by Kim Baldwin
There wasn’t much blood. The first shot had killed the German instantly. She pulled a bag over his head to contain what remained and glanced around for his gun. The weapon wasn’t next to the body; it had evidently landed somewhere in the blackness around them, and there was no time to look for it now. The dead man was too heavy to carry to the car, so she laid the tarp over the garden cart they’d been using to haul renovation supplies and hefted the body onto it. She was out of breath by the time she got the German positioned in the passenger seat, his body slouched forward and his head to the side where it couldn’t be seen.
Panting, her clothes wet with sweat, she started the car and reversed quickly onto the main road to Haarlem. Once she reached the city she searched systematically for an isolated side street, away from traffic and devoid of lights and possible witnesses. When she found the perfect spot she parked the Fiat, dragged the German’s body into the driver’s seat, and removed the bag from his head. Using the spray paint, she drew a large swastika on the side of the car, jammed the can into her coat pocket, and left the scene at a walk, keeping her head down whenever a rare vehicle passed by.
On the outskirts of town, Allegro paused to scratch the serial number off the can with her house key and wipe it clean of any van der Jagt fingerprints before dumping it into the nearest sewer along with the plastic trash bag she’d turned inside out so any DNA would be destroyed. She covered the final distance to the mansion at a brisk jog, every muscle in her body screaming in protest. Near the shed she drew a bucket of water to wash the tarp she’d used, which she then folded and dropped into the garden cart where no one would be surprised to see it. Later, she would burn it along with her clothing. She sluiced the area where she’d killed Schmidt, eliminating visible blood. Her last task was to retrieve her ski mask and locate the German’s gun. Her breath caught in her throat as she pulled the weapon from a nearby shrub. There was no silencer, and she’d already searched his pockets for anything that might connect him to the van der Jagts without finding one.
Incredulous, she sniffed the barrel. The German hadn’t fired a shot. He was not the man who’d tried to shoot Kris earlier. Someone else had been here tonight. Someone who’d now had at least a couple of hours to finish what he’d started while she was disposing of Schmidt’s body. She bolted to the house, frantically shed her shoes, gloves, and the outer layers of her clothing before entering, and rolled them into a bundle around her ski mask and the German’s gun as she raced upstairs to Kris’s bedroom. Her heart boomed like thunder in her chest as she gripped the doorknob.
Chapter Fourteen
Haarlem
Azizi reported in not long after he left the van der Jagt estate and returned to his hotel room. Kabul was three and a half hours ahead of Haarlem time, so he knew he’d catch the Culture Minister as he was rising for Fajr, the dawn prayer. He regretted that his first attempt to recover the diamond had gone so badly that the police might now be watching the van der Jagt mansion. But he had escaped to try again, and there was some positive news that would help redeem him in his superior’s eyes.
Qadir got right to the point. “Have you found it?”
“I am afraid not, Agha. I was close but got interrupted. It would appear that a female companion is staying with the countess. This guest got in the way.”
“Did they see you?” Qadir asked.
“I am certain that they did not, but they called the authorities when they thought someone was on the property. I left before the police arrived.”
“I find this conversation less than satisfactory.” The minister’s irritation was clear. “You allowed two women to stand in your way?”
Azizi flinched at the insult and automatically bowed his head. “Please, Agha. I have good news as well.”
Qadir ignored the entreaty. “I sent you there to honor your country. If you cannot handle this mission then I will have to replace you.”
Azizi tried to hide the fear in his voice and replace it with confidence. He knew what the repercussions would be if he failed in this assignment. “That will not be necessary. I am a tested soldier and will do what I have to, to live up to this honor.”
“If you value your family’s future, that would be wise. What was the good news?”
“I know where the Setarehe Abi Rang is,” he replied. “The countess retrieved it from its hiding place while I was there.”
Again the minister became enraged. “You should have taken the stone then. What could two women do to stop you? Were you not armed?”
“I was, but so were they. The woman who joined her looked like trouble and I did not want to take any chances. I am aware of the dire situation but do not want to involve our country or your name in any kind of scandal should something have gone wrong.” Trying to avoid further questions, Azizi added, “She has it on her, I am sure. And she will try to move it soon. I will be there when she does.”
“I hope for your sake that your next attempt will be a successful one,” Qadir warned.
“I assure you it will. Have a good day, Agha.As-Salmu `Alayka’.”
Qadir made the requisite reply, wishing him peace, and the phone went dead.
*
Allegro was so intent on making sure Kris was all right she gave no thought to how she might explain exactly what she was doing bursting into her bedroom, partly clothed and out of breath, more than two hours before dawn. The curtains were drawn and the room was black as pitch. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust before she could make out the shape beneath the covers. Relief poured through her as Kris bolted upright in alarm, crying out, “Who’s there?”
“Thank God.” Allegro hadn’t intended to say it aloud, but fortunately the words were barely audible. She hurriedly stuffed her gun behind the bundle she was carrying.
