Ancient Danger: Mata Hari Suspense Series #3

by Jo-Ann Carson

  This wasn’t the father-son chat Khalid expected. “You’re telling me to get laid. A lot.”

  “Yes. Sex clears the mind. When your body’s satisfied you can get things done.”

  “I like your logic.”

  “We are men.”

  “Powerful men. But I have no intention of becoming beholden to you.”

  “Then consider your time with the whore a small thank-you present. I appreciate your help locating Tutankhamen’s scarab. I have made plans to attain it. Now it’s time to get to know one another.”

  “You had your henchmen kidnap me.” Khalid’s face heated.

  Bakari moved his head from side to side. “I wanted to see you.”

  “Unbelievable. You’ve gotten so used to having power you think nothing of taking it from others.”

  Bakari shrugged.

  Khalid firmed his jaw. “I’ve wondered who my father was all my life. I never expected someone like you.”

  “I hope you make yourself comfortable. Adio, the man who showed you in will see to your luggage. If there’s anything you need while you stay here, you can ask him. He’s been with our family for twenty-years.” He folded his hands on his desk. “Or me.”

  “I hope you don’t plan to control me.” Because that would be really stupid.

  “No.” A flash of light crossed his eyes. Anger? Perhaps. It came out of nowhere faster than lightning.

  Khalid scanned the room once more and forced his body to relax. The smell of the vase of freshly cut flowers sitting on the desk mingled with stale Turkish coffee.

  “You’re not used to being part of a large family. You have five sisters, three step-mothers and three uncles. It will take time to get to know everyone and find your place.”

  “My place, old man?” I fucking well know my place.

  “A figure of speech.”

  “Let’s get a few things straight. You and I both know I have powers that you want to use. Whether I let you remains to be seen.”

  Bakari smiled. “You think I want to use you?”

  “Yes.”

  Bakari leaned back, stretched his hands in the air, then clasped them behind his head. His movements appeared relaxed and casual, but Khalid could read his heart, and it remained as black and cold as the devil’s, and perhaps even more calculating. “Khalid, it’s more complicated than that. Ultimately we all use each other, even those we love. It’s the way of the world. Right now I want you to settle into the idea of being part of the family. Then we’ll talk about what you want out of life. We have enough power, money and love in this family to take care of everyone’s needs.”

  “What I want?”

  “Yes.”

  “Power, like you.”

  His smile waned. “Did Djeserit tell you that my power came at a great cost?”

  “My mother raised me in Amsterdam and told me not to worry about who my father was, that she’d used him to create me. She said my destiny would be to use my gifts to help others. Those who are blessed with plenty must give plenty.” He swallowed. “Or some such crap. She never spoke to me of you.”

  “Did she teach you…?”

  “The old ways? Yes, at first she did, but by the time I turned twelve I grew more powerful than her and started learning on my own.”

  Sweat beaded on Bakari’s forehead. “Surely that’s not possible.”

  Khalid closed his eyes and focused energy on the half-filled cup of coffee sitting in front of him. It vibrated, then exploded. Shards of glass flew into the air and liquid spilled on to the shiny desk top. “It’s possible.”

  Without even blinking Bakari reached for tissues to clean the mess. “And what exactly do you want to do with the power you seek?”

  “I will become the greatest sorcerer this world has ever known. I will take whatever I want. I will do whatever I want. I will be the most powerful man in the world.”

  Silence filled the room. Bakari stared at him and sighed. “Is that why you murdered your mother?”

  Khalid leaned back. “Not exactly. She caused her own death. She kept pestering me. Wouldn’t let up. Do this… Do that… She didn’t understand I needed to go my own way, have my own friends, make my own magic.”

  “What happened?” Bakari leaned forward.

  “I performed a ritual to gain the essence of her pure soul. I didn’t want to hurt her, I just wanted to tap her power.”

  “And the ritual killed her?”

