Читать книгу Aim for the Heart - Ingrid Weaver - Страница 11

Jibril’s yacht was more like a cruise ship than a private vessel, dwarfing the other ships that were moored along the pier. It was at least two hundred feet long, with enough room for a swimming pool on the foredeck and a helicopter landing pad at the stern. Despite its size, it wasn’t ungainly. Its cream-colored superstructure had a sleek, aerodynamically tapered design. Its black hull gleamed like the coat of a well-tended race horse, straining against the lines that reined it in. Hawk was sure the color choice was deliberate, evoking sand and oil. The very fact Jibril had chosen to use this mode of transport despite the lateness of the season was deliberate, too. It was an ostentatious display of wealth. It was a statement of power.

It also carried a much more subtle message, one that Hawk wasn’t sure how to interpret. The prince had named his yacht Faith.

“This way, please.”

The man who met Hawk and Sarah as they came onboard was dressed in the thick twill pants and navy blue wool jacket of a sailor. His nose was angled to one side like a prizefighter who’d lost too many matches. Hawk recognized him as one of the guards who had accompanied the prince to the hotel the night before, and judging by the tension he sensed in Sarah, she recognized the man, as well. The guard led them past the empty helicopter pad, across the deck and stopped beside a set of thickly varnished mahogany doors. He rapped twice on the panels.

Another guard in the guise of a sailor opened the doors to a luxuriously furnished salon. Warm air billowed outward with the scent of lemon wax. The man dipped his head in a polite bow to Hawk. “This way, please.”

Hawk wondered whether it was the only English phrase the men knew. He also wondered whether Sarah was invisible. The men were ignoring her completely, treating her as she were nothing but a piece of furniture that happened to be trailing behind him. Yet as soon as he and Sarah entered the salon, all that changed.

One of the two men stepped in front of Sarah while his colleague moved behind her. “We ask you to surrender your weapon before you go farther,” the first man said. He held out his hand. “We will return it when you leave.”

To Hawk’s relief, Sarah didn’t argue. She unfastened her black coat, withdrew her gun and handed it butt first to Jibril’s guard. She then slipped her coat from her shoulders. The black sweater and pants she wore wouldn’t conceal much. Still, she spread her arms to the side and allowed the other guard to frisk her. Her face was impassive as his hands ran under her arms and down her hips. It was Hawk who made a sound of protest as the man slid his palms over the insides of her thighs.

Sarah looked at Hawk, her chin lifted with no loss of dignity. “This isn’t a problem, sir. He’s a soldier doing his job,” she said. She moved her gaze to the man in front of her. “I understand that, as I hope he understands that I’m merely doing mine.”

The search was concluded swiftly. Sarah folded her coat over her arm and fell into step behind him as Hawk was led deeper into the ship. They went through another set of mahogany doors, along a carpeted corridor and up a wide staircase bordered by gleaming brass rails. At the top was a sprawling room decorated entirely in white. Sunlight blazed through a bank of windows in one wall, reflecting from the marble tile floor and gleaming from the groupings of low silk-upholstered couches and glass-topped tables.

“Welcome, Hawkins!” A tall, thin shape moved toward them through the glare. “What do you think of my home away from home?”

“A very impressive toy, Jibril.” Hawk paused to look at the prince as they shook hands. Jibril was wearing western clothing today, a neat tweed blazer and trousers with knife-edge creases. Except for the beard, he looked even more like the man he’d been fourteen years ago. “How’s the fishing in the harbor?”

Jibril laughed. “That was one passion we didn’t have in common, my friend. I see you are still accompanied by your lovely but impetuous bodyguard.” He turned to Sarah with a condescending smile. “Your apology was brought to me earlier, Captain Fox. It was prettily worded. How could I not accept?”

She dipped her head. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Jibril gave an order to the guard with the crooked nose, then gestured toward the group of couches closest to the windows. “I have asked Ahmed to have coffee sent up for the two of us. Now tell me, Hawkins. What in the world have you done that has caused someone to put out a contract on your life?”

Of all the things Jibril might have said, this wasn’t one that Hawk had anticipated. Hawk glanced at Sarah, but she wasn’t looking at him. She had taken up a position near the window and was scanning the room. She gave no indication that she realized Jibril had just backed up her story, yet Hawk was certain that nothing got by her. “What have you heard?” Hawk asked.

Jibril gave a neat tug to his pant legs and seated himself in the center of the largest couch. He waited until Hawk had taken a seat on the couch across from him before he replied. “A man in my position has many sources of information, as I’m sure you know. I assume you heard of this threat, as well. Why else would you have acquired a bodyguard?”

