Covert Danger: Mata Hari Series - Book 1

by Jo-Ann Carson

  On the bright side, he did get a picture of her “ex” and his fingerprints. It helped that the man had been unconscious. Seb would get his identity and with luck the red head’s as well.

  She had to be in trouble. Why else would she run?

  He sent a text message to his friend Xander to meet him tomorrow in Amsterdam where they both lived. Xander ran a private investigation business, specializing in international art crime. He had the connections to find anyone.

  There had to be something more Seb could do right now. He couldn’t just sit around, or go to sleep. Pacing the cool Italian marble floor in bare feet, he shook his head. A red-headed femme fatale who ran on the wrong side of the law was the last thing he needed in his life. She’d been nothing but trouble from the moment he first saw her. The memory shot a bolt of excitement through his system. Godverdomme.

  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t let her go. She pulled him. His gut had never steered him wrong before. But then he’d never met a woman like her before.

  She couldn’t be all bad. Could she?

  ***

  When Sebastian arrived at his friend Xander’s Amsterdam office the next day, the first thing he saw was three-month-old Mauritz sitting in an infant rocking chair, making baby sounds, his tiny fingers wrapped around the handle of an old fashioned rattle. A warmth spread in Seb’s chest.

  He picked him up and cradled him in his arms. The little guy looked up at him and cooed. A smile spread across Seb’s face.

  Xander van der Valk, a tall, lean, blond man who’d been Sebastian’s best friend since he’d given him a black eye in the fourth grade, sat at a desk watching him. He wore jeans, a white shirt open at the throat and a light blue cotton sports coat. His blue eyes looked tired, but bright like unfailing porch lights left on in the fog. “Angela hasn’t had a good night sleep all week, so I brought the baby.”

  Sebastian gave him a sceptical look. “Don’t shit me. You just wanted him with you.”

  Light shone through the floor to ceiling windows, making the space seem larger than it was. Four desks, and enough file folders to keep any bureaucrat happy, filled the space. The smell of fresh coffee lingered in the air.

  Xander’s fingers drummed on his desk. “So what’s so urgent you got me out of bed in the middle of the night to answer a text message?”

  Seb hadn’t thought about the time, or the inconvenience a middle of the night text would cause a family guy. Shit. Would he ever get used to having his best friend domesticated? They’d run wild for years. He should be more considerate. The red head made him do crazy things.

  When Sebastian didn’t say anything right away, Xander’s eyes widened. “This is about a woman.” His words came out slowly. Leaning back in his chair, he slapped his thigh and his tired face broke into a wide smile. “You’re hooked.”

  Sebastian looked hard at his friend. Hooked? “Hell no. It’s just she’s in trouble. At least, I think she is.”

  “A helpless vrouw?” Xander rolled his eyes. “Is she hot?”

  Sebastian shrugged.

  “Got a picture?”

  “Of her ex.”

  “The one who cracked your lip?”

  “He looks worse.” The baby let out a cry and Sebastian rocked him gently. “I want to know who the asshole is.”

  The right corner of Xander’s mouth twitched. “Well, Sherlock, let’s start with her name. She does have a name?”

  “Probably.”

  “You don’t know her name?”

  “No,” Seb admitted, “but she’s the one I told you about seeing in Venice.”

  “The one who landed you in jail?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Xander’s mouth drew a straight line as he leaned towards him for the phone. “What do you know?”

  Sebastian told him the story about the party the night before. Xander nodded through it all.

  “You’re seriously fucked up, man. You don’t know the woman and you keep taking risks for her.”

  “Look, you can call me an idioot, but she needs help.” He looked around the room.

  With a smirk on his face Xander looked at Sebastian’s cell phone. “I’ll send the guy’s picture and prints through my database. If nothing comes up, I’ll run it by Seamus at Interpol and my friends at the FBI. It could take a bit of time to get the results. I`ll get back to you later today or tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, man. “

  Seb sang, “Slaap kindje slap, Daar buiten loop teen schaap…” to the baby in quiet tones, while Xander clicked keys on his laptop. Baby Mauritz settled into sleep. Time passed slowly, or so it seemed. Seb paced the floor, singing softly.