  The memory of the look in his dying mother’s eyes grabbed at Khalid. His face tightened and he looked at the ceiling to gain control. Her look of betrayal mixed with the look of fathomless, maternal love haunted him. He shook his head. “She resisted the spell. I underestimated her strength and, in the end she bested me by choosing to die rather than give me what I wanted.”

  “Power looks great from the outside, my son, but it’s a bitch on the inside. Take my word for it. Power withers all that is good in us. You have made a mistake.” He narrowed his eyes. “But your mother forgave you and I forgive you. You must find a way to forgive yourself.”

  “Fucking platitudes from you?” Khalid’s voice rose, though he hadn’t intended it to. “Even you know mere forgiveness is not enough. I went too far. I broke the natural order and I will pay for it. The universe will have her revenge with my misery and ultimately with my blood and soul.”

  Bakari raised his hand ready to argue.

  Khalid shook his head. “No, Father, I know I am a damned soul and I have come to terms with that. It gives me a sense of freedom normal people never experience. I will do whatever I want in this life and not worry about the consequences, because I know my future. I am a damned man.”

  “But then?”

  “I have allies in Dual, the after-world. I will find a place in the darkness, but first I will live a long and wonderful life here on earth.”

  “Son…”

  “You don’t get it. I am not like other mortals. I never belonged in the light.”

  Bakari folded his hands on his desk. His eyes sagged with weariness. “I’m told we all start in the light, but who am I to judge you. Is there nothing I can do to change your mind? You need time to grieve the loss of your mother. Don’t rush down a dark path before you know what else there is for you.”

  “Darkness, father, there is only darkness, for you and for me.”

  Bakari stared towards the door and Khalid turned to see who was there. The woman in the brown dress.

  “Rashida?” Bakari said.

  Ah, so this is my half-sister, the one Bakari cannot let die.

  13

  Chapter Thirteen

  New York

  As the warm, rosy glow of the pre-dawn light filtered through the morning clouds, Sadie finished her third cup of strong coffee. A loud knocking at the door caught her attention. Who would want to see her this early? She picked up her gun from the drawer of her entrance table and peered through the security hole. In the hallway stood a short woman in a fuzzy, pink floral housecoat. Old-fashioned, foam curlers held her hair up in a haphazard pattern. Her wide mouth puckered chubby cheeks. Reading glasses perched on the end of her slender nose. Her serious expression made Sadie wonder. Was she seriously pissed-off or just plain crazy.

  “Who’s there?” called out Sadie.

  “I moved in next door. My name is Beatrice” When Sadie didn’t say anything, the woman continued. “I saw you enter your apartment yesterday and I wanted to warn you.”

  “About what?”

  “Bob.”

  “Bob?”

  “That’s what I thought. You’re another stupid broad in New York.” She put her hands on her hips and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Honey, you don’t have a clue. The supe told me you’re an international model who flies all over the place. I thought you might not know what you’ve come home to.” She spoke fast and her words held the unmistakable accent of a well-worn New Yorker.

  A nosy neighbor. Sadie clicked the electronic security system off, and undid the five sta
te-of-the-art locks to crack open the door. She left the safety chain in place. The woman’s eyebrows furrowed.

  “Bob?” asked Sadie. “Tell me about Bob.”

  “Category two hurricane coming up from the Caribbean. They don’t expect it to hit our coast, but who trusts the weather men. Assholes! They neva get it right.”

  “So this storm will get worse.”

  “Yeah. Eighty five to ninety five mile an hour winds and a lot a rain. Don’t you gotta a TV?”

  “Storm surges?”

  The woman’s small shoulders shrugged. “The men in suits say not to worry.”

  Sadie gave a nod of commiseration. Memories of Hurricane Sandy and the storm surge that took out a good part of Manhattan were still fresh in every New Yorker’s mind. “I’ll turn on the news. Thanks.”

  The woman tried to look into the sliver of space Sadie had opened, but Sadie’s body blocked her view. She gave her a suspicious look, then turned and padded with her fluffy blue slippers down the linoleum hallway.

