Sins of the Fatherland (Scott Jarvis Investigations Book 6)

by Scott Cook

  I carried a full Jameson on the rocks I’d poured from the bar inside the sky lounge and sat myself on a wide and comfortable chase facing aft. The quiet of the evening and the glow of the harbor lights and the glittering gibbous moon dancing on the water was a balm for my troubled soul.

  I was halfway through the good aged Irish whiskey when the sliding door behind me quietly slid open. I steeled myself as I turned around, expecting to see Audrey Lambert coming to either continue our fight or try to make up. Niether option was of any interest to me right then.

  Instead, Imani Tariffa stepped out of the lounge carrying two glasses. She wore what looked to be a soft silken robe of rich gold and lined with snowy white fluff. Her hair was loose about her shoulders and she wore no shoes.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” She said softly, using her rump to slide the hatch closed, “Would you be very annoyed if I came and sat with you?”

  I chuckled as I gave her slim and lithe figure, wrapped tightly in the robe, a considering glance. I wasn’t going to feel guilty regarding Audrey. As she said, last night didn’t necessarily mean anything and after her behavior tonight, that seemed all too true.

  “I’d be grateful if you did,” I said, “I could use a little pleasant company.”

  The chase lounge on which I lay was double wide and there was plenty of room for her to slide on next to me. She handed me a full glass of the whiskey.

  “I thought you might need a refill,” she said, taking a delicate sip from a glass of her own. The light was low but it’s slightly darker shade made me think it might be bourbon or scotch.

  “Thank you,” I said, finishing the first, “I could.”

  “And one of these?” She asked, pulling a cigar from the pocket of her robe along with a cutter and lighter, “I know of your fondness for a good Cuban.”

  I looked at her and raised an eyebrow. In the low light, her exotic features were a lovely contrast of pale illumination and shadow. She closed her eyes slightly, “Oh… I’m sorry. I know that must have sounded… well…”

  “It’s all right,” I said, accepting the smoking implements, “I know what you mean. And thank you.”

  She smiled, “Here, allow me.”

  She cut the cigar and placed it in my mouth. She then snapped the zippo lighter into flaming life and I puffed until the tip of the cigar was glowing red.

  “Thank you again,” I said, “It’s good. You’re very thoughtful.”

  She brushed one of her slender, soft hands across my cheek, “It’s my pleasure. Have you ever… ever spent any time with an Arab woman, Scott?”

  “I can’t say that I have, Imani,” I said, “But any Arab woman who brings me a nice whiskey and a smoke is all right in my book.”

  She laughed softly. It sounded musical and sent a shiver of excitement dancing up my spine, “We are taught to take extra special care of our men. It brings us great pleasure to give pleasure, on all levels.”

  “You intrigue me strangely,” I admitted.

  “Why?” She asked in faux innocence, “Because I’m from the Middle East? Or because I’m so brazen? Does my unabashedness discommode you?”

  I chuckled now, “No, it does not. And your exotic beauty is certainly intriguing… but I mean… well, it’s… it’s the way you are. There’s something… other-worldly about you. You’re just different, I suppose.”

  “In a desirable way, I trust?” She asked as she began to run the tips of her fingers lightly along my forearm. As she did, she took another small sip from her glass. Her actions had the air of casualness, but I knew better. I knew seduction when I saw it.

  “Without doubt,” I said, “you invoke… very pleasant thoughts.”

  She turned and looked at me, her lids half closed in sensual languor, “Excellent. I must admit, you do the same for me. Would you like me to tell you some of the things I’m thinking?”

  I grinned, “Now there is a silly question.”

  She let out another musical laugh, “Or perhaps you’d prefer me to show you?”

  “I hope my poor heart can withstand it,” I said softly.

  She wriggled closer so that she was pressed against me now and sipped from her booze again, “But perhaps I’m being inappropriate? I sense something between Audrey and you? A liaison, perhaps?”