  Xander stopped typing.

  Feeling his stare, Seb said, “See, what I can’t figure—is why such a beautiful woman would be running from the police in the first place.”

  “Uh…she broke the law.”

  “But why?” Seb shook his head. “She doesn’t have ‘gangster eyes.’ And you know I’ve seen more than my share of them.”

  “Gangster?” Xander laughed. “You crack me up.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not good with words like you, but you know what I mean. The kind of eyes that are fidgety and suspicious one moment and pure evil the next.”

  Xander stopped chuckling. “And what kind of eyes does she have?”

  Silence.

  “Seb?” Xander’s brows knotted.

  Sebastian exhaled slowly. “The kind I want to know better.”

  “She’s a criminal who doesn’t want anything to do with you and she has a violent ex-husband. What part of this isn’t getting through your thick Frisian skull?” He paused for a moment. “You need to get laid, man.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Give me a fucking break. You got me over here on a Sunday morning to search Interpol and FBI records because you think a woman you don’t even know needs help?” Xander slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “What’s in your Heineken?”

  Okay, so he sounded stupid. That was the thing with words. They never said what he wanted them to say. He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I do need to get laid.”

  Xander pulled his son from Sebastian’s arms. “You’re nuts chasing after this woman. But you won’t let me stop you. You’re so bloody stubborn. I’ll monitor the searches, ask around and get back to you.” He adjusted the baby in his arms. “It’s not like you to get all twisted in a knot over a woman. I thought you’d play the field forever.”

  Seb grimaced. “She needs help. That’s all. I’ve had people help me when I needed it and now it’s my turn.”

  Xander smirked.

  Seb gave him a steady smile back. One way or another, he’d figure out what lay behind the woman’s mysterious, moss-green eyes.

  7

  Chapter Seven

  Cairo

  The swishing sound of his office door opening caught Bakari’s attention. His eighteen-year old daughter, Rashida, entered.

  “I’m busy, child,” he said, casting his eyes back down to the papers on his desk before him.

  “I am not a child. I study at Unn al Dunya.”

  The harshness of her voice made him look up at her. She had her mother’s warm, almond- shaped eyes that bled into his heart, but beneath their softness hid a dangerous, rebellious streak that worried him. She reminded him of his youngest brother, the one who’d died in a bar room brawl at the age of seventeen. He shook his head to show his disapproval of her tone. She was the only person in the world who’d dare talk to him like that.

  Part of him wanted to laugh at her, standing up to him the way she did, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. She was the golden star in his life. The one who made everything seem worthwhile. It pleased him that she took her studies seriously even though her health was failing.

  Part of him wished she would stay home and relax. She hadn’t been well. But she had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. She always wanted to know how things worked and why. She took after him in that way, curious and
quick of mind.

  He smiled at her. “And I am a proud father. But you must know that in my eyes you will always be a child.” He took in her natural beauty: a slim build, thick, black hair falling to her waist, Cleopatra eyes and perfect skin. Thank the gods she took after her mother, his first wife.

  “Father, I’m worried about you.” She walked up to his desk.

  Her scent, a mixture of carnations and honey, made him feel light and warm inside. “Nothing to worry about, habibti.”

  “First you fast for three days, then you make offerings to the gods then…” She broke off, as if worried she had said too much. “Then you pace. I am not a child. I know something is wrong. I want to help you.”

  His neck muscles tightened. Rashida saw too much. She could not know the details of his life. Not the past, nor the present, nor even the future. She was the only piece of pure joy in his life, and he could not let anything happen to her. He got up and walked around the desk to stand in front of her. He took her hands, so small and delicate, in his and held them. “You should stay with your aunt for a while.”

