Ancient Danger

by Jo-Ann Carson

  “So what’s bothering you?”

  “He’s ruled by anger and that worries me.”

  Chasisi tilted his head. “Why? You were once an angry young man, as was I. It’s part of growing up. You come of age, look around and don’t like what you see. You rail against it and do your best to change it. Then the day comes when you realize that you are—“it”—and you laugh at the process. Give him time Bakari. He’s not much more than a child.”

  “A child with power.”

  “Power? What power? Surely you’re not talking about tarot reading.”

  “Yes, he can read cards and people. He can see the future like his mother.”

  Chasisi whacked his forehead with the palm of his hand and grunted. “Bakari, be serious. Djeserit played you. She lived off your belief in her. Don’t let your son perpetuate those crazy old ideas in your head. You are too much a man of the world, too much a business man, to let these ideas rule you. Don’t let people fuck with your head.”

  Bakari tried to smile but couldn’t hold it in place. No matter how many times he told his brother how accurate Djeserit’s prophecies had been, Chasisi refused to believe in them. He claimed it was luck at best. Chasisi may have been the wise one in the family, but he refused to see anything beyond the concrete. How wise was that in the end? “Trust me,” Bakari said. “I’m careful about who I allow in my head. Khalid has agreed to come here for a visit and you can see for yourself. The young man is formidable, and …”

  “And what?” Chas blew a perfectly round smoke ring. It drifted in the air, leaving a skunky smell.

  Bakari wanted to say “scary,” but he refused to fear any mortal man, let alone his own son. Still, when he dealt with Khalid, he dealt with powers beyond the earthly realm. Bakari could manipulate any man, bend them to his will, but spirits from another plane were another matter. “Different,” he said. His throat constricted. “Very different.”

  Chas muttered in street Arabic and leaned forward. “ You look like hell. Is there something I can do for you?”

  Bakari stood up, unable to sit one minute longer. Raw emotions played havoc in his head. He started pacing. “The bottom line is Rashida is getting sick again. I can’t stand by and watch her die.”

  Color drained from Chas’s face. “Bakari, if it is her time, you must let her go. Find peace with the will of Allah.”

  “Not Rashida. I can’t lose Rashida.” His fists balled. He’d faced many roadblocks in his life, many disasters, many heartaches, but none came near to causing the pain and anguish in his heart as the mere thought of living without his daughter.

  “More amulets? Do you want me to find you more amulets?” Chasisi’s voice softened.

  Outside the midday sun scorched the earth. Its rays flooded the room, but neither man took notice. Bakari paced the length of the office twice more, then stopped in front of Chas. He looked him in the eye. “Tutankhamen’s scarab will be put in the public eye next month. I must have it.”

  “Just tell me where, and it shall be done.”

  11

  Chapter Eleven

  After talking with Sebastian, Sadie took a long, hot shower, her cure-all for the gnarly aches and pains of life. But her sorrow cut deep. The thought of not seeing Sebastian again, not hearing his big laugh, not seeing his wide honest smile, not sharing stories about their every-day lives—not feeling his strong arms around her—hurt. Hurt like hell. She rubbed at the ache gathering in the center of her forehead.

  The only thing worse than breaking up would be delaying the process of breaking-up. Their finale seemed inevitable. Might as well get it over with. She tried to swallow, but the enormous lump in her throat kept getting in the way. Her eyes welled up.

  She needed to look at this with a clear mind. It would be better to end their relationship now, before they got in any deeper. It wasn’t fair to either of them to prolong the pain if their end was unavoidable. What was the famous line? “Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.” That sure as hell didn’t fit. The love she shared with Sebastian had transformed her life, transformed her.

  She put her head directly under the stream of steaming water. Wise spooks avoided long term relationships or, if they had them, kept them within their own community. It made practical sense. Lovers aren’t supposed to disappear for long periods of time without explanation and reappear with a coating of lies. Deception ruins trust and eats away at the foundations of true commitment. No one wants to live with sordid lies.

