Covert Danger: Mata Hari Series - Book 1
Page 2
He was pissed. She’d held back on him. No one could defy him like that.
Her sea-gray eyes met his, but she made no pretense of smiling. In her day she’d been a beautiful woman with fine bone structure and the full figure of a Greek Siren. Once he’d fantasized about screwing her, but that was a long time ago. Now, the lines ringing her wizened eyes spoke her age. The tone and luster had drained from her skin. Her body sagged and had grown frail. She broke their stare and looked down at her hands on the table. Trembling.
Did she know how angry he was? Nothing could get in his way. Not now. Not even Djeserit, the most powerful living Egyptian sorceress.
She sat behind a small table covered with a black cloth. A tall, gold candelabra he’d given her as a gift sat to one side. It gave the room light, but not warmth. The damp chill of the approaching night penetrated his cashmere sweater. He hated the cold Amsterdam spring. Placing her tarot cards beside the candle, she looked directly at him. “Sit,” she said.
He folded his five foot ten frame into the rickety wooden chair opposite her, hearing it creak under his weight. “I need answers,” he said.
She grimaced. “My answers will not change your future.”
“Just tell me what you see. That’s all I ask.” He leaned back. “I’ll take care of the future.”
She tilted her head to the right. “Bakari, you are too full of pride.” Her eyes narrowed crinkling the skin around them. “You must listen to me.”
“Tell me.” He pounded his fist on the table.
She reached for the candelabra to steady it. All softness drained from her eyes when she looked back at him. “I can tell you only what I see. The vision of the cards is not to be used to manipulate the world.”
How dare she lecture him? Heat rushed to his face. He would have his way. The silence in the room was deafening.
He let it sit for a minute and then he began. “You tell me the cards are meant to show me my spiritual path. But I’m not a spiritual man, Djeserit. I am a man of action.” He leaned forward until his face was within inches of hers and he could smell her morning tea on her breath. “And I know your vision extends beyond the cards.”
Her eyes flickered and she looked back down at the table. Her mouth firmed into a straight line. “The cards are sacred. They are meant to help us on our spiritual journey on this plane. They should not be misused.” She looked back at him. “I fear for you. You have been a good friend to me. It is not wise to upset the natural order.”
“You’ve never been reluctant to give me a reading. Why now? Have you seen something in the cards? Did you hear news on the street? What are you so afraid of?”
“It is all in the cards.”
He’d never heard her voice so flat. “Tell me!” He hadn’t meant to yell.
Picking up the deck she held it for a moment in her hands as if it held the weight of eternity. Whispering words he could not hear she brought the cards to her heart. Then her eyes locked with his once more. “Only if you are sure.”
He nodded. If she didn’t do as he asked soon, he’d wring her neck. His people could get him out of the country. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Now.”
She fanned the cards face down in front of him. “You want me to tell you what you want to hear. I know this, Bakari. But I cannot.”
His chest tightened. “No. Listen to me, woman. I want you to tell me the truth. That is why I come to you. I know you will never break your sacred oath. You vowed to your teacher before your gods to never lie about the cards.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And then you will kill me.”
Ah, so that’s it. He leaned back. She’s frightened of me. After all these years.She must have heard I killed my third wife, Safa. He exhaled. “I didn’t kill her because she told me the truth.”
“Then why?”
“She…” He stopped for a moment. It was complicated. “She betrayed me.”
Djeserit looked at the flame of one of the candles and then back at him. “Ask your question. I will not betray you. Know that the cards will tell you what you need to know, not what you want to know.”
He’d heard these words many times over. His scalp tingled again. In his mind he asked: ‘How do I gain the power I need?’
Gathering the cards in his hands he sensed their strange, ethereal warmth. He shuffled them until they felt like his and then he cut them and placed them in three neat piles. Breathing in the incense he cleared his mind of everything but his question.
She stood and raised her hands to the sky. Her shimmering red silk robe looked otherworldly in the candlelight. Long wavy tendrils of black hair framed her brown face, which looked colder than a stone statue. “I, coming forth am Amen, the hidden one.”
Her words reverberated through his mind and body. His chest expanded and he felt a lightness of being.
From her pocket she drew an ivory wand inscribed with hieroglyphs. She waved it once in the air. “I am the keeper of Akashic Records. All of which is, and which shall be. Eternity and Everlastingness, open your portals.” She put her left hand on the deck. “May I fly like a golden hawk. May I see the truth revealed.” She stood absolutely still. Her eyes were closed and the lids trembled, as if she listened to distant voices.
Bakari forced himself to breath.
Her eyes opened, so glazed over they no longer looked human.
She waved the wand once in front of him. “Son of Isis, Searcher of Truth. Your time has come.”
3
Chapter Three
Florence, Italy, May
Sebastian clenched one fist at his side as he entered the thirteenth-century Italian palace in Florence. He had to attend the fancy party because he’d lost a soccer bet with his friend Gregor. Dressed in a tux, he braced for the inevitable; being offered around like an appetizer to further his friend’s reputation.