Why else, indeed? There would be no reason for both Jibril and Sarah to tell the same lie. They likely wouldn’t have had the opportunity to coordinate their stories, either. Therefore, Sarah must have been telling the truth all along.

Hawk was surprised by the spurt of satisfaction he felt. Somehow he would prefer to believe Sarah was honest, even if it meant his life really was in danger.

Hell, that was completely illogical. “You mentioned a contract.”

“Yes. It is rumored to be substantial.” Jibril shrugged his shoulders. “But that is all I know. Who would do such a thing?”

“Apparently, there are many candidates.”

“There is a saying in my country—the way to judge a man’s worth is by the caliber of his enemies. And you, my friend, appear to have angered some powerful people. It must be due to your work. Your research could be viewed as a threat by many.”

“That would be the logical conclusion.”

Jibril smiled. “Always the scientist. You haven’t changed.”

“Nor have you, Jibril.”

A white-coated servant appeared at the top of the staircase, carrying a tray that held a silver coffee service. The guard called Ahmed took it from him, placed it on a low table and set it in front of Jibril, then backed away to stand across from the window, his alert posture echoing Sarah’s.

Jibril poured a stream of steaming coffee into a china cup, set it on a saucer and offered it to Hawk. “You still prefer it black, yes?”

“You have a good memory,” Hawk said, taking the coffee.

“And a long one,” Jibril said, pouring a cup for himself. “How is your research progressing, Hawkins? Are you close to achieving your dream of fusion power? Have you made a breakthrough?”

Hawk sipped a mouthful of coffee, using the time to consider how to word his reply. “A breakthrough is inevitable.”

“Then you haven’t yet achieved it. I must admit I am relieved. I am not looking forward to being competitors again.”

Hawk paused. “This is what I wanted to discuss when I arranged to meet you yesterday. If we work together, we can all win.”

“How could that be? In any competition, there is room for only one winning side.”

“Not if we share a common goal.”

“We share nothing, Hawkins. If you succeed in giving the world this virtually limitless energy supply, I and my people will lose our way of life.”

“Think of it more as a change, not a loss. Your oil brings you wealth, but it also is at the root of too much conflict. How much human suffering can be traced to inequities in resources? How many more wars will be fought over the control of those resources?” Hawk placed the cup and saucer back on the table. “And what will happen to your people and your way of life when your oil runs out?”

Jibril waved his hand. “It will not happen in my generation.”

“It will happen eventually. Wouldn’t it be better to prepare for the future now?”

“Those are noble sentiments, Hawkins. You still aspire to be the hero while I am consigned to the role of a less romantic but practical man.”

There had been an edge to Jibril’s voice. Hawk again chose his words carefully. “I disagree. My sentiments are practical.”

“Then, if that is the case, our first concern should be keeping you safe.” The prince leaned forward, a deep frown line appearing above the bridge of his nose. “You must move out of that hotel and stay here with me.”

From the corner of his eye, Hawk saw Sarah turn her head toward him. Although she remained silent, he could feel the force of her gaze. He could imagine the effort she was making to restrain herself from protesting. “That’s a generous offer,” he began.

“I have many guest suites where you would be comfortable, Hawkins, but this yacht was built for my security as well as my enjoyment. These windows are bullet-proof. The superstructure was designed to the specifications of a tank and the triple hull makes us unsinkable. It is a floating fortress, equipped to defend all onboard. It will provide complete protection.”

“I appreciate your concern, Jibril, but I do have protection.”

“Pah.” Jibril flicked his fingers toward Sarah in a dismissive gesture. “My men are superb fighters and are completely loyal. You of all people must know that women are not to be trusted.”

The prince’s words resounded in the sun-filled room like the sound of a slap. Unlike the other barbs that Jibril had sprinkled through the conversation, this one was too flagrant to let pass. Hawk rose to his feet.

Sarah was at his side immediately. “Sir?”

Hawk waited until he was certain he could control his voice, then looked at Jibril. “I came here willing to work together. I want to let the past rest in peace. But be assured I have as long a memory as you do, my friend. There are certain things one never forgets.”

The hotel fitness room had been installed in the basement like an afterthought, a facility hastily provided for the modern health-conscious guest. It wasn’t large, scarcely half the size of a basketball court. Like the ballroom, a wall of mirrors gave it the illusion of space, but there was nothing elegant about it. Exercise equipment crammed the floor: stair climbers, treadmills, weight benches and devices that mimicked the motions of cross-country skiing. The music that played from the speakers mounted near the ceiling wasn’t the refined strains of a string quartet, it was the pounding rhythm of hard rock. If Sarah’s phone hadn’t been programmed to vibrate, she wouldn’t have known it was ringing.