4
THREE DAYS LATER
THE KINGDOM OF HABEETHA (SIN CITY, ARABIA)
That black binder had been destroyed before Kathryn left London, but the photograph stayed clear in her memory. And when she saw him across the hall it was all she could do to not fall down, because her knees were actually shaking. How the hell was she going to do this? She’d had some very intimate encounters with targets before, but marriage? Marriage?!
Benson hadn’t been clear on exactly why Sheikh Hyder needed to be taken out. In fact he’d been very unclear on a lot of things. Certainly some of it was because the CIA really didn’t know that much about the Sheikh or his kingdom of Sehaar. But then why the urgency to kill the man?
“Because Hyder is a wild card. We just don’t know which way he leans. We’ve got reports that he’s ultra-orthodox and has sympathized with terrorist groups, perhaps even supported them in secret. We’ve also picked up sketchy intelligence that he’s a maverick Sheikh, a renegade king looking to expand his kingdom any way he can. The Saudis have conveyed some concern to our people. And if the Saudis are concerned about Hyder, then there’s probably something to it.”
Kathryn had looked closely at Benson when he’d said all that. She’d tried to read him. Clearly he wasn’t telling her everything, but then again, no one ever told the people on the ground everything. Some information might truly be classified. Some might be being withheld. Some might be outright lies. Everybody had their games in this business, and those games were always changing.
So what’s my game this time, Kathryn had asked herself as she listened and nodded. Do I need to read between the lines here? Is Benson saying that part of my job is to find out more about Hyder, decide which side he’s truly on? Perhaps even bring him over to the right side? And if I can’t, then take him out? Was Benson himself pushing the limits of what he’d been ordered to do?
“There’s more to this,” Kathryn had said. “If you’re going to send me in so deep, you need to tell me more, Benson. Everything.”
Benson had frowned and touched his chin again. Once more that telltale twitch near his right eye. Then he nodded and went on.
“The kingdom of Sehaar is small, but in a strategically important place, bordering both Saudi Arabia and Qatar, both of which are strong American allies. So Sehaar is in a crucial geographic location,” he’d said quietly. He’d paused a moment. “Then, of course, there’s the oil issue.”
“I thought oil was the only issue when it comes to us messing around in that part of the world,” Kathryn had said, not sure if she was being sarcastic or not. “Sehaar has oil? What a surprise. So what? Saudi Arabia is a hundred times the size of Sehaar, and we have a long-standing agreement with them. They guarantee us oil, and we guarantee them weapons and military support. That’s been the setup since after World War II, and nothing’s going to change that, is it?”
“Generally, no,” said Benson thoughtfully. “But one thing that could change is the price of oil. The younger Sheikhs of Saudi Arabia are all too aware that their kingdom has no industry other than oil. Their entire economy depends on the price of oil. They’ve been actively trying to encourage technology businesses to start up, hopefully creating a new set of jobs. But that will take years, maybe decades. Meanwhile, the price of oil is dropping as countries start moving to renewable energy and need less oil.”
“Supply and demand,” Kathryn had said, nodding and shaking her head at the same time. “As the world demands less oil, the price will naturally go down.”
“Unless the supply of oil also goes down,” Benson said. “Which is what Saudi Arabia might begin to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Our experts believe that Saudi Arabia might simply pump less oil, thereby reducing the global supply, which would automatically cause the price to rise. Good for them. Bad for us.”
Kathryn had snorted. “So then we just tell them to pump more, don’t we? I assume we have some influence, yes?”
“Of course. And that political game is being played, Krane.” Benson had taken a breath as he spoke. “But the United States always needs an insurance policy. A backup plan.”
“And Sehaar and its oil is the backup plan? But Sehaar is tiny, isn’t it? How can it have enough oil to make a difference?”
“It’s the quality, not the quantity of Sehaar’s oil that makes a difference. Yes, they have deep oil wells and relatively vast reserves, but the oil that comes from Sehaar is naturally more refined than that from any other place on Earth. Very few impurities. Oil from Saudi Arabia has to be refined several times before it is usable, but the oil from Sehaar is so clean it can almost be pumped directly into barrels and shipped anywhere in the world. That makes Sehaari oil vastly more valuable.”