“Angie?” There was panic in the voice. “Is that you?” The bedside lamp came on. The heavy comforter had been thrown back, and Kris was wearing only a body-hugging tank top. The rest of her was covered by a pale yellow satin sheet. She was breathing hard from her abrupt and rude awakening, staring at Allegro as if she’d gone mad. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing, why?” she said casually. That was slick.
“Why? Because you burst in here at…” Kris peered at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Five thirty in the morning, looking like you’re ready to pounce.”
The word “pounce” drew Allegro’s gaze involuntarily to Kris’s breasts, but she enjoyed the sight only briefly. Her preoccupation with the night’s events precluded any serious consideration of sex at the moment. “They say the third time’s the charm.” The remark was met with a scowl, so she quickly added, “I was wondering if you’d like eggs for breakfast. I’m doing some laundry and thought I’d cook afterward.”
Kris’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as she took in Allegro’s appearance and the clothing bundle under her arm. “You expect me to believe you scared me half to death to ask if I’d like breakfast?”
“I thought you were awake. I heard noise coming from your room.”
Kris frowned. “You look like hell for someone with so much zest for the early hours. Are you on drugs?”
“No, though I did have a rough time getting to sleep last night, this is just the natural high of a morning person.”
“That’s a high I’m not familiar with and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Allegro grinned. “I thought we’d get an early start this morning, since Jeroen will be occupied with his other job. So…eggs?”
Kris dropped back onto her pillows. “I’m not going to be here today. I’ll be visiting my mother. But since I’m up now, I’ll jump in the shower and meet you downstairs for those eggs you’re so anxious to make.”
“Eggs à la Angie, coming right up.” She backed out of the room, keeping her gun out of sight.
“Christ. All this enthusiasm about breakfast,” Kris mumbled.
“I heard that,” Allegro hollered back. “And my enthusiasm applies to ev
erything.”
She detoured to her room, hid the incriminating bundle in a drawer until she could deal with disposal, and put on fresh clothing. Then she called the car rental agency in Haarlem and left a message saying she’d be in when they opened to exchange her black economy vehicle for a light-colored, fast sports car.
*
Kris pondered Angie’s bizarre behavior as she showered and dressed. It couldn’t be a cultural thing; she’d known a lot of Americans. The woman was just…odd. She knew she should be looking forward to a return to her predictable if solitary life, but she had to admit having Angie around made her days a lot more interesting. She never knew what to expect next, and despite being tackled, bruised, and scared to death last night, she felt strangely happy. It was a refreshing change to have someone in her life who wasn’t interested in what she could provide for them. Angie knew she had no money and didn’t seem to care about her title. She didn’t hesitate to speak her mind and tease Kris about her shortcomings. As much as the banter sometimes irritated her, it also was a comfort, somehow. Like she was being viewed exactly for who she was, and not what she was.
The enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit her as she headed downstairs. Angie was dishing up a plate of scrambled eggs dotted with bits of ham and cheese. As a child, Kris had always considered the kitchen the coziest, most welcoming room in the mansion. Although outfitted with the latest appliances, it retained the feel of a relaxed country home thanks to its plank wood flooring, pale yellow walls, and antique oak cabinetry. She’d taken refuge here when she felt most alone and isolated. Their Indonesian cook was always baking bread or cookies and was never too busy to ask how Kris had done in school that day.
“Take a seat.” Angie indicated the small square breakfast table by the window, where two places had been carefully set. She laid slices of toast on either side of the eggs and carried Kris’s plate and coffee over first.
Kris had to admit the eggs smelled heavenly. Another of Angie’s hidden talents, apparently. “Oh, good, I’m actually quite hungry.”
“I was thinking that since both you and Jeroen are taking off today, I should use the day to take care of some things I’ve been putting off.”
“Like what?” Kris’s mouth was watering, but she waited, an ingrained habit of her formal upbringing, until Angie returned with her own meal and sat down.
“Like going to the immigration office in Amsterdam to apply for a temporary residency permit. I’m about to exceed my three-month limit, so I should check my options. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“You could use this address as a place of residency if they ask. I would be happy to confirm that for you.” Kris picked up her fork and dug in. The eggs tasted even better than they smelled.
“Great. I’m sure that would help.” Angie grinned at her. “So, you’re not ready to see me leave yet, huh?”
“Well, of course not. Look around, there’s still so much that needs to be done.”
The smile faded and Angie poked at her breakfast dejectedly. “Of course. How could I forget? Being ‘handy’ is my one redeeming quality.”
“That’s not true, and it’s not what I meant.”
Angie set her fork down and the smile returned, but it wasn’t as convincing as before. “Are you going to tell me that you spent last night soul-searching and are finally ready to accept how profound and multi-layered I am?”
“You know,” Kris replied, “someday soon, I am going to figure out why you so desperately try to hide behind humor and evasiveness.”
Angie looked quickly away. “I’m not hiding behind anything.” She busied herself spreading butter and marmalade onto a slice of toast, trying to appear her usual casual self, but Kris could see she was unsettled.