  I snorted, “I don’t think there’s anything between us. Not after tonight.”

  She locked eyes with me and I have to admit it was disturbing. Sexually, of course, it was exciting to gaze into her large hazel eyes. Yet there was something more in them… something intense that wasn’t sexual.

  “I heard,” She said softly, still gazing into my eyes, “She was very cruel. Especially considering you’d made love to her recently, am I right?”

  I felt heat rise into my cheeks. I wasn’t one for telling tales of that sort. I hesitated, “Imani…”

  “Tell me the truth,” She urged, but not in a demanding way, “You may trust me.”

  “Well… we did share an evening,” I admitted, feeling a little awkward.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” She said, “We are of the world. Besides… I want an evening with you too. Perhaps more than one. Will you have me?”

  She stood and set her glass on the side table. In one fluid motion she undid the belt of her robe and let it fall away and crumple to the deck around her ankles, revealing her lean and shapely form. Her light golden skin looked alabaster in the moonlight and even in that dim illumination, I could see that her light brown nipples were standing proudly erect on her well-crafted B-cup breasts. Although not large, they were firm and perfect, like ripe tangerines.

  I found that no words were forth coming. As she straddled me, her silky hands roving over my chest and shoulders, she smiled at me and took the cigar and drink from my hands and set them on the table beside me.

  “I need you to fuck me,” She breathed, coming in and biting my lower lip gently, “Make me feel like a woman and I promise to make you thank God you’re a man.”

  “I…” I croaked.

  She laughed, “Are you shocked?”

  I cleared my throat, “It’s… it’s just that you seemed so classy. So sensual yet… I don’t’ know…”

  “Not proper,” she said, beginning to unfasten the buttons of my shirt, “But correct, if a bit flirtatious. That’s true. But when it comes to the art of love, Scott… I hold nothing back. It’s not an act of correctness but of baseness. Touch me.”

  I did as I was told. The skin of her well-muscled and firm body was as silky as her hands. I explored the smoothness of her back, the slimness of her waist and the firm roundness of her buttocks and then the velvety softness of the skin over her hard thigh muscles.

  She exhaled a moan of pleasure and leaned in, her full wet lips pressing against mine and I tasted the bourbon on them. As our tongues met, she inhaled and moaned more urgently, her hands finding their way under my shirt.

  “Should we… go inside?” I asked.

  She shook her head as she pushed my shirt aside. I felt a sense of relief as she deftly reached down and unbuttoned my jeans. She pulled them and my shorts down and released me from the prison that had been growing ever more uncomfortable.

  She straddled me again and pressed her burning mouth to mine, her breath beginning to come in shorter gasps, “No. Now, here. I’m yours.”

  She straightened up and I misread her intention. I thought she was going to mount me right then, and I wanted to draw it out for her, but she had other things in mind. She laughed knowingly as she began to kiss down my chest.

  “You shall get your chance,” She whispered, “But not yet… you’re mine to please now.”

  With that, the hot mouth that had kissed me so passionately moved away and was suddenly enveloping my turgid flesh… and then more… and more until I was fully engulfed.

  Later, as we lay tangled together on the chase, the cool night air drying the mild sheen of perspiration on our bodies, I sighed contentedly.


  “You certainly know how to take charge,” I pointed out.

  “Does that bother you?” She asked.

  “No,” I said, “Although I feel I wasn’t able to do right by you.”

  She laughed, “Oh, you did right by me… several times, you sweet man. Believe me, I do not feel slighted. And you’ll have your turn.”

  I laughed.

  “Now I must ask you something,” She said as she stroked my chest, “This is important… I need to know now if you’ll give yourself to me.”

  “You mean more than what you just took?” I joked.

  She chuckled, “Oh, I know I have your body… but your oath?”

  That again. Was this a recruitment ploy?

  “Imani…” I said, “Making love to me doesn’t buy my loyalty, not in the way we discussed earlier.”

