He was grateful to be able to answer truthfully that her driver had picked her up at the restaurant and he declined a ride.
"Can we talk more tomorrow? I've got to get some sleep," he said wearily. "The police will be at the gallery at eleven and I have to rest."
"Go to bed. Call me when you can. I love you."
He was asleep before they disconnected.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The officer fired questions at Brian.
Who was the person you had dinner with? Was she married? Had you been out with her previously? Could this be retaliation by a jealous boyfriend? What was the purpose of your dinner? Are you sure the attacker said nothing to you?
Brian answered every question and finally said, "Personally I'm grateful for your interest in my case, but I'm wondering why you've taken so much time on it. There must be a hundred assaults a night in London."
"Likely even more," the policeman conceded, "but yours got my attention. In the first place, attacks in Mayfair are rare. It's one of London's most upscale neighborhoods; even after midnight the streets are mostly well lit and there is usually pedestrian traffic nearby. You were attacked in Berkeley Square two doors down from a Rolls Royce dealership, on a dark part of the sidewalk. It wasn't random; the man took absolutely nothing, but you say he smiled. This was no robbery – from what you've told me, he didn't take a thing. I'm thinking he was delivering a message."
He told Brian that the high-end auto dealership had six security cameras in its showroom and covering the sidewalks in front. If it was in range, the attack might have been captured on video. He was working on that angle and hoped something would turn up. Meanwhile, he asked Brian to call if there was anything more he recalled.
At noon, six a.m. in Dallas, Brian called Nicole. He repeated what had happened in Berkeley Square last night and the questions the officer had asked today. The lawyer in her homed in on what she considered most important – the attacker might have been delivering a message.
"Are you sure he didn't say anything?"
"I don't think so. Everything happened so fast, and he hit me in the head as soon as I saw him."
"Tell me again the girl you had dinner with. What was her name again – something Hassan?"
"Amina Hassan. She runs the London office of her father's investment group." He could hear the click of a keyboard. Nicole was looking it up.
"She's beautiful. I guess you noticed that too," she said jokingly. "Is she married?"
"The cop asked me that too. She's single and nothing was going on. Nothing. It was as simple as I told you. She asked me to meet her for a drink at the Connaught so she could tell me her decision on exhibiting some artifacts she owns. Then she invited me for dinner to talk more about it. We discussed all the things you'd expect – private collections versus museums, the pieces she's accumulated, and how the display at Bijan might work. Even if she had a jealous boyfriend, there was absolutely nothing that happened."
She believed him, but there were niggling questions. She and Brian talked almost every evening. She had a pretty good idea how his days were going, and she knew of nothing he was doing that should have precipitated an attack.
"For whatever reason, all this has something to do with Amina Hassan. Do you think I'm right about that?"
He knew that was a possibility, but he didn't tell her why her involvement actually might make perfect sense.
Later Brian sat in his office, thinking more about last night. He was almost certain what was behind the attack. He'd been on a mission when he went to Amy Hassan's office – a mission for the United States government. Although he hadn't been told why, the CIA had asked him to plant listening devices in her office. In his position as owner of Bijan Rarities, he could easily get an appointment with a wealthy collector who never publicly displayed her treasures.
Once he saw what she had, he was fascinated, but he also completed the mission. He planted six tiny bugs while she was away getting the Cupid candlestick. Had someone – perhaps Amy herself – discovered them? If so, she was a masterful actor. She seemed perfectly at ease, and it certainly hadn't stopped her from agreeing to let him display her priceless relics, going to dinner with him and even inviting him to her place for a nightcap.
Had his mission to Amy's office been the reason he ended up with a broken arm, or was this purely a coincidence? What else could it be? If that was what it was, why did Amy appear no different than the last time he'd seen her?
Unsure what to do next, he called the man who'd asked him to put the devices in Amina Hassan's office.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The director listened as Brian described his attack. He didn't believe in coincidence. In his years at the CIA, he'd learned that most seemingly coincidental things turned out to be no coincidence at all.
By now Case realized the office where Amina had met Brian wasn't her actual workplace. She spent almost no time there; usually the room was completely quiet. In fact, the devices had picked up just two conversations since Brian left. Each had been casual talk between Amy and another person. One conversation had been in Arabic and the other in French. From the discussion, it appeared both of her guests were friends of Amy's father who were in London on holiday and who had simply stopped by to say hello.
Case assumed the listening devices hadn't been found so far. They were still operating perfectly, albeit infrequently. Brian had done exactly what he'd been asked to do, and it wasn't his fault the outcome had been less than what the CIA had hoped for. But something was better than nothing.
At the end, Brian asked if Case was going to contact the London authorities.
"No, not directly. I can ask someone from the embassy to touch base with them for new information, but a call from my office would raise a lot of questions about who Brian Sadler actually is and why the CIA is interested in a routine assault."
"I hadn't thought of that. Oh, one more thing – the officer told me that the Rolls-Royce dealership has video cameras. Do you want me to ask what he found out?"