  She blinked. “You would send me away, Father?”

  He would fight any man or army for her, but he could not fight his own karma. He had a price to pay for what he’d done. He didn’t want to lose Rashida. Sending her away would be hard, but he could feel the winds of time shifting direction, his luck running out. A great change was coming. Djeserit the sorceress had only confirmed what he had already sensed. The good and bad of his life were about to collide and the result would be… dangerous, to say the least.

  He needed her out of harm’s way. “I don’t want to, but…”

  “Father?”

  “Rashida, I have business problems. I need to ponder them alone.”

  “Does this have something to do with Safa?”

  So she knew. “Safa…” His dead third wife. He stopped to collect his thoughts. “As you know, I reported her missing last month. The authorities told me they found her in the desert a couple of days ago. I didn’t want to tell you.”

  “And you thought I wouldn’t hear?”

  “I had hoped. Her body….”

  “Was found in pieces. Yes, I know. I didn’t like the woman, and I heard rumors that she’d been unfaithful to you, but none of that matters now. She’s dead. I don’t understand why you haven’t put a price on the head of her murderer. The man who dared to kill one of your wives.”

  He nodded. Could she not see the blood on his hands? She loved him, trusted him, too much. “Who says I haven’t?”

  Rashida’s eyes widened.

  “That is why I must send you away habibti. You must be safe. I cannot lose you.” Ever.

  Tears rolled freely down her reddened face. She fisted her hands and stared at him with hurt in her eyes. But she said nothing. Even with her strong spirit, she didn’t dare. After a minute she turned and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

  ***

  Five minutes later, the door opened again and Chasisi, Bakari’s third brother and trusted assistant, entered. “You want to see me?” He dressed humbly in a peasant’s robe, like one of the sellers in the local street market. In that garb, he slid through all areas of town unnoticed, gathering and bartering information for the family. Only his limp, a result of having been born with one leg shorter than the other, set him apart from hundreds of others on the busy streets.

  “Rashida must go to her aunt’s.”

  “She heard about Safa?”

  Bakari nodded.

  “Does she think we had anything to do with it?”

  “Of course not.”

  Chasisi tilted his head. “I will find a likely suspect to pin it on. I would have done that already, but I didn’t think they’d find her so quickly and I’ve been busy helping Hasani with his last shipment of Kalashnikovs going to the Ukraine.”

  Bakari nodded. “Does anyone know what happened to Safa?”

  “No. Her dismembering has them thinking it had to be someone else. Possibly a business enemy exacting retribution on you.”

  “Just as you said.”

  Chasisi gave him a weak smile.

  It had been Chasisi’s idea to bury her body in parts. Bakari hadn’t liked the idea at the time, but he appreciated the merits of the plan. He’d let one of his body guards, Gahiji, a man who took a sick pleasure in such things, defile her body, cut her up and bury her deep in the desert.

  And now he was losing his daughter. Bakari’s chest tightened at the thought of sending Rashida away. Karma could be so cruel.

  “Brother, it was self-defence. The bitch stabbed you. You can’t feel bad about it.”

  He looked up at the ceiling. “I have many things I could feel bad about, but not her death. She brought that on herself.”

  “What’s bothering you?” asked Chasisi.

  “Djeserit’s warning.”

  Chasisi’s eyes widened. “The witch gave you a warning?”

  “I must pay for my past.”

  His brother tilted his head and twisted his mouth. “We must all do that brother.”

  “But I have done things I am ashamed of.”

  The room fell silent again. Only the ticking of the clock in the hallway, a present from his last wedding, could be heard.

  “Bakari, everything you did, you did for the family. How could you be ashamed of that?”

  “I built our family fortune selling guns. I never asked questions about how they would be used. I didn’t care. I just wanted money. Now I’m getting older I wonder if I couldn’t have been more selective among my clientele.”