  It would be like trying to stand on molten lava. Maybe he would put up with it at first, but sooner or later he’d opt out. How could she expect him not to?

  They’d had a hot—that is a very hot—affair for six months, but that was only because she hadn’t been taking assignments from the CIA. Now…

  As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t avoid facing this moment. Being a spook was in her DNA. She rocked it. Knowing her high cheekbones were being put to good use made her feel… worthy in a way she had never felt before becoming a spy.

  Her fame opened doors that others could not enter. She was really good at sliding silently through them to do the bidding of her country. What she loved most was the thrill of outsmarting the bad guys. It was better than any chess game.

  A shrink in Langley said her dedication was understandable. It had to do with her need to set things right. He said growing up neglected by a single, alcoholic mom had left her with a sense of neediness and helplessness she’d never be able to shake. While she couldn’t fix her mom who had died in a car accident ten years ago, she could do her part to fix the world. Doing so, or at least trying to, became more than a vocation. It was an obsession.

  It didn’t matter if the shrink’s ideas about her motivation were right. He got the obsessed part. Espionage gave her energy. Living on the edge super-charged her. As much as she loved Sebastian, she couldn’t leave the life.

  Well, maybe when she turned sixty. She shook her head. No, not even then. An image of a wily Miss. Marple knitting in the corner of the parlor came to mind. She was a spy.

  She toweled off and threw on a well-worn, rose colored robe. Picking up her phone, she went to the bank of windows on the east side of the apartment and looked down at the mid-Manhattan scene. The craziness of life in one of the biggest cities of the world humbled her, cutting her problems down to size. Things would turn out all right. They usually did.

  But would her “all-right” include Sebastian this time? Her gut wrenched. She had to put him out of her mind, at least, if not her heart, and get operation Anubis underway.

  Tapping a number by heart into the cell-phone Jeremiah had given her, she hesitated on the last digit. She needed to get her thoughts organized, her intentions clear, for this conversation. The woman she was calling was closely associated with al-Sharif. She knew her as Eboni.

  Sadie had met her six months ago and their relationship was more than a little complicated. Eboni had been the flight attendant on Bakari’s private jet and they had gotten to know each other over a bottle of Chardonnay on a four-hour flight between Amsterdam and Cairo. Sadie plied her for information and while she didn’t get much out of her at the time, she felt they bonded over the issue of abused women.

  When Sadie disembarked from the plane, Eboni slipped her this phone number. Later that night, she’d reappeared in her bedroom and offered Sadie comfort in any way she chose. Sadie hadn’t expected that and, being straight, declined the sexual advance. Bakari, she learned, liked to watch women make love and then join them. Her relationship with Eboni became even more complicated when she saw her at the Met Museum during Bakari’s heist. She saw her with stolen goods.

  Had Sadie made a real connection with the woman? Only one way to find out.

  Sadie pushed the last digit and waited. The phone rang once, then the connection opened. A woman’s silky voice said, “Hello.”

  “Is this Eboni?”

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  Sadie closed her ey
es and imagined the young Egyptian woman with Cleopatra eyes. “It’s Sadie,” she said, knowing her number was blocked.

  Silence.

  “I hope you’re well?” A silly question. She needed to move things on, before the woman disconnected.

  “I cannot help you,” Eboni said. No sadness in her voice, no regret, just certainty.

  “I saw you that day in New York.”

  Silence.

  “I know Bakari is planning to steal another relic.”

  Silence.

  At least she hadn’t hung up. “Eboni, people treasure ancient Egyptian amulets. And while I agree Americans have no right to keep them, we do display them for the world to see. They are safer here than in your own homeland. Someday I hope they’ll be returned. But not until we know they’ll be safe.”

  “Bakari doesn’t share his plans with me. I’m sorry I cannot be of any assistance to you.”

