Читать книгу Secret Agent Sheikh - Linda Conrad - Страница 8

Jass’s knees were still trembling an hour after her meeting with General Wainwright. She’d finally shed the scratchy dress for her jeans, but her mind continued racing with possible scenarios for escape.

She couldn’t imagine having to work with the irritating sheik. Now, while sitting alone across from Ed having coffee, she had the feeling she’d stepped onto a boat that was taking on water.

“I don’t like it any better than you do, Jass. He’s a loose cannon and I’m not sure we can trust him.”

Ed Langdon, her longtime friend as well as her handler, ran a hand across tired-looking eyes. The poor guy hadn’t had any more sleep than she had last night.

“But we don’t have a choice.” He sighed and stared into his coffee. “You have to at least go through the motions of this sting with Kadir or else Wainwright may bust us both out of the Task Force.”

“Oh, Ed. No. Whatever I screwed up had nothing to do with you.”

He dug his fingers through his thinning hair and then went back to drinking coffee with both hands wrapped around the mug. “You’re my responsibility. When an assignment goes bad, it’s my fault.”

Ed was the closest thing to a father figure she’d had since her own father died on a CIA covert mission nearly ten years ago. At that time she had recently graduated college and was interviewing with the Agency for her first job. Her father had wanted her to go to law school. He’d wanted something safer and saner for his daughter than he’d had for himself.

But she’d always seen her father as the sun, the moon and the brightest star in the sky. Everything revolved around him and had since her mother died when she was a girl. What her father did for a living was exciting. Stimulating. The very idea of undercover work had thrilled her down to her bones.

Her mother had been the steady one in the family. The rock. She’d had a nice, normal job as an accountant. And what did that get her? She’d been kidnapped from her nice safe office, robbed and murdered.

No thanks. Jass would take her chances with undercover work.

“I don’t like the whole idea of this Kadir character forcing himself on you while you try to make an ill-conceived plan work. He’s charismatic when he wants to be.”

Jass bristled. “Geez, Ed. You know me better than that. No one takes advantage of Jasmine O’Reilly.”

Ed gave her a lopsided smile. “I know, honey. Sometimes I think you take yourself far too seriously. How long has it been since you’ve even had a date?”

“Uh, a while. I’ve been working. It’s hard to go out when you’re playing the part of a dangerous Indonesian spy or in disguise as the girlfriend of an IRA terrorist.” She shrugged. “But I don’t feel deprived. I like undercover work. A lot.”

Ed grinned. “Yep. Too damned independent and serious for your own good. You can’t go through your whole life like that, you know.”

After her father had died, Ed had gone to bat for her at the Agency. He’d been her father’s partner and longtime friend and said he wanted to help her however he could. And when Ed was promoted to being SAC and a handler, he’d made sure she was under his wing and came along, too. He’d always been every bit as concerned about her as a person as he was with her as a covert officer under his control.

Jass fiddled with her paper napkin. “I have lots of time for a life later. I’m only twenty-nine. You know how important it is to me to be the best at what I do.”

Ed sat silent for a few moments. Finally he said, “Look, you have to take this assignment. But you don’t have to fall for whatever Kadir is selling. I believe he has his own agenda and will try to gain your trust so he can somehow get his hands on the prize.” He looked at her intently. “Don’t let him. As usual, I’ll be standing by to remind you to keep your head in the game. Listen to me.”

“Don’t I always?” she murmured, smiling at Ed.

He blew out a breath and chuckled. “Okay, little girl. Good enough for now. Let’s see about getting you prepped for whatever surprises come your way.”

Tarik had to force his gaping mouth shut when Jass climbed into the back of their limo with him. Man, did she look hot. Not that she didn’t always look terrific, with her sexy auburn hair, exotic hazel-green eyes and a body to drool over.

But this sophisticated persona of the deadly Celile Kocak sent electric shivers straight to his groin. Maybe their mission wouldn’t be hard to take after all.

The CIA handler, Ed, slammed the limo’s back door after her and slid into the front seat next to the driver. “You all set, Kadir?”

Tarik wasn’t paying much attention to Ed. He had better things to look at. Dressed in one of those French-designed suits and Italian leather four-inch heels, Jass never turned her head his way. She kept staring out the window as the limo began to roll away from the hotel.

Tarik absently adjusted his gold-braided head scarf and spoke to Ed without turning. “Becoming a rich Middle Eastern sheik is one disguise that shouldn’t be too much of a problem for me, Langdon.”

