line a hallway with chairs. It was like walking through a massive waiting room. At the end of the hallway a man dressed in a linen suit was waiting for her.
“Welcome, Miss Sutton. I am Anis Shaheen, the personal aid to Prince Abdul, by whose invitation you are here in Dubai. Allow me to show you to your room.” Amanda was accustomed to having men stare at her; she was used to having men leer at her, but normally when this happened she was safely out of reach on a runway or at a party supervised by her agency. Considering that she was alone and friendless in a foreign country, she found Anis’ lustful stare particularly unsettling, and she felt her own apprehension increasing. He opened a door at the end of the hall, and when she had entered, he locked it behind her, leaving her alone and trapped.
ψ
Lutz Von Hess arrived at the palace at 5:30 to begin setting up for the party, and Anis came downstairs to oversee the preparations. He leaned against the wall with his arms folded while the wine steward painstakingly unpacked the bottles.
“I was expecting you. I received your master’s note. Who writes handwritten notes these days, even among pretentious Europeans?” Anis sniffed.
“Herr Helmick said to tell you that his father taught him that sometimes the old ways are best. He sends me and the champagne with one final gift: German lead crystal flutes for the toast—one for each of your guests and attendees. They are his gift for you to keep.”
Anis smiled. “He has finally learned his place. I think going forward we will to have a much different relationship. Get everything ready and don’t loiter. I want you out of here before the prince arrives.”
“No,” the steward answered firmly. “I must pour the champagne and make certain that each guest is served personally. Those are Herr Helmick’s terms, and he is very firm on them.”
Anis stared at the steward. He was a little over six feet tall, but he might be wearing lifts. He had blond hair and a blond mustache, and sky blue eyes. He was out of shape and slightly overweight—under his white coat small bulges of fat were visible. Still there was something familiar about him—and Anis knew what it was. He had that same proud disdain for the world as Josef. It must be a German trait.
There was no time to find a new steward, and Prince Abdul would probably be amused by Josef’s deference. At any rate, Anis was not about to spend the early part of his evening pouring champagne, so he might as well let the steward stay and finish.
“Fine. Be done with it. Prince Abdul will arrive within the half hour.”
Lutz continued setting up the bottles and the flutes—seventy two in all, including Anis. Lutz knew that he was not officially counted in the party numbers, but Josef had counted him during his preparations. By the time he was finished with his meticulous preparations, it was almost 7:00 P.M. Now he would wait. Two more hours passed before a crier announced Prince Abdul’s arrival.
ψ
Amanda had been sitting on the chair in her locked room for almost six hours. There was nothing in this room except a chair and a bed. The room had grown dark; and she had groped around unsuccessfully to find a light switch. She did not have her personal communication device with her, and even if she had, from this country, she would not have been able to make a call to anyone she knew. She was seriously wondering whether there was a party after all or whether she had been kidnapped for some terrible purpose.
Finally, the door opened slowly, and she nervously looked up to see who was there. The light from the hall hurt her eyes, and the man standing in the doorway was backlit so that she could not see his face. Fortunately, it was not Anis—it was the same servant who had escorted her to him. “Follow, please,” he beckoned. She rose and walked down the hall with him and slowly descended the stairs. The previously empty room was now filled with women. A majority were platinum blondes wearing yellow halter dresses. Others were stunning brunettes with amazing violet eyes wearing white halter dresses, and still others were cool brunettes in black sheath dresses. They were beautiful but so dated—in their fashions, their hairstyles, and even their demeanor. Yet, they looked familiar—like people she had seen in pictures. Like people she had seen in movies—old movie stars! She looked more closely at them—yes, they were celebrity lookalikes. Most of them were Marilyn Monroe. They were amazingly good lookalikes, she thought. She had seen a lot of Marilyn impersonators, and these were really good. What was even more amazing was that they all looked exactly like each other—none was prettier or less pretty, or heavier, or thinner or older or younger. They all looked the same. She did not recognize the brunette with the short black hair and the violet eyes, but she did recognize the women with the piled-up hair in the black sheath dresses. They were impersonating that lady in the Breakfast at Tiffany’s poster. They all looked the same too. The other lady looked earthy and Italian—Amanda wasn’t sure who she was, but all of her impersonators looked exactly like each other. What agency could have provided these women?
The women in the room stared back at her, but none of them spoke to her, and she did not speak to any of them. Soon Prince Abdul entered the room, and the crowd bowed deeply to him. Abdul and his twenty male guests surveyed the room, and then Abdul walked over to Amanda. Lifting her face upward he studied her carefully. “You were in the fashion show in New York City last month?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she answered nervously.
He smiled coldly, “Welcome to Dubai.”
At that moment Anis appeared at his side. “As a token of his remorse for his arrogance, Helmick has made us a gift of his personal wine steward, along with two cases of Dom Pérignon
White Gold champagne and German lead crystal flutes for our opening toast. He sends the gifts along with his personal handwritten apology.”
“Good. The steward will stay then. You will tell Helmick that everything that enters my palace is my property to be used and disposed of as I please, and he will do well to hold his tongue in the future.”
Lutz Von Hess was standing nearby, and he now bowed deeply to the prince. “It is an honor to serve you, Lord Prince. May I present you with the first glass.”
The second flute of champagne went to Anis, and from there Lutz made his way carefully around the room until every person held a glass. The last person he served was Amanda. As she took the glass from him she looked into his eyes, and when she did, she felt the same icy cold darkness she had seen in Josef’s eyes the day before. “A gift from Dr. Helmick to you, Miss Sutton. He says to tell you that he looks forward to seeing you again.”
When the glasses were served, Lutz tapped an empty crystal flute lightly. “Herr Helmick sends this champagne and his wine steward to honor the house of Prince Abdul, and he proposes the following toast, ‘Long life and health to Prince Abdul. May your subjects and slaves revere you forever.’”
All of the guests, the women, Anis and the prince lifted their glasses and drank their toast as Lutz watched. Within thirty seconds he heard the first of the champagne flutes shatter against the marble floor as the bearer—one of Josef’s Marilyn copies—sank limply to her knees and then collapsed. Immediately there was another, and then another, and another. Amanda watched in horror as those around her collapsed; she wanted to scream but she could not because her own breathing was constricting. She was losing all sensation in her hands and feet, and her chest was so tight that she could not inhale. It was as though the life was being squeezed out of her. Within seconds she, too, was on the floor, and seconds after that she was engulfed by deep darkness. All around the room the OPEC leaders, Anis, and Prince Abdul lay dying. Lutz walked to Anis and bent down over him. “I told you never to threaten me, you maggot.” Anis’ final breath was a gasp of horror.
The Force (The Kingdom Chronicles) Page 5