He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly as he scanned the scene. With luck, the night wouldn’t be a total loss. According to rumors, a shady art deal would go down soon. He might overhear a conversation about it and pass the information along to Interpol. People talked when big money surfaced. He took a glass of champagne from a tray carried by a waiter working the crowd.
Gregor had organized this event to raise money for a local orphanage and had wisely chosen to host it in the Palazzo del Bargello, an art museum with a storied past that housed renaissance sculptures by Donatello, Michelangelo and Cellini. People dressed in elegant evening clothes wandered around the old courtyard chatting; cleavage, jewels and perfumed hair dominated his view. The men looked like bobble-headed penguins nodding their heads at one another as they spoke. He probably looked the same. He’d much rather write a check than hob-nob.
An older woman in a blue, sequined gown approached him. “Sebastian Wilde,” she said in a breathless voice. “I understand you know everything there is to know about art.”
What could he say to that?
“I’m looking for a painting in green for the main foyer in my Spanish villa.”
“Green?” He swallowed hard. Why do people choose art to match their décor?
“Yes. We painted our walls a pale pistachio.”
“Light green,” he said, rubbing his chin. She didn’t look like someone who would buy ancient Egyptian art. That’s what the rumors said would be traded. “I may have just the right piece for you. Please, take my card.” He pulled one out of his pocket and placed it in her hand. “Come by my gallery, Eros, next time you’re in Amsterdam. I’ll personally see what I can do for you.” He walked past her towards another group of people.
“But, but…” the woman spluttered to his back. “I might want blue.” The tone in her voice told him he’d made a sale in some color.
He saw his friend Gregor standing beside the ancient stone well in the middle of the courtyard. His eyes darted around, and his body fidgeted. A classically handsome man who could be mistaken for Clooney, he ran a diamond company. But at this moment he looked more like an annoyed gargoyle o
n sentry duty than a successful businessman and philanthropist.
When Gregor saw him he walked over and shook his hand. “Thank you for coming, Sebastian. So many people want to meet you.”
Seb winced.
Gregor laughed. “You’re a rising star, buddy. You turned your art gallery from a hole-in- the-wall establishment to a multi-million dollar international business in five years. You have the golden touch when it comes to art. Soak in the glory. Eros is famous. You’re famous.”
Seb shook his head. “I keep telling you, I don’t collect art to impress others. The only reason I’m here is that I lost our football bet.”
Gregor waved a hand in the air. “But your collection excites others.”
“Art is man’s greatest gift to the world. As Michelangelo said, ‘a shadow of the divine.’ I collect it because I love it.”
Gregor’s mouth tilted to the side. “Use that line on my guests while I get you a Belgian beer. That’ll make you more sociable.”
Seb grunted. “Two hours. That’s the deal.”
Gregor smiled. “I invited a few beautiful models. You might change your mind.”
***
“Why am I here?” Sadie asked her friend Mitchell. He pushed firmly with his hand at the base of her spine to move her through the crowd in the courtyard of the Palazzo del Bargello.
“Business, sweetheart. It’s all about business.”
She wanted to kick him hard in a place he’d remember. He’d been her best friend for years, but that didn’t matter at this moment. “I’ve been on stilettos for seven hours. Seven. I don’t need this crap. I need to soak in a hot bubble bath.” She grabbed a flute of champagne from a tray that floated by with a waitress.
“Honey, you’re the one who’s worried about money. You have to network. Your career horizon is fast approaching.” He didn’t need to say more. They’d been talking about this subject for over a year.
She stared him down. Mitchell had the soulful brown eyes of a Labrador puppy, but they couldn’t melt her mood tonight. “Don’t ‘honey’ me.” She spat the words out like bad meat.
“Why look, darling, there’s Alfred. You remember Alfred.”
“He grabbed my ass the last time I saw him.”
“And offered you a contract with a leading lingerie firm. If you were nice to him, he might forget you kneed him in the groin.”
“Hah.” She choked on her drink, spurting it in all directions. “The guy’s an asshole.”
“But a rich one. All you have to do is smile. I’ll stay with you so he can’t…”
“Rape me in public? That kind of creep would find his time and place. Just the thought of his hands touching my skin. Yuck.”
“Okay, how about the hotel magnate in the corner.” Mitch nodded with his head towards an older man who looked like the Kentucky Fried guy. “He knows people.”
She crossed her eyes, twisted her mouth and made a gagging sound. “I’m just too tired. I feel like road kill left out in the sun.”
“Well, suit yourself. I think he looks interesting.” Mitchell headed towards him.
She hated the schmoozing part of her job. It made her feel empty and phony, but Mitchell was right. She needed to connect with people. Grabbing another drink, she wondered if it was her third. Not caring, she tossed it back.
Even from this distance she could hear Mitchell laughing. His charm, an integral component of his DNA, grated her nerves.
As she scanned the room for familiar faces, the secret phone strapped to the inside of her thigh vibrated. She made for the ladies room.
After checking she hadn’t been followed, Sadie entered. The room appeared empty. She searched each stall. Finding no one, she entered the last cubicle and sat on the throne. She unstrapped her cell and pushed in her code.