He kept his eyes trained on Jass. “You look amazing. Run into any trouble with the background intel?”

She turned her head only slightly and a strand of that long, luxurious mane slid over one dark-brown contact, obscuring it from his view. “I know how to do my job.”

If it wasn’t a balmy, late winter day in Monte Carlo, Tarik would’ve expected an ice storm. Much more of that kind of cold shoulder and this assignment might be the death of him yet.

“Well, I wish one of you could speak Portuguese,” Langdon added from the front seat. “A dozen languages between you and yet not the one that might save your ass in Brazil.”

“Spanish is close enough,” Tarik said without as much as a smirk on his face. “We can fake it.”

Jass shot him another icy, half-hidden glare and inched closer to her door. “You can bet the Cariocas will notice we don’t speak their language.”

“We’re going in as tourists,” he argued. “Arms buyers. Not Rio natives. We’ll get along.”

Tarik heaved a heavy sigh and leaned back in his seat. Yes indeed, this was going to be one long, miserable assignment. And if they couldn’t find some middle ground, they’d both be lucky to come away from it alive.

A few hours later, flying high above the Atlantic, Tarik loosened the seat belt in his first-class seat and checked on Jass. He thought she might be trying to sleep, but she was wide awake and working on her laptop. She had the privacy screen set on the laptop so no one could read over her shoulder and she looked for all the world like any wealthy international businesswoman.

They needed to begin bonding. He’d let her put an aisle between them for the flight. But the minute they left the relatively secluded confines of this first-class cabin and moved into the duel worlds of espionage and glitz in Rio, they would have to begin the lovey-dovey act. The snow princess would have to thaw or the entire mission would be compromised.

He cleared his throat, moved into the empty seat beside her and pitched his voice low enough to be heard only by her. “I understand you keep an apartment in D.C. How long has it been since you’ve been home?”

She flipped down the laptop’s lid and turned her head, pushing back the thick veil of hair covering the side of her face. “You’ve been reading my file? Maybe it would be better if you stuck to studying the files concerning Celile and Zohdi.”

“We only have a few hours to work on becoming an intimate couple.” How could she rile him this quickly? “I thought it would be smart for us to get to know each other a little better on a personal level first.”

Jass frowned and drew a weary breath. “Fine. D.C. is not my home. I was raised in Chicago by my mother’s family—which of course you know if you’ve read my file. But the apartment in D.C. is a few blocks from where my father used to keep his base while working for the Agency. As a kid I visited him between assignments and I know a little about the neighborhood. Still, it isn’t what I would call a real home.

“When you come right down to it,” she added quietly. “I don’t guess I have what most people would call a home. Never felt the need for one.”

Ah, but the wistful tone in her voice said that last statement was a lie. Tarik filed the interesting bit of information away for a later time when he’d gotten to know her better.

“But that’s something we have in common,” he murmured. “See? We haven’t been talking for more than a few moments and already we’ve found a subject to agree on. None of the extended Kadir family have formal roots either. Not for a thousand years. We’re …”

“Nomads,” she supplied. “Originally Bedouins. Yes, I read your file, too.”

He felt ridiculously pleased that she’d cared enough to read his file. Not that he should have doubted it. Whatever else Ms. Jasmine O’Reilly turned out to be underneath her many personas, she was a serious and dedicated CIA operative. She would never go on a mission unprepared, even one that had been as spur of the moment as this one.

The flight attendant brought them both glasses of white wine. Jass took a sip before thanking the fellow and sending him away.

“Why did you resign your commission?” she asked as she studied Tarik over the rim of her glass. “The files weren’t clear on that point.”

Ah yes, the billion-dollar question. He knew the men in his old Special Forces unit and many of his former comrades in the joint Task Force were asking themselves the same thing. Well, he wanted to become closer to Jass for this mission. Might as well tell her all of it.

“I doubt my file has a notation in it explaining the five-hundred-year-old family feud between the Kadir family and the Taj Zabbar tribes of Zabbarán. It’s something my brothers and I barely understand ourselves.”

Jass set down her wine but kept her eyes trained on his face. “I discovered a little about the feud by doing a Google search. Originally, the Kadirs were caravan traders on the Spice Route. And around five hundred years ago the caravan was decimated by the fierce Taj Zabbar tribes. Right so far?”