  Chasisi shrugged in his usual way, telegraphing that it wasn’t the sort of thing that bothered him. “We would have starved otherwise.”

  Bakari rolled his shoulders, trying to release the growing tension in his body. An uneasy feeling had been building within him since he last talked to the sorceress. “Yes,” he said. “I did it for the family, but now I wonder if our prosperity was worth the consequences that await me. Other families rise with dignity. Ours on the death of others. I chose a bloody trail that will scar our lives through eternity.”

  His brother’s cheeks reddened. “This is what Djeserit said to you?”

  “This and other things. I seek her counsel to set things right. There has to be a way. I believe a truly powerful man can create his own destiny. And the ancient texts do not disagree.”

  Chasisi winced. “I despise Djeserit. I spit on her words.”

  “She sees what others do not.”

  “When she’s paid well.” He looked away. “Have you considered that she’s playing you?”

  Bakari stood up and walked to the window. Through the opening, he saw the lush palace gardens below, heard the songbirds singing in the lemon tree. The air carried the scent of fresh herbs. If he could only be free enough to enjoy such things. He put his hand on the window sill. “Trust me. I know what I am doing.”

  “You are a good man and a good brother, Bakari. This I tell you freely. You have nothing to be ashamed of. A man must do what a man must do. We are all chased through life by dark regrets. That is the nature of this world. You are too hard on yourself. Keep Rashida by your side and enjoy your retirement. Hasani will handle the family business and I will ensure that we are all safe.”

  “But that’s just it. We are not safe. There are forces working against me.”

  “Tell me and I will defeat them.”

  “If only it were that easy.” Bakari took a deep breath. “I must see Djeserit again.”

  8

  Chapter Eight

  Falling into a fitful sleep after downing a sleeping pill, Sadie wrestled not only with the hotel sheets ensnaring her long legs like chains, but also with memoires that held her captive.

  Her mind drifted to the scene of horror in the heart of western Africa.

  It didn’t matter how many pills she popped, she arrived there in the sticky heat, surrounded by the fetid smells of wild vegetation, ranging lions and despe
rate people living in isolation, far from the modern world. Anticipating what she was about to see, her gut twisted and her mouth went dry.

  The terrified cries of a newborn baby echoed in her ears. She wanted to scream, “No,” but no one would hear her.

  Shaking, she peered through the leaves of the dense jungle, as the shaman strapped the tiny boy to his dead mother with vines.

  Only one other person stood by, the grave digger. Once the bodies were rolled into the shallow grave, he shoveled dirt on top of them. The infant cried for his life and kicked his legs, but neither man cared.

  The shaman chanted to his spirits in a monotone from hell, while the digger poured more dirt on the bodies. Drums in the village behind them beat on.

  She woke up screaming, as if her head had been submerged in hell, which it had been in a way.

  Some idiot banged on the door.

  “Are you all right,” a man yelled first in Dutch, then in English.

  There were many kinds of all right, but she was none of them at this moment. “I’m okay,” she yelled back. “Just a bad dream.”

  The pounding stopped. After a couple of minutes of silence, the footsteps traveled away from her door.

  Again, she faced the darkness of a strange room, with the same damn nightmare. The ritualized killing of an infant in Nigeria would not leave her, even though she and the baby Jaja, had survived that night. The memory haunted her, coming back to remind her that she’d seen inside the gates of hell. Was it the darkness calling her? She shivered. Hadn’t she done all she could? Why did the dream keep coming back?

  The CIA had more than its share of shrinks, but she didn’t want to see one for fear of appearing “needy.” But something wasn’t right in her head, heart… life… whatever. Some part of her was out of tune and had been since that night.

  It wasn’t all bad. After saving Jaja there’d been no turning back. She now had family, and the whole world seemed larger and warmer. The rigid lines of right and wrong, good and evil, faded. Sunrises seemed richer, the air sweeter. The baby had brought joy to her life, but also confusion.