“We all have something to hide,” Kris said softly. “We all have closets.”
Angie’s reply was in that same subdued, sincere tone. “I’m flattered you want to go looking into mine.”
They continued their meal with another strained silence, the American avoiding eye contact. Kris had definitely struck a nerve. “Who knows,” she said, trying to lighten the moment and return that spark of mischief to Angie’s eyes, “I might even find your modesty somewhere in there.”
The words had the desired effect. Angie chuckled as she scooped up their empty plates and took them to the sink. When she looked back at Kris, the smile was genuine. “What’s this modesty you speak of?”
*
Allegro left Kris drinking coffee in the kitchen and headed to her room, mentally mapping out her day. As soon as she’d taken care of the bundle in the drawer, her first priority was to find the diamond. She couldn’t search Kris’s room and the rest of the mansion now, in case she was caught. But she couldn’t wait until Kris left, either. She was certain Kris had taken the stone from the vault, no doubt intending to move it to a more secure location, probably a bank lockbox where such valuables ought to be housed. It would be foolish to leave it unguarded with two strangers around every day. Kris had come downstairs wearing a sheer silk blouse and form-fitting skirt, so she probably didn’t have the diamond hidden on her. And Allegro had searched the purse and coat waiting on the chair at the base of the stairs. Kris usually put her stuff there when she was planning to go out.
Still, it seemed likely Kris would take it with her. And with a second stalker on her tail, someone who had already taken a shot at her, Allegro’s only choice was to keep close to her today. The lines between her mission and her own desires were blurring, but either way she had no choice but to stick with Kris until she could arrange for some backup or until she took possession of the diamond.
Her pride did not allow her to ask Pierce for help directly, at least not yet. She was afraid he would see her request as more personal than professional. There was only one person Allegro trusted enough to help protect Kris at any cost, and fortunately, the chances were good that she could be in the Netherlands in a matter of hours. She’d spoken to Luka Madison a couple of weeks earlier, and Luka had been in Malta, between assignments, working at a cathedral in her civilian job as an art restorer. She and Allegro were among the Organization’s most versatile ETF operatives, and Luka—aka Domino—was an especially skilled sharpshooter and master of disguise. When they were younger Allegro used to call her Shape-shifter, because of her ability to pass as anyone she had to.
Their friendship had begun during their early teens, when they were assigned to share a dorm room, and it had blossomed during their intense, grueling training. They kept each other motivated during the dark times of doubt and debilitating exhaustion. And each provided the other with the kind of absolute, unquestioned familial support only orphans can truly appreciate, having been unable to take it for granted.
Their bond had been cemented forever during a fateful assignment three years earlier. The Elite Operatives Organization had been hired by the FBI and its Russian counterpart, the FSB, to eliminate a spy who’d been feeding American and Russian intel to the Middle East. The mission involved a helicopter drop into northern Mongolia, in December, where a contact would meet them and take them across the border to Siberia. Domino had asked to go and only Allegro knew the real reason why. Domino’s previous assignment, in Sumatra, had been particularly horrific and she’d made up her mind to quit the Organization. Pierce wouldn’t let her leave voluntarily; it was never an option for an ETF. So Domino had decided to disappear. Allegro knew she planned to use the Siberian mission as her means. She also knew that Monty Pierce would search until he found her. The EOO had a long reach, and once a rogue agent was located the outcome was preordained.
The last operative who’d wanted to leave came back from a Middle East assignment in a body bag, supposedly killed by a land mine. But a pro like Agent Harrison, the dead woman, was trained to spot mines a mile away. The truth would forever remain clouded, but the message was clear. If operatives thought they could leave whenever they wished, if they thought they could sever the ties of commitment that bound t
hem to their controllers, they were naïve. Allegro knew better than to delude herself that the EOO was capable of mercy when it came to mutiny. Whether Domino disappeared of her own volition or the EOO’s, Allegro couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing her again, so she’d quickly volunteered to go along on the Siberian mission.
They’d boarded the C-17 Globemaster III cargo plane at the Kimhae Air Base near Pusan, South Korea, not long after dusk, attended by the minimal number of U.S. Air Force personnel necessary to get them airborne. Their pilot and copilot were also U.S. military, but the man who sat with them in the rear of the plane was another EOO operative, assigned to relay information back to headquarters and make sure everything went as planned.
The temperature at the drop zone was bone-chilling, and the sky at thirteen thousand feet was at least thirty below zero. They wore white accuracy jumping suits with thermal suits beneath, white arctic boots, heavy gloves, neoprene facemasks, helmets, and goggles. When they entered the skies above Mongolia, both strapped on their parachute vests. They’d done this so many times it was second nature to double-check every strap and connection on their rigs. The gear they would need for their mission would be in the Jeep that picked them up.
When the pilot gave them a five-minute warning, they rose from their steel benches to stand before the large cargo door aft. Almost immediately, Domino seemed fidgety and unfocused. She paced and pulled up her goggles to rub at her eyes.