He nodded, fascinated by her low, hypnotic voice.

“Yes, well. Apparently the Kadirs turned around and destroyed as many of the Taj Zabbar as they could in retaliation.”

“Hold on. Our side of the story is a lot different. The Kadirs had no choice. We had to neutralize the threat in order to survive. The Taj wouldn’t stop. They kept on coming. They …”

He stopped himself mid-rant and forced a smile when her eyes gleamed with humor. “Okay, I agree. That was centuries ago and no real written records were kept at the time. It could’ve happened the way you said. And at a much later date we weren’t exactly angels when it came to our treatment of the Taj.”

“Ah yes,” she interrupted. “Let’s jump the story ahead to fifty years ago when the Kadirs were already filthy rich in the shipping industry and looking to fur ther their interests in the Zabbarán territory.” She quirked a brow. “Didn’t your family make a secret deal with the Taj Zabbar’s neighbors and oppressors, the Kasht? Supposedly the Kadirs traded guns and other armaments for the sole rights to the only deep-water port in Zabbarán and the surrounding area. Right?

“Now that was really some Spice Trade.” She’d added her own answer with a wry smile. “And didn’t the Kasht use those very weapons to subdue a revolt by the Taj? They killed Taj women and children, put the men into slave labor and then burned and pillaged everything in sight. Nice family trade, Kadir.” A note of derision filled her voice. “Why am I not even a little surprised that the Taj hate your family and want revenge?”

Tarik tamped down on the automatic rise in his blood pressure. He knew the truth of what his family had done and who they were now. The Kadir family’s past was not spotless. But in more modern times they had become contributing members of civilized world society—unlike their counterparts the Taj Zabbar.

“I don’t have to defend my family to anyone. Everything you said may be true, but it was done long ago. Before either of us was born. And it’s no excuse for the Taj to behave the way they do today.” His eyes hardened. “They’re terrorists, killers and brutes. They deal with drug lords and mobsters the world over. They’ve tried to annihilate my family by blowing us up, and never mind that fifty innocent people were caught in the explosion.”

He took a breath and let the words roll out. “They kidnap vulnerable women and sell them to the highest bidders. They run their own country like a medieval fiefdom, even with all their new wealth. And worst of all, they are secretly planning to become the world’s newest nuclear power before any of the civilized nations can take notice.”

“How do you know that last part? About their nuclear ambitions.”

She had genuine interest in her eyes for the first time since he’d begun speaking. The new expression made her look young … vulnerable, and made Tarik damned curious about getting to know this part of her a lot better.

“My middle brother Shakir went into Zabbarán covertly a few months ago to rescue the woman who has since become his wife. She and their son were being held for trade to the highest bidder,” he explained. “I was part of my brother’s backup team. While we were there, we found an underground nuclear centrifuge facility and …”

“What?” Jass leaned in close and pinned him with a doubtful look. “From what I understood the Taj are too backward and couldn’t possibly have that kind of scientific know-how.”

“Just listen,” he began, instead of counting to ten to calm his temper. “I have in my possession a few satellite photos of the area under construction. And the images seem clear enough to people in the know. But we blew the place up before we left the country. I figured why not take the opportunity and save the rest of the world a hell of a lot of grief.”

Jass leaned back in her seat. “So you don’t have any real proof. Only wild speculation and fuzzy pictures.”

He bristled but kept his voice down. “I was there. And our family’s intelligence units have been picking up further mentions of nuclear subjects in the current Taj communiqués. We’re sure they haven’t given up their ambitions.”

“How so?” she probed.

“Look at the other night. They sent a couple of representatives to that auction and stole the briefcase bomb, didn’t they?”

“Did they? We only have your word on that. I wouldn’t know what they look like. The Taj aren’t on the world intelligence radar screens.” She smirked at him. “Those Middle Eastern men in the room that night could’ve just as easily been members of the Kadir clan for all I know.”

Frustrated, Tarik sat back and stared out the window before he made a few remarks that would be totally inappropriate for anyone who intended to become her lover within the next few hours. He was usually much better at capturing a woman’s attention and interest than this. In fact, he was always better at convincing people of his honesty and sincerity. Ironically, that was part of what made him such a good covert agent.

What was with Jass O’Reilly? He’d known she was slightly different than most women. But she wasn’t even responding to him like a normal human being.

He was foundering here, trying to find some common ground. What the hell would happen when they had to pretend to have an intimate love affair?