“And so we want control over the Sehaari oil fields,” Kathryn had said. “And the only solution is to take full control of Sehaar itself? With a puppet government, where I am the goddamn puppet? Do you have any idea how insane that sounds? What about negotiating with Hyder? Cutting a deal with him?”
“Firstly, that’s not reliable enough. Contracts can be broken. Deals can be forgotten,” Benson had said, shaking his head. Then he looked up at her, his face grave, as if he was telling her something even he wasn’t supposed to know. “And we have sources that say Saudi Arabia is actively trying to cut their own deal with Hyder. They want him to stop pumping his high-quality oil, which would give them more control over the supply and hence the price of oil.” He shook his head again. “My orders are clear, Krane. There’s no deal we can cut with Hyder that will give us the assurance we need. We need an iron-clad guarantee that Sehaari oil will always be available to us.”
“And I am that guarantee,” Kathryn said, closing her eyes as she let the madness wash through her. “Has anyone even tried to talk to Hyder? Our politicians? Anyone? Have you had a meeting with him?”
Benson had smiled. “I told you the Saudis are concerned about Hyder. Which means Saudi spies are watching Hyder . . . watching him to make sure he isn’t negotiating with the Americans behind their back. If an American senator or known CIA officer like myself is even in the same city as Sheikh Hyder, it’ll arouse suspicion.” Benson had snorted after saying that. “Of course, Hyder is a notorious recluse, so there’s no real danger of that happening. He only leaves his kingdom once a year, for ten days.”
Kathryn had frowned as that hazy image of Sheikh Hyder came back to her. A reclusive Sheikh of a small kingdom, but somehow both the Saudis and the Americans were “concerned” about him? What was going on here?
“Then just send some obscure, unknown CIA agent to meet him during that ten-day vacation of his. Wouldn’t that be the logical next step?” She’d trailed off when she realized she’d come full circle. “Oh, shit. I am that obscure, unknown CIA agent who’s going to meet him during that ten-day vacation. That’s what you’re trying to tell me, aren’t you. You were simply ordered to take out Sheikh Hyder, but you’ve come up with another plan. You want to—”
Benson cleared his throat and tapped on the desk, and Kathryn shut the hell up when she realized she was right and that she couldn’t say any more. Benson was playing his own game, and he was bringing her in on it. He was setting up the scenario, putting her into it, and basically trusting her to see how it played out. The rumors about Benson were right. He was a finesse guy. So she needed to read between the lines here.
Kathryn took a deep breath and shook her head, which was spinning, which meant shaking it didn’t help a damn. She looked down at the table, then up at Benson. His face was taut, but a moment later he broke a smile, and suddenly the two of them were laughing. It really was the only thing they could do. They’d both been in this business too long.
“So what’s the cover story?” Kathryn had finally said when they got a hold of themselves. “Earlier you said that I’d be working for Hyder. Which means you’ve got something set up. A job interview? Am I going to be his secretary? His shrink? English teacher? Yoga instructor?” She paused and shrugged, a chill running through her as she tried to make a joke of it. “His whore?”
And that chill had turned into a blazing heat when she saw Benson’s expression change. And when Benson finally explained the play to her, she knew for a fact that this would be the last one. It would be the last one because she wasn’t going to make it out alive.
“So I was right,” she told Benson when they were finally done and she got up to leave. “This is a goddamn suicide mission.”
And now, three days and one long flight later, as she stood there in red harem pants and a black tank top, lined up alongside nine other women dressed exactly the same, like this was an auction from the 1800s, Kathryn Krane looked down at herself and tried to hold back a strange sickness . . . strange because it was something she’d never felt before. Yes, there was that surge of adrenaline, but there was something else mixed in. Something dark, something deep, something . . . exciting. Goddamn exhilarating.