  “Has he left for England?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Asking her for any information was a long shot. Bakari paid the woman handsomely for the work she did for him, and she was well aware of the dangers of crossing him. Sadie counted on that fragile bond they’d formed talking on the plane when they first met. Counted on her ability to read people. She’d sensed Eboni had had enough of Bakari’s violence and was ready to sever ties with him. The line went quiet and then Eboni said, “Sometime next week.”

  And there it was. Her first lead. How do you say thank you to someone who just risked her life to give you information. “Be safe,” Sadie said. “May Allah be with you.”

  Eboni clicked off.

  Next? Sadie phoned Langley and had them check commercial flights between Cairo and London, in case he chose to go that route. He could fly his own jet and she had some ideas about where that would land. There were no legal reasons to detain him. What could she do?

  Pacing the small floor of her loft she thought about her target. The man was violent and volatile, a volcano ready to erupt at any provocation, sitting at the helm of the world’s largest arms-dealing empire. How could she worm herself into his life this time?

  Bakari liked her. Strike that, he really liked her. Did she want to play that card?

  If she offered to meet with him, he might agree. She paced some more. She’d been ready to sleep with the man before for information. Could she get into that head space again?

  Putting on a fresh pot of coffee, she checked her messages. Still nothing from Sebastian.

  An hour later, after she’d drained the entire pot, she picked up her cell-phone again. Jeremiah confirmed in a text message that Bakari had a ticket to London on Sunday. She scrunched up her face. Time to take another step. She punched in the number Bakari had given her six months ago.

  It rang once.

  Bakari al-Sharif answered in his low, rumbling, don’t-fuck-with-me-EVER voice. “Yes”

  “It’s me.” She winced imagining the square-shaped lion of a man on the other end of the connection. In his early fifties, and at the top of his violent empire, he suffered no fools or liars. “Sadie Stewart.”

  Without missing a beat, he replied, “How very nice to hear from you.”

  “How is Rashida?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he replied, “She’s not…” The connection went quiet for a full second. “Her doctors tell me the cancer is back and growing fast, but you know that don’t you.”

  “Yes and I’m sorry.”

  “What do you want from me, Sadie?” So matter-of-fact.

  “I’m not quite sure how to say it.” She made her voice tremble. “I want to see you.”

  “Are you playing me?” He laughed. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “My boyfriend just threw me aside.” Not entirely true, but not untrue either. The best kind of lie. “And I need to take my mind off the bastard. I thought of you.”

  “Why me?”

  Sheesh, he wasn’t making this easy. Most men would take the comment straight to their ego and feel proud but Bakari with his enormous balls of steel, flipped right into suspicion. “I could say it was your money. I could say it was your power. I could say it was your charm. All true a bit, I guess. But what really draws me to you… is your heart.”

  Had she read him right? Would he take the bait? The secret to being a good liar was to skim as close to the truth as possible. His devotion to his daughter did impress her. She concentrated on her breathing and waited for his response.

  “Come to me in Cairo.”

  Sweet Jesus, she hadn’t expected that answer. Wait a minute. Wasn’t he supposed to be heading for London? Her heart jumped into her throat and it felt wider than a loaded semi-trailer. Back up would be next to useless in Egypt. As soon as she landed in his country he’d have her, to do whatever he wanted. Gritting her teeth, she looked at the ceiling. What to do?

  Someone had to stop him from grabbing another amulet. Was he testing her? “That’s a long way.”

  He chuckled softly. “Sadie, where are you?”

  “New York.”

  “I have some business to attend to. Let me call you back and we’ll make plans.”

  “Soon?”

  “Let me look at my agenda and see what I can do.”

  She laughed. “I’m not used to men tabling me.”

  “Some things habibti are worth waiting for.”

  “So you’re going to keep me waiting?”

  He laughed. “Americans. You want everything now.”

  Like there’s a better time? “Bakari don’t you want me, now? My apartment in New York is very private and if you really want to, you can post a guard in the hallway.”

