Kylie Brant - Born In Secret

Sending her a sharp look, Walker asked, “What makes you ask?”

Jasmine shrugged. “It seems odd that he would vanish around the same time the Brothers are trying to heighten the strife between the two countries.”

“I thought of that, too. If the Brothers did snatch him, maybe we’ll discover some trace of their actions when we get inside the compound.” He sent a glance back toward the prime minister’s quarters. “Actually getting us inside the Brothers’ headquarters is going to be up to you. Any ideas yet about how you’ll accomplish it?”

“That will depend in a large part on the events tonight, and how the talks progress with the prime minister.” She paused, smiling as a pair of young children darted by, chasing a dog bigger than both of them. “El-Dabir wasn’t what I expected.”

“He’s little more than a hired thug.” Walker propped his elbows on the low wall, their shoulders brushing. “In a country as uncivilized as this one, a man doesn’t hold office as long as he has without having some very interesting acquaintances.”

“Acquaintances affiliated with the Brothers of Darkness.”

He nodded. “I’d be surprised if some of its members weren’t among the guests at the dinner tonight. If our information is correct, then leaders of the group run the country, and El-Dabir. No agreement would be made with Tamir without their involvement.” As her lowly assistant, it was understood that he would excuse himself shortly after dinner, leaving the invited guests to mingle. “If you do more listening than talking this evening, you’ll get a better…”

He must have seen the expression on her face, because he cut his words short. “But I don’t want to tell you how to do your job.”

“Yes, you do. And quite frequently.” But she was finding that habit of his far less provocative than his frequent reminders of the time they’d spent together. “I will be more than willing to listen to your advice if I am allowed to tell you what you should do while the party is going on.”

“Point taken,” he responded dryly. “You tend to your business tonight and I’ll tend to mine. We can compare notes tomorrow, unless it’s urgent. Do you know where my room is?”

She nodded and looked away, feigning an interest in a nearby street vendor displaying his wares to some Malounian women. A situation would have to be urgent indeed to convince her to go to Walker’s bedroom in the middle of the night. Jasmine had a strong commitment to duty, but her sense of self-preservation was equally powerful. She could imagine few scenarios so critical that she could be convinced to approach the man while he was in bed.

The color she felt rising to her cheeks could be blamed on the afternoon heat. It would be more comfortable to believe that she was indifferent to him. Until a day ago she’d almost convinced herself that she was. But an innate sense of honesty forced her to admit, at least to herself, that indifference was the last thing she felt for him.

And therein lay the real danger of this assignment.

The dinner party was to be formal. Although Walker was most comfortable in the basic black worn for breaking and entering, he had packed a dark suit jacket and tie. He wore it now, as he lingered in a corner of the gathering room, observing the steady trickle of guests entering the prime minister’s home. Most of the them wore traditional Maloun garb—flowing white robes for the men and brightly colored caftans for the women.

The presence of the females at the dinner gave the appearance that this was purely a social event, but Walker knew differently. Where politicians were involved, socializing was business. Some of his most lucrative tips had been picked up at parties much like this one.

But it would be Jasmine’s job to elicit whatever interesting information was to be had tonight. After dinner, he had other matters requiring his attention.

Of its own volition, his gaze sought her out now, standing in the center of a small crowd, smiling brilliantly at a swarthy man who was bending over her hand.

The kick in the stomach he experienced at the sight was most easily blamed on the bitter tea he was drinking. In her brilliant blue caftan she resembled an exquisitely crafted Madonna he’d once stolen from the Boston home of a wealthy shipping magnate. The memory filled him with something close to nostalgia. The piece was one of the few fruits of his earlier career that he still owned. He knew he’d never look at it again without thinking of Jasmine.

She’d done something to her eyes before this trip to disguise their shape. The makeup made the upper lids look heavier, as though she’d recently climbed out of a man’s bed.

The thought brought him no pleasure. He, better than anyone, knew how deceptive her looks were. They were a tool, one she wielded with skill. Right now they seemed to be working quite effectively on the man who hadn’t yet released her hand as he rattled off a spate of Arabic.

Gripping his cup more tightly, he tore his gaze away. The women had gathered on one side of the room, leaving the men and Jasmine on the other. Voices, conversations mingled, broken by an occasional burst of laughter. Walker found he was able to interpret much of what was said. Jasmine had been following the script when she told El-Dabir he spoke only English. Although not fluent in Arabic, he was able to understand quite a bit of it. He’d spent a fair amount of time in one Middle Eastern trouble spot or another.

He strolled closer to the group surrounding Jasmine. Pausing in front of a rather bad portrait of the prime minister, he pretended to admire it until they were all seated for dinner. Mentally he sifted through the snippets of conversations flowing around him.

“…until he is weaned, and then I shall…”

“…perhaps we will have to let him go. He no longer…”

“…not depart from what we discussed.” Instinct had Walker’s inner radar honing in more closely on the last sentence. With a skill born of long practice he ignored the rest of the talk and focused on the dialogue that had caught his interest.

“I will do exactly as instructed. You will not be disappointed.”

Walker recognized El-Dabir’s ingratiating tones, but the other voice belonged to a stranger. Not daring to turn around at the moment, he contented himself with listening.

“There should be no problem. She is only a woman.”

Inwardly amused, he wondered what Jaz would have to say about the man’s assessment. There was no doubt in Walker’s mind that the conversation concerned her. People drifted by, making their way into the dining room, and he shifted closer to the pair of men, as if politely making room for the guests.

“…have a hand in his own destruction.” The noise from the people passing by them had covered all but the last of the sentence. Walker found himself wondering just what he’d missed. The room was clearing out and there was no longer any reason to linger. He made his way into the next room and turned, scanning the area for an empty seat. From the corner of his eye he watched the men he’d been eavesdropping on as they entered. As he’d suspected, one was the prime minister and the other a short man in his mid-sixties with a weather-beaten face. He made a mental note to ask Jasmine about him later.

Even as Walker slipped into a seat at the end of the table, El-Dabir’s companion made his way to the table head. Jasmine sat across and down the table from Walker, flanked by the prime minister and a sleekly polished man on her left. Keeping his attention trained on the dishes placed in front of him, he listened carefully as the stranger monopolized Jasmine’s attention.

“You are too young and beautiful to be a widow, Madame Mahrain. How long ago did your husband die?”