Her CIA handler, Jeremiah Cole, answered in his southern drawl. “Havin’ fun sugar?”
“Barrels.”
She imagined her boss on the other end of the line, sitting in his office back in the States. His lean body, fit from running marathons, would be folded into a well-worn, office chair. He’d be wearing a Wall Street business suit. The collar of his white shirt would be open. His face would be clean shaven. While he spoke to her, his eyes would scan the screens of the three computer monitors on the wall facing him. On his desk beside his laptop, his vintage chessboard would be sitting with pieces positioned in an intriguing end game. Next to it would be at least two unfinished cups of Earl Gray. She could almost smell the spicy aroma of the tea she’d come to identify with intrigue. Cole was a legend in their shadowy business; half master-mind, half elite athlete—and complete master spy.
“You have to move faster,” he said.
Wonderful.
“There’s a lot of chatter on the Internet. Anubis is in Amsterdam,” he said.
Anubis? The strange choice of code-name for her mark made her skin crawl. The jackal-headed Egyptian god associated with the after-life who weighed your soul when you died was an esteemed figure. Giving that name to an evil man not only lacked poetry, it tipped the scales. A sleaze-ball being likened to anybody’s god was plain wrong.
Still, he was Egyptian, and maybe he had wild animal eyes or something. Someone had thought the code name fit. “I’m heading to Amsterdam tomorrow for a magazine shoot,” she said.
“I know. The timing couldn’t be better. Make sure you’re in tight with Delilah and push for an introduction.”
Sadie took a deep breath. “About that.”
“What?”
“Dee bought my cover story, but she’s not easy to manipulate. I can’t promise…”
“Anubis moved up his timeline. He’ll hit the Met Museum of Art in New York next week. He’s collecting ancient Egyptian amulets. To stop him, we need details about his attack plan. You read his file?”
“Yeah. He thinks they’ll give him power.” Another crazy in a crazy world. Sadie checked the time on her cell phone. “I’ll be here another hour, then I’ll work on Dee and report back to you.”
“Be careful.”
What? Her breath caught. Jeremiah had sent her on many dangerous missions over the nine years she’d worked for the CIA. He’d never wasted time warning her before. “Careful?” she said.
“The Egyptian police found his wife’s head buried in the desert this morning.”
“I’m not planning on marrying him.” Just her head?
Jeremiah sighed. “Sadie, no joking. Anubis is violent and volatile. Don’t get caught.”
The line went dead.
Great, my guy is like a box of TNT ready to explode. She walked out of the stall and used the large mirror to re-apply her lipstick, seeing both the spy and the model in her reflection. One more hour.
When she re-entered the main courtyard, she came to an abrupt stop after a few steps. Ten yards away, beside the medieval stone well stood the man from Venice.
She sighed as she scanned his perfect body. Damn, he’s hot even without his yacht.
At that moment, he turned her way and their eyes met. Her pulse quickened as a current of acknowledgment passed between them.
He walked towards her in long strides. She smiled and did her best not to show how much she liked what she saw coming her way. His blue eyes, the color of the morning sky, danced with mischief. He stood six-six at least, had the kind of broad shoulders a woman could really nuzzle into, and lots and lots of muscle. His sun-streaked blond hair fell loose and wild to his shoulders in waves. His sensuous lips held a sexy, bad-boy grin that kicked her libido into a full roar. Her mouth dried. Talk about forbidden fruit. She needed to focus on her mission.
It took all her willpower to arch an eyebrow. “Have we met?” she said.
“You know we have.” His low-pitched voice raked her senses.
She’d met many men in her life, but none had made her feel so hot, bothered and flustered in such a short time. It must be a side effect of the romantic Italian palace, or the champagne, or something like that.
He moved closer and touched her hand. Strong fingers. Cool skin. A jolt of sexual awareness flowed through her body.
“I suppose…” she said, “I should thank you.”
“Hell, yeah. The police went up one side of me and down the other for three hours. They accused me of getting in their way on purpose.” His grin widened. He had the kind of face that looked comfortable with honest smiles.
She laughed. Hard to imagine such a large man being contained by anyone. On the other hand, it would be fun to try.
“Yeah, you’re the thief. You can laugh,” he said. “The carabinieri told me about the cat burglary.”
She pulled back her hand as her stomach hit the floor. “Excuse me?”
“Sweetheart, you heard me.”
“Things aren’t always what they seem,” she said.
“I’m not here to judge you. At least not until I have all the facts.” He stepped closer. His scent hit her system like an intoxicating drug. It’d been too long since she’d been with a man she really craved. That’s what was getting under her skin. Had to be. A simple biological response to a perfect specimen of a man.
She gave him a come-hither look.
It took only a second for his pupils to dilate and his nostrils to flare. She took a step back and said, “Later, sailor.”
He laughed. “Sebastian. My name’s Sebastian Wilde.” He flicked a card out of his pocket, and handed it to her.
She took it and walked away feeling oddly flustered.