  The silence bore a heaviness that was clear even on a cell-phone. “I’ll call you.”

  12

  Chapter Twelve

  Cairo

  Khalid Badru researched his father on the Internet. He asked around about him too, but none of the information he dug up prepared him for walking into the family home in Cairo. Luxury beyond imagination and it made Khalid’s skin crawl.

  It wasn’t like any home he had ever seen. It looked more like a movie set for an epic drama.

  How the fuck could Bakari think I’d ever belong here? A centuries old castle made of stone and marble surrounded by lush gardens. What the hell am I doing here?

  Guided by a servant dressed in a humble white cotton robe, Khalid walked down a long hallway to his father’s office. On the walls hung expensive paintings, a Monet, Picasso, and Van Gogh … Enormous bouquets of flowers sat on antique tables. Surreal, so surreal.

  Goosebumps rose on his arms and he wished he had some weed on him. He took a deep breath and took in as much of his surroundings as he could. Especially the exits.

  He’d seen inside his father’s mind. The old man was capable of many things. He could put his son in prison or even kill him, if it suited his purpose. Ruthless didn’t begin to explain that man’s thoughts.

  At the end of the hallway Khalid glimpsed a tall wispy woman wearing a long brown dress. Her long black hair tumbled down to her tiny waist. Her oval shaped brown eyes looked at him and widened. She nodded before disappearing into a doorway. A nod? What the hell did that mean in Egypt?

  His guide suddenly stopped. They’d come to an open twelve foot doorway. Inside, his father sitting behind an enormous mahogany desk waved him in.

  “Come in, come in.” Bakari said as he rose and moved out from behind the desk. He walked towards the younger man with open arms.

  Khalid stilled a shudder as he looked into his father’s cold eyes and even colder heart.

  He walked towards him slowly, taking in his surroundings with a glance. The room didn’t fit with the whole ancient-castle theme that surrounded it. It was a modern space with LED lighting, soft leather and dark, wooden furniture. Bookshelves, filled with old, hardbound books, lined two walls. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over a lush garden. The hot desert sunlight streamed in, along with the sound of song birds.

 
They met in the middle of the office for an awkward moment. Bakari reached out to hug his son. Khalid thrust out his hand. They shook and each smiled in their own way. Bakari gave a wide, confident grin. Khalid’s less warm.

  Khalid had intended on visiting Bakari in Egypt, but wasn’t in a hurry to do so. He did have a life, after all. But last night he had been lured by a pretty face, then grabbed by three men dressed in black, with a limited vocabulary, no deodorant and strong arms. The experience robbed him of any warm feelings about this homecoming event.

  His father’s handshake had been firm. The stupid old man didn’t know enough to be scared. Yet. No one could treat him the way he had.

  Bakari motioned to the leather chair opposite his desk. “If you don’t feel comfortable calling me father, you can call me Bakari for now.”

  Khalid sat.

  Bakari walked around the polished table and sat in a tall office chair that must have cost the GNP of a small country. “I’m so very glad to have you visit us in Cairo. It’s time for you to meet the family, become one of us.”

  “Like I have a choice?”

  Bakari smiled. “You were thinking of coming.” He shrugged. “I like to make things happen. So I sent for you. I asked the men to make sure you had a good time before they abducted you.”

  Khalid smiled, remembering how willing the young woman with the brown hair and freckles had been, willing and skilled. She had moves he’d never heard of, let alone experienced. But he should have suspected something wasn’t right. “How much did she cost?”

  His father shook his head. “We can afford it.”

  Khalid scowled. “I don’t have to pay for it.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt your pride, my son. Sometimes paying for it makes it more interesting. Fewer complications and no commitment. I think you’ll find it’s somewhat addictive. Any woman, any time, willing to do whatever you want. Skilled courtesans from around the world with abilities that will amaze you. You are young. Enjoy yourself. Indulge.”