  Sadie made mental notes. Beatrice’s back was hunched. Possibly osteoporosis. Five foot six. Mid-sixties, white skin with age spots, died blond hair. She smelled of dish detergent, the generic, lemon brand, and peppermint candies.

  Jeremiah could give her a detailed report on the woman within the hour. Why hadn’t he told her about Bob? She screwed up her face. Because he would have assumed she knew. She’d had her head so buried in her own life she’d almost missed a hurricane. Friggin’ hell. Was the woman with the blue slippers a good Samaritan? In New York City? Maybe.

  Her gut told her Beatrice was okay, but she’d have the woman checked out anyway. Reaching for her cell-phone, which sat on the entrance table, she wondered if that would be the way her life would end. She’d be worrying about something at the end of her nose and nature would take her out with a hurricane or earthquake. She didn’t have time for Bob.

  Jeremiah answered her call. “Mornin, sugar.”

  “I need a new neighbor checked out. She says her name is Beatrice.” She gave him the woman’s description.

  “Got it. Anything else? Have you heard back from Bakari?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Hang tight. I’ll get back to you.”

  He clicked off.

  She sent a message to Mitch. The last time New York was hit, the tidal surge swept over lower and mid-Manhattan causing millions of dollars of damage. The flooding brought the busy life of the city to a halt. Politicians immediately pointed fingers at one another trying to shift blame. Precautions against such storms were supposed to have been built, but crucial funds had been reallocated to pet projects… The usual bullshit. Meanwhile, New Yorkers suffered.

  Mitch’s response: “Thought you knew about Bob. The worst of it won’t hit for a few hours. You’ll be fine. See you soon.”

  Turning on her radio to follow the news, she logged on to her lap top. Satellite imagery placed the storm a hundred miles south of the city and about fifty miles off shore. As Beatrice had said, it had swirled its way up from the Caribbean and hit Cuba hard. It picked up speed, but luckily had stayed off the US coast. The weather men kept reassuring their audience that New York would only get a bad rain storm.

  Being on the fourth floor of her building, she’d be spared the mess of any flooding. Mitch was right. She’d be okay if she stayed put. But if Bob decided to make landfall, there would be no escaping the chaos of the city. She could drive inland or fly out now. That would keep her personally safe, but seriously mess with her plans to see Bakari. Surely he’d phone soon.

  Sadie made herself a big mug of Bengal Spice herbal tea and sat in front of her lap top at the kitchen table. She scrolled through new documents from Jeremiah. Bakari’s arms business had been very busy in the last six months. Two new contracts and four beheadings.

  14

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cairo

  After being dismissed by his father, Khalid spent the afternoon exploring the estate. Every inch of the castle had been restored. Thick Arabian carpets, tapestries, polished wood, crystal chandeliers, fine furnishings… and not a speck of dust. Room after room shone with an opulence that spoke of big money. If the school yard bullies who had teased him about being a bastard could see him now, they’d choke.

  Someday he’d live this well. Fuck that—he would live even better.

  Tonight, at a formal sit down dinner, he’d meet the family. That was Bakari’s plan. They’d probably disapprove of a newcomer who’d share their wealth, especially one whose mother had not been married into the family and had made a living reading Tarot cards. Oh well, they’d have to get used to it. His father wasn’t the kind of man who would accept open rifts in his family. No. He was a dictator who expected everyone to cower in his presence and bend to his will.

  Khalid wandered outside to feel the Egyptian sun on his skin. Its intensity sizzled.

  “You shouldn’t be out in the mid-day sun.” A soft woman’s voice came from behind him. He turned. Rashida his half-sister stood there. Her brown dress hung loose on her frail body, but her voice and spirit were strong.

  “I wanted to feel it for a minute.”

  “I’ve been to London and Paris, but never Amsterdam.” The sweet innocence in her voice soothed him and he hadn’t been aware he needed soothing.