Oh, God, am I aroused, came the thought out of nowhere as she watched the tall, handsome Sheikh Hyder slowly walk down the line of women, stopping at each one and leaning in to say something. Already she could smell him, a clean musk of red oak and white sage that added to the strange aura that surrounded him. This man was different. This man was special. She could see it in the way he carried himself. The way he walked. The way his jaw was set tight and determined. The way his green eyes were taking in everything around him with a lazy confidence.
Suddenly he turned and glanced at her, and the shock of the unexpected eye contact almost made her swoon. She blinked and looked away, biting her tongue in anger when she realized that was exactly the wrong thing to do. Was he already suspicious now? After all, this was a king who only left his kingdom ten days a year. And he spent those ten days in the Sheikdom of Habeetha, the city-state known as the Las Vegas of Arabia, home to the region’s most exclusive, well-regulated, above-board brothels. And this brothel was the most exclusive of the lot . . . this brothel in which Kathryn Krane stood, wearing red harem pants and a black tank top, her hair open and wild, her face painted and primed, her body stinking of so much perfume it made her sick one moment, wet the next.
“This Sheikh Hyder has some strange habits,” Benson had said. “Best we can tell, he’s never taken a woman back to his palace. He’s never been married, never been engaged, never even had any high-profile flings like so many Sheikhs do before settling down. No harems in his palace.”
“So he’s the mysterious, celibate monk-Sheikh?” Kathryn had asked, once again not sure if she was being sarcastic or not.
“Hardly,” Benson had said. “That ten-day vacation every year? He goes to Habeetha—Sin City, Arabia. He reserves the private penthouse in the most exclusive brothel. He asks for ten women, and—”
“Virgins, I presume?” Kathryn asked, rolling her eyes.
“Not exactly,” Benson had said, missing the sarcasm. “His only requirement is that they’ve never been . . . I mean, that they’ve never worked at a . . . never worked as . . .”
Kathryn raised an eyebrow. “You mean women who aren’t whores. Not until he pays them, at least.” She’d let out a breath. “Huh. That’s kind of interesting. And weird. So he takes this ten-day trip and has sex with ten different women who’ve never been prostitutes. Then he—”
Benson had interrupted her. “That’s the thing. He doesn’t have sex with all ten women. He picks just one, and then he spends ten days alone with her.”
“You’re kidding,” Kathryn had said as that chill rose up along her spine again, this time making her buttocks tingle as if she knew where this was leading. “Oh, God,” she’d said, almost under her breath. “That’s why you said that I’m the only one who can pull this off. You think I can hypnotize Sheikh Hyder into picking me out of the ten women.”
Benson had stayed quiet, his eyes telling her she was right.
“But . . . but hypnotism doesn’t work like that. There’s no guarantee of anything. So much depends on how receptive the subject is, how much time I have with him, the sounds and distractions of the external environment, the—” she’d started to say, stuttering her way through the sentence when she’d realized what she was being asked to do.
Benson had nodded and then shrugged. “I understand. And I understand if you want to say no.”
“What happens if I say no?” Kathryn had asked, that image of the Sheikh coming back to her. But this time those green eyes were looking into hers. Calling to her. This whole “long game” thing was Benson’s private idea, she was sure of it now. No way some higher-up in the CIA had come up with something so crazy. So if she said no, they’d have to go back to Plan A. Put a bullet between those mesmerizing green eyes of this man she’d never met. “What happens if I say no,” she asked again, softer this time.
“Are you saying no?” Benson countered, his jaw going tight.
Kathryn had stayed quiet for a long moment. It felt like her world was melting around her, reforming into something unrecognizable. This was so twisted she couldn’t keep it straight, and it hadn’t even begun yet!
“So you want me to pretend to be a whore who isn’t really a whore,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Somehow hypnotize Sheikh Hyder into picking me from a lineup of ten women, all of whom I assume will be younger and hotter than me. Then I have ten days with him, during which time I need to . . . what, make him fall in love with me? Make him want to marry me? Am I in the CIA or the goddamn circus?”
“Are you saying no, Krane?” Benson asked again, and Kathryn knew this conversation would be over after she answered the question, one way or the other.