  She pulled back slightly and cupped my face in her hands, “Dear Scott… I know that. At least I know that about you. You aren’t that kind of weak male. No… you will have me as much as you desire either way, this I promise. But I need you… I need you to swear to help me, as Joe has.”

  “Why?”

  She kissed me deeply, “All right… I know I can trust you. My name is not Imani Tariffa. It’s Ariel Mizrahi. I’m not from the UAE but from Israel.”

  “Let me guess,” I said, “You’re not a marine biologist either.”

  She chuckled, “No, I am that and I am an oceanographer. But I’m also with the Mossad.”

  Chapter 21

  “You’re with Israeli intelligence?” I asked in shock.

  She nodded, “Now do you see why I need your help?”

  “You’re a spy who uses her marine science profession as a cover…?” I continued dazedly, “Boy, doesn’t that sound familiar.”

  She chuckled softly, “One goes with one’s strengths.”

  I laughed in spite of myself. This situation was becoming more absurd by the hour. Although in retrospect I shouldn’t have been surprised considering what was at stake. I sighed, “You don’t have a hippy friend who lives on an old sailboat, do you?”

  She laughed, “Sadly, no.”

  “Of course not,” I said almost wistfully, “That’s fiction.”

  She raised her head and gave me an odd look but said nothing.

  “All right Imani… Ariel… I’ll bite. Can you prove to me that you’re working for the Israelis?” I asked.

  She frowned, “Not exactly. Or perhaps even if I could you might not be convinced. But the truth is that I need your help.”

  “And Joe McClay’s, too… Why him?”

  “Because he’s here. A time may come when I need allies. This could be dangerous for me, Scott.”

  I could understand that. A lone woman embedded in a group that may or may not be out to locate and utilize what amounted to a weapon of mass destruction. If she was right, she was in danger. If not, it was her duty to make sure that no one else got their hands on those canisters of death.

  “All right,” I said finally, “I’ll give you my word to support you.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, “come, let’s get dressed. We should talk, but not here.”

  She stood and I was admittedly disappointed to see her shrug back into her golden robe. She’d taken charge and I hadn’t had much time to explore her body. I was hoping for a second round so I could take my time.

  As she belted the robe, she met my gaze and smiled. She seemed to know what I was thinking, “There will be time. I promise our night is not over.”

  I chuckled as I pulled on my clothes and then followed her inside and down to her cabin where she exchanged the robe for jeans, a sweater and sneakers. She then led me back on deck and over the brow to the dock.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “For a walk,” Imani, or Ariel said… I’d have to get used to that. Yet not so used that I used the wrong name when we weren’t alone, “We shouldn’t talk openly on board.”

  “Is the ship rigged for surveillance?” I asked as we strode down the dock toward the upland areas of the marina.

  “Not that I’m aware,” She said, “Or that’s to say, not any more than the built in intercom system. Yet in my business… one can never be too careful. Even with the precautions I’ve taken.”

  “So how did you get involved in all of this?”

  “It’s rather complicated,” she said as we strolled toward the main parking lot, “After the end of the second world war and the Nuremburg trials, many Nazi records were sealed. When Israel was officially established, so was the Mossad. We kept these records, or copies of them, for obvious reasons at the Yad Vashem facility. You’ve heard of Simon Wiesenthal?”

  “I know something of him. He worked with the allies to depose concentration camp survivors and to help hunt down Nazi fugitives. Wasn’t he responsible for helping the Mossad capture Adolph Eichmann?”

  “You know your history. Yes, and he also established the center named for him. Well, the point is that in his work, Simon uncovered a vague reference to a post-war Nazi plan to attack the United States.”

  I thought I saw where this was going, “And somebody broke into Yad Vashem and found that deposition.”

  “Exactly,” She replied, “Two months ago.”

  A dark vehicle pulled into the parking lot and passed us slowly as if looking for a parking space. Perhaps it was the spy talk that had me on edge, but I immediately knew something was wrong. The car had passed at least two available spaces before it came parallel with us.