Case did, and a few hours later Brian advised the video feed did include a clear shot of a man dressed head to toe in black, wearing gloves and a ski mask. He was carrying a crowbar and stayed in the shadows.
"I'm on camera too," he added. "When I crossed the square and started down Berkeley Street, he was ten feet away from me, standing in the north corner of the building in the dark. As I walked along the sidewalk in front of the dealership where it's well lit, he moved out to the street where it's not. When I was in the shadows again, he came up behind me fast."
"Did the cop offer any opinions?"
"He thinks the same thing I do. It couldn't be a robbery because he didn't take anything, nor was he scared away before he could steal my stuff. It sounded like there was no one nearby until that couple found me. So once we rule out robbery, what else could it be? A random act of violence by a guy dressed in black holding a crowbar? What was he – a mental patient? It just doesn't make sense."
Case also thought it didn't make sense unless it had something to do with Amina Hassan. But what? Was it retaliation by a jealous lover? There'd be no way to find that out except by asking Amina herself.
"Where do things stand with Miss Hassan?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing," Brian replied. "When I agreed to meet with her and plant the bugs, I didn't realize the extent of the collection she has. She's accumulated some truly remarkable pieces, including something so unique I didn't know it existed. She's agreed to let me display some of them before my next auction. It's going to be awkward if I suddenly act like I'm not interested anymore. So I'll fire the question back – should I continue building a professional relationship with her, or do you think there's a risk in doing that?"
Case knew exactly what he wanted from Brian. It was always risky putting civilians in a potentially volatile situation, but there was nothing to indicate there was any risk of danger in his discussions with Amina. There was the attack, but was it connected? There was
no way to know.
Her father was a different story entirely. Amin was truly dangerous, a man the CIA believed was sponsoring terrorism and who had likely ordered the murders of over a hundred people. Case wanted to know everything he could about the Hassans, and Brian could help immensely.
"I see no problem moving ahead on a professional level," he answered. "You're a savvy businessman, Mr. Sadler, or else you wouldn't have gotten where you are today. You know how to keep your eyes and ears open, not only to help out your country, but personally. Just be aware of what's going on around you. Oh, and maybe stay out of dark squares at midnight."
Brian laughed halfheartedly, his hopes buoyed by affirmation from the director himself that he should continue meeting with Amy. He had already decided to do one thing differently going forward in his relationship with the fiery Arab girl. He had to stop this flirtatious behavior and he knew just how to do it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
After his call to Case yesterday, Brian had spent an hour on FaceTime with Nicole. Although he knew her remark about his beautiful client had been in jest, he sensed the jealousy. God knew he'd felt it himself often enough. When she had been a star attorney in Dallas's most prestigious firm, she was always out until all hours with one client or another. He felt a tinge of resentment every time she was late returning a call or didn't call back at all or was too busy to talk right then.
Now the tables were turned, and Nicole was both recovering from her wreck and working solely for herself. Brian was determined to give her no reason to doubt him. He had to admit Amy had gotten to him for a moment. She was stunning, daring and aggressive, and she'd surprised him with a real kiss. But that was as far as it was going. Next time he and his new client met for lunch, Nicole would be with them.
"I want you to come over next week if I can arrange a meeting with Amy Hassan," he'd said. "I want you to get to know each other. You're already working on the contract she'll be signing, so this will be a business meeting between my lawyer and my client."
"Feeling guilty?" He could hear the smile in her voice. There wasn't much Nicole missed after all these years.
"Not at all. Nothing to feel guilty about!" He hoped that sounded as flippant as he wanted it to be.
She agreed to fly over from Wednesday until Sunday and Brian said he’d arrange a lunch with Amy. He hoped her schedule would allow it; now that Nicole had said she would come, he was really excited about seeing her. He wanted to keep the evenings free for cozy dinners.
He called Amy. "How about joining me at the Langham a week from Friday at one, and I'll fill you in on developments so far. I'm bringing my attorney to present a draft of the contract. And lunch is on me since you're my client now!" Brian didn't tell her about the attack or that his arm would be in a cast the next time they saw each other.
Amy accepted without hesitation after glancing at her calendar and deciding lunch with Brian was far superior to the glorious hands of her excellent masseuse. She'd move that standing weekly appointment to another day.
Brian and Nicole arrived at The Langham Hotel half an hour ahead of their one p.m. reservation and sipped wine in the Artesian Bar. Brian was here often and he introduced the bartender to his fiancée, which earned her a free congratulatory drink. Soon Brian waved and Nicole turned to see a dark-haired woman in a red suit walk into the bar.
"Amy, good to see you." He tried unsuccessfully for an air-kiss, but she was far too clever for him.
"This must be your attorney." She offered her hand. "Amina Hassan."
"This is Nicole Farber. She is my attorney, but in fact, she's also my fiancée."
Amy's eyes flashed for a second. "You kept her a secret when we had dinner the other night!"
Thank God I told Nicole about that.
"And what have you done to yourself? Why is your arm in a cast?"
"First things first! Shall we have a glass of wine here before we move into the dining room? Let's get you a drink and I'll fill you in."