Jass was a pro. She didn’t need Tarik Kadir to remind her of their mission. But he’d tried to do exactly that as they left the plane and entered Rio’s Galeao Airport. She’d sniffed at his ridiculous attempt to rile her and brushed out past the flight attendants.

Throwing her tote bag over her shoulder, she sidled up close to him on their walk to retrieve the baggage and whispered low, “Don’t forget Zohdi wouldn’t let Celile carry anything heavy—or walk too far ahead. It’s part of his macho personality.”

Tarik’s body jerked, almost imperceptibly, but he slowed enough to reach around and take her tote with a huge grin. “Here, let me, my darling.” He used a clear, slightly accented voice. “Wouldn’t want to tire you before we reach the hotel. I have big plans for us later tonight.”

She ground her teeth and smiled seductively. “Of course, sweetheart. But business comes first.”

Fortunately for her, another part of Zohdi’s personality was deeply rooted in his Middle Eastern background. He did not indulge in sentimental bodily contact in public. No pawing or slobbery kisses for him. She almost reminded Tarik of that, but decided to keep her mouth shut for now.

Zohdi never let his gaze stray from the love of his life for long. And he never let her talk to another man without putting himself close enough to feel her pulse beat.

Jass thought that last part might’ve been romantic if the two people in question weren’t such a dangerous duo. And if her undercover partner on this romantic assignment wasn’t Tarik Kadir.

The Rio airport terminal was a madhouse. Crowds descended from every corner and surrounded them as they walked. Jass felt the tension building in her every cell. While she was undercover, she never cared for crowds. An assassin could easily attack from any direction and she wouldn’t recognize the threat until it was too late.

When they finally reached the baggage carousel, they found the crowds impenetrable around it. This much congestion in the Rio airport on a Thursday evening seemed strange—and she wondered if it could potentially signal a glitch in their mission.

The two of them stood motionless at the edge of the crowd for a moment as they silently pondered their best plan of attack for reaching the luggage.

“Ms. Kocak. Sheik Zohdi.” Suddenly a man who seemed to be a native Brazilian spoke to them with a heavy accent. He’d appeared out of nowhere right beside them. “I am your driver. Your luggage is being sent ahead. Please follow me.”

Jass raised her shoulders along with her gut instincts. Ed had told her they would be contacted by someone from the CIA station chief’s office with further instructions. But she hadn’t expected anyone this soon.

She glanced at Tarik, who also seemed to be on alert, but then he gave her a cockeyed grin and inclined his head. “After you, love. I am yours to command.”

He was silently signaling that he was leaving the choice to follow this man up to her. Her whole body trembled with pride and an odd sensual awareness as she forced herself to turn and make her way through the throngs behind the stranger.

That grin of Tarik’s might end up becoming her undoing before their assignment was over. The man was impossibly handsome all dressed up as a modern sheik in his Versace suit, white linen boat-necked shirt and head scarf. Jass shook off the sensual pull she’d felt and worked her mind back to the persona of Celile.

She had to remember that Ed said not to trust Tarik despite his glib manner and sincere looks.

They reached the curb in front of the airport and found a sleek black sedan waiting. Their driver paid two thugs who were obviously carrying concealed weapons and, with a few words in Portuguese, sent them on their way. Then he ushered her and Tarik into the backseat.

As they pulled into the stop-and-go traffic, she asked the driver, “What’s going on here? Why all the people and congestion?”

Suddenly their driver didn’t have even a slight accent. “You’re kidding, right? Tomorrow is the start of Carnivale. The tourists are pouring into the city. Expect the crowds to get a lot worse over the next four days.”

“Smart.” Tarik relaxed back into his seat and propped an ankle over his knee. “The Russian picked the best time of year to hold this little auction. His buyers will be tough for us to pick out from the rest of the tourists.”

She turned to see Tarik in the dim light filtering in through the car’s windows. “Have you ever been to Rio’s Carnivale before?”

“Several times. You’re going to love it. All sensual music, body heat and very little clothing.” He chuckled under his breath. “It’s guaranteed to warm up the chilliest woman on earth. Even the ice queen Celile Kocak doesn’t stand a chance during Carnivale.”

Oh hell. The man was doing his damnedest to unnerve her. Well, no matter what Tarik Kadir sent her way, she wouldn’t let him throw her. She would remain in control.

After all, Jass O’Reilly was a pro.