  “Ariel…” I said softly, “Run!”

  The car suddenly stopped and the passenger door opened. A dark figure stepped out and leveled a pistol at us.

  “Get in,” He barked in a gravelly voice that held a false, disguised quality.

  The man was about six feet tall and well built. I couldn’t see his face, either because of the parking lot light directly behind him throwing my vision off or he might have been wearing a mask of some kind. I’d have rushed him but for the obvious gleam of a nickel plated revolver pointed at me. I pushed Ariel behind me, “Who the hell are you?”

  “Don’t matter,” He growled, “Get in or get dead.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” I said.

  He cocked the hammer back, “This isn’t a joke, Jarvis. The both of you get in back or I’ll kill her.”

  “Scott…” Ariel hissed, “No heroics. Do as he says. The time will come…”

  She was right, of course. In my experience, most guys with guns weren’t really prepared to use them. Yet there certainly were those who would. I’d gotten very good at distinguishing between the two over the years… yet I couldn’t quite get a good read on this guy. Not knowing either way, I knew that choosing caution was the best bet, if only for Ariel’s sake.

  We climbed into the back of the black sedan and it began to pull away from the marina rather quickly. There was another man driving and he turned back to grin at me at the first stop light.

  “Joe!” I exclaimed.

  “Welcome aboard, Scott,” Joe McClay said still grinning like a madman, “comfy back there?”

  “You’re… kidnapping us?” I said in total bewilderment.

  “Of course not!” McClay said and laughed.

  “Don’t worry, Joe, he’s used to it by now.”

  This was the passenger. The man who’d held a gun on us. He wasn’t disguising his voice now and it sounded very familiar. I didn’t immediately recognize it probably because I was so confused. Not until he turned around and aimed his own shit eating grin at me.

  It was none other than Charles Conklin.

  “What the Christ…?” I muttered.

  McClay and Conklin both started laughing. Even Ariel was smiling.

  “Jesus Christ, Scott!” Conklin said, “You should see your face!”

  Ariel began to giggle now. I glared at her, “you knew about this?”

  “Of course,” McClay said, “It was her idea.”

  “What in the name…” I spluttere
d, “Why pull a gat on us, Charles?”

  Conklin held up the revolver and opened the cylinder to show me that it was empty, “For show. In case Al-Rajid or Brody or somebody else was watching. Looks good.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ariel said, “But it was the best way to get us out of there and make certain we could speak openly.”

  “So you’re working for her?” I asked Conklin, “and you too, Joe?”

  “Yes,” Conklin said, “hey, you said that the next time we met, it should be more open than that crazy shit in Key West last year.”

  “This isn’t what I had in mind,” I said.

  “Extreme circumstances breed extreme measures,” McClay said. Something was odd, though. His voice sounded different. It took me a few seconds to realize that he’d spoken in a British accent.

  “What the…” I muttered, “What’s with the voice, Joe?”

  McClay made a right turn and grinned at me as he did, “This is my real voice, my boy.”

  “Joe is with MI6,” Ariel explained, “He and I are working together.”

  “Fucking what!?” I emoted, “You’re with British intelligence? So that tough Irish Bostonian thing is just an act? Even back on Ravetti’s boat?”

  “Indeed,” McClay said, “I am Joe McClay and I am Irish. Literally Irish. We emigrated to England when I was young so I talk just like a real Londoner. My role on that Ravetti yacht was simply observation. Keeping an eye on international mafia doings for the Queen, you understand.”

  This was almost more than I could take. I rubbed my face and sighed wearily, “Good Christ… any more surprises? Where are we going, by the way?”

  “Little beach condo we rented,” Conklin said, “Nice place and a good location to have a chat.”

  I groaned, “Maybe I don’t want to have a goddamned chat…”

  “Groan you may, but go you must,” McClay mused.

  “Are we being followed?” I asked, peering out the back window and trying to make some sense of all of this.