She took the bar stool next to Nicole and ordered a Kir Royale. Then Brian told her what happened after he left her the other night.
"Oh my gosh!" Her voice and her eyes were sincere. "What do you think it was? Was it a mugging? Or a robbery?"
"The guy didn't take anything. He broke my arm with a crowbar, and then I guess he hit me in the head with it too. I was out cold on the sidewalk until some tourists came by and found me. The police think it's pretty brazen, since it happened in Berkeley Square, where there could have been tourists coming around the corner at any second, but I guess attacks can happen anywhere."
"I'm so sorry, Brian! Is there anything I can do?"
"I have to ask something although I'm sure this attack had nothing to do with you. Is there any chance someone you're seeing could have been jealous?"
She laughed. "Sorry! I know this situation isn't funny to you, but there's nobody I know who likes me enough to fight for me!"
As she said it, one tiny thought crept into her mind. Actually there was one person who was capable of violence like this, a person who actually would fight for her. Her father. But he didn't even know she'd met Brian. And why would he have ordered such an attack anyway? No, it wasn't him, she assured herself as she turned to visit with Nicole.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
They lingered over a last round of Pouilly-Fuisse in the Artesian Bar where they'd started. They had taken their time over lunch, wine and coffee as the females discussed each other's pasts, their likes and dislikes and their mutual love for London.
Brian had thought they would hit it off. Both were driven individuals with dynamic personalities and a zest for living. Now that Nicole knew Amy, it made his life a lot easier since he would be spending time with her over the next several months before the broadcast.
He called for the check, and Amy said with a smile, "I hate to interject business into our otherwise perfect afternoon, but do you have a contract for me to review?"
Brian laughed. He'd forgotten about it completely. Nicole brought out an envelope and handed it across the table.
"I'm sure you've seen a non-sale consignment agreement," Nicole said. "This one is very typical."
"I haven't, actually. I've never agreed to let my pieces be displayed. Brian was so subtle and persuasive that I just couldn't say no!"
"He can be that way." Nicole smiled. "It took a while, but I finally learned how to say no."
Brian smirked, "Not very often!" That brought a laugh from the ladies.
Amy said her attorney would get back to Nicole soon. She asked, "Now that business is done, I want to know how long you'll be in London. Let's get together again before you leave."
"I'm heading back the day after tomorrow. This one's a short trip."
Amy asked them for dinner Saturday evening at her club, but they kept their promise to have dinners alone. Nicole said they were busy, but she put her hand on Brian's knee and said, "Sweetie, can we do lunch tomorrow?"
That worked fine for everyone. "It'll be my treat," Amy said. "Shall we say 12:30 and may we go casual? I'm usually in jeans on Saturdays. There's a great little place just off Leicester Square called Cork and Bottle. They have nice wine and food and a great atmosphere. I think you'll enjoy it."
They spent a wonderful, relaxing afternoon strolling around Soho and Covent Garden. By the time Nicole left on Sunday morning, the two had become fast friends with promises that Amy would come to Dallas and that Brian and Nicole would someday visit her family home in Dubai.
As he tracked Nicole's plane departing from Heathrow, the man who had been following Amy the entire time emailed his report.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Amin Hassan now had a comprehensive dossier on the man who had planted the bugs. Everyone knew Brian Sadler – the famous gallery owner was hard to miss if one was interested in antiquities and relics. Amy had made a deal with him to display her artifacts from Pompeii and Herculaneum. At first her father could have cared less about that – those we
re hers to do with as she wished.
The nagging question was why he had installed listening devices. Was this the way Sadler did business, cheating and eavesdropping on his clients? That made no sense at all. There was something else to this. Maybe Sadler hadn't been interested in Amy's pieces at all. Maybe the entire purpose of his appointment was to get her out of the room long enough to plant devices in an office he presumed was hers.
He thought it was likely that someone – perhaps an American intelligence agency – enlisted Sadler to gain access to Amy's office under the pretext of borrowing her relics for an upcoming auction. That was what he wanted to know more about.
A few days later Amin Hassan learned a startling fact about Brian Sadler. His college roommate and lifelong best friend was Harry Harrison, the former President of the United States.
His best friend is the man killed by the Falcons of Islam, and now he turns up in my London office, planting devices.
Suddenly Amin understood. This was no coincidence. Sadler's visit, his sudden interest in Amy's artifacts, the listening devices – the American government had orchestrated everything. More disturbing was the fact that his daughter was becoming personal friends with Sadler and his fiancée-slash-attorney. The urgency of this situation suddenly escalated a hundredfold. There was no time to waste.
Once again he called the man who'd solved his problems for years. Zarif had been a loyal and trusted servant, and he asked no questions about his boss's instructions. He'd executed orders over and over again, never leaving a clue that Hassan Group was behind the often-violent acts.
"It has to be an accident and it has to be soon."
"Of course, Mr. Hassan. Leave everything to me."
Amin called his daughter next. "I'm putting Zarif on a project, my dear. He'll be out of the office for a few days, maybe a week. Is there anything he's working on for you that we need to move to someone else?"
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