  Sunshine caught in her thick, raven-black hair which fell loose in waves to her waist, making it shimmer with light, giving her an ethereal look. Dark brown eyes dominated her narrow face with warmth and… kindness; but the dark circles beneath them spoke of the pain and wasting away of life energy within her.

  As he looked into her eyes he trembled, sensing the agony of her treatments and the nearness of her death. The way she looked back at him, with such openness, jolted his awareness. He thought for a moment she knew he’d seen inside her and that it was okay with her. She had that calmness people near death develop: an acceptance of what is and what is to come.

  He gave her his best smile, though he knew it looked lopsided and goofy. “It’s different in Europe,” he said. He couldn’t ignore a niggling sense of connection. One that grabbed at his heart. He wriggled his nose, recognizing that he wasn’t as immune from sentiment as he wanted to be.

  “I’m hoping you’ll tell me about it, brother.” She opened her hand to him beckoning him to come closer.

  Khalid blinked when she called him brother, then took her hand. It felt tiny inside his, like a child’s. She led him down a narrow path to a bench in the garden, under a flower laden arbor. The air smelled of fragrant flowers and song birds sang pretty songs.

  “Tell me about yourself.” Her eyes skittered across his face like butterfly kisses.

  “I was born in Amsterdam. My mother raised me.”

  “Is it true she was wise in the old ways?”

  Khalid heard her question in his mind before she spoke any words, so he was prepared with an answer. “What some people call sorcery, others call knowledge.”

  She nodded, her eyes wide.

  “Have you ever had your Tarot read?” He had used this line on many young women, and using it on her made him wince. It seemed to cheapen the moment. Still, the words tumbled out. He wanted to impress her.

  “Never,” she said.

  “Never,” boomed a man’s voice from down the path a few yards away. In long strides a tall Arabic man dressed in a peasant’s robe appeared on the trail. Khalid recognized that the younger man had the same eyes and chin as his own. Great… more family.

  The young man stood to greet the older man.

  “Uncle,” Rashida began “this is—”

  “The son of the whore.” Spit flew from the man’s mouth as he raged.

  “And your blood relative,” Khalid said calmly, extending his hand as a peace offering.

  The man’s two hard, black eyes glared down at him. “You are not my family.”

  “Bakari thinks differently.”

  He scowled. “Leave Rashida alone.” He reached down and gra
bbed her by the arm, hard enough to leave bruises.

  “Ow!”

  Keeping his face as blank as possible, sensing that the older man’s hostility could easily erupt into unneeded violence, Khalid looked on. This man had his own crazy set of complexities. Nothing like being born into a family of weirdoes.

  “What did my mother do to you?”

  He froze as surely as if he’d been doused with ice water. Only for a second, but one long enough to speak volumes to the seer’s inner ear. There had been a connection between this angry man and his mother and it hadn’t ended well for him. He let his face break into a smile. “Was it her power or her body that tempted you?”

  “Chasisi, you’re hurting my arm.” Rashida pushed at the older man’s chest.

  He released her, nodding his apology, then turned to face Khalid. His eyes narrowed and his mind stonewalled him. “Your mother played Bakari. I warned him to be careful around her, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “You wanted her.”

  He laughed. “There was a time when every man wanted her. Your mother was beautiful.”

  “And powerful.” Khalid smiled, unable to hide his pride.

  “I don’t believe in that crap. She manipulated people. And now she’s doing it from the grave through you. I don’t care if you are Bakari’s latest interest. If you do anything to harm this family, I will see to it that you die a nasty death.” For an instant he let Khalid slip into his mind, to see that death, the one he intended for him. A short square man with dead-looking eyes stood over his still body holding a hatchet dripping with blood, his blood. Khalid shivered.

  “Okay I get it, old man. You’re jealous Bakari laid her.”

  The man’s face turned bright red and his hands shook.

  “No, uncle, no,” said Rashida.

  “Relax,” Khalid said. “I don’t want to hurt my sister. I’d like to get to know her.” He looked at her with gentle eyes. “My company is good for her. Being shut-in this place, with only family and servants would drive anyone crazy.”