And so she’d answered. “No,” she’d said. “I’m not saying no.”
Oh, shit, why the hell didn’t I just say no?! What am I doing here?!
Her heart pounded as she watched Sheikh Hyder make his way down the line of ten beauties. Well, nine beauties and one thirty-year-old with wide hips and a big butt. What the hell am I, she wondered. A whore? A killer? A seductress? A spy?
I am all of them, she told herself as she tried to shake off the shock of locking gazes with the Sheikh before she was ready. I am all of them.
Now a steady calm came over Kathryn, and she took a deep breath and refocused. This was a job, she told herself. He was a job. And so she waited, and she watched.
The Sheikh whispered something to the first woman, an Arabian beauty who tugged at her head-scarf and blushed so hard you could see the color flush dark red on her brown skin. He ran his fingers along the bare arm of the second woman, a Scandinavian model who immediately broke into goose-pimples at his erotic touch. He half-smiled and moved on, walking past the third woman without a second look. She looked like she was about to burst into tears, but a backwards glance from him made her break into a smile instead.
This man plays games too, came the thought as Kathryn watched the Sheikh make his way down the line of women. Part of this seemed so old-world. It should have felt crude and disgusting, but there was a strange, almost regal air to the whole scenario. In the old days, kings were often presented with an array of women from which they would choose a bride. And this man was a king, no doubt.
No doubt, she told herself as Sheikh Hyder came closer. And you can’t show any doubt You need to be confident and cool. Relaxed but engaging. Hold the eye contact but keep it casual. Lead him with your eyes. Lull him with your eyes.
Kathryn had considered using a pendant to provide that rhythmic visual focal point so she could attempt to bring him under hypnosis, but the instructions were no jewelry whatsoever. Apparently the Sheikh had an intense distaste—or perhaps distrust—of any ornaments. Was he worried about listening devices? Cameras? Poison contained in a hollow ring? Who knew.
A pendant around her neck wouldn’t have worked, anyway. Not unless she’d been able to sway from side to side or shake her chest like a moron to get it to move. She’d have had to come up with something else. And considering she was going to be standing still, the only thing that could move would be her eyes.
She closed her eyes and got ready. Again the Sheikh’s natural scent came to her as he approached. Kathryn was the eighth woman in the line, and Hyder was at number six already. She could hear his voice as he whispered to Number Six, a dark-skinned woman whose nipples were clearly stiffening under her tank top. All the women had been instructed to wear the same outfit—black top and red bottom—and only now did it occur to her that maybe the no-jewelry rule had nothing to do with being paranoid about cameras but was simply to eliminate any distractions while the king made his choice.
The dark king passed Number Six and lingered at woman number seven, leaning in and muttering something in Arabic to her. His voice was deep and resonant, the vibrations of the words swirling around Kathryn as if they were living, breathing things.
“I . . . I don’t understand Arabic,” Number Seven stammered. She was young and beautiful, with flowing golden hair that made Kathryn want to touch it just to see if it was real.
“Communication between a man and a woman is not about the meanings of words but the sound of them,” the Sheikh whispered, touching her hair. “The shape of them. The vibrations. The dips and rises. The ebb and flow. The push and pull.” Suddenly he drew back his hand, his fingers catching her tresses and making her wince in pain, his face darkening as he spat out the next words. “And so if you are so concerned about understanding the words I speak, then you will never understand me.”
What an asshole, Kathryn thought when she saw that the woman was doing her best to hold back her tears. She certainly doesn’t look Middle-Eastern, so clearly he must have known she wouldn’t understand him when he mumbled some shit in Arabic to her, right? Just let him try that bullcrap on me, and I’ll—
But she caught herself just in time to stop the anger from breaking her concentration. This is a job. This is an assignment. This is a mission. You’re at work. Emotions have no part in this. If you’re getting hot and pissed off before you’ve even said a word to him, how are you going to be able to—
And then suddenly he was there, right in front of her. Sheikh Hyder himself. In the flesh. And Kathryn knew it was time. It was go-time. She had one shot at this. At whatever the hell this was . . .