Secret Agent Sheikh. Linda Conrad
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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.
Tarik led the way through the grand lobby of the Copacabana Palace Hotel. The towering sixty-foot columns and ornate glass chandeliers were familiar, but the feeling of being watched was unique.
He liked crowds. Liked the anonymity of getting lost in the confusion. When their driver had first reminded him of Carnivale, Tarik’s brain began processing new ways of completing their mission over the next few days. He’d thought of the festivities as a terrific idea for a cover.
But he hadn’t counted on having the exotic and stunning faux Celile Kocak in tow. Every male head in the cavernous lobby turned to stare as she walked past. No wonder Sheik Zohdi seldom let more than a few feet pass between them in public.
Tarik tried to control the possessive urges he felt toward her. In reality the woman beside him was not the ice queen. Instead she was Jass O’Reilly, every bit as gorgeous as Celile but ten times more annoying. Everything he said seemed to strike her the wrong way. Despite his usual charm and glib small talk, she’d refused to warm up.
But that didn’t mean his body didn’t grow too warm every time he looked her way. Damned woman was hot. Both in the guise of Celile and out. And he figured she was going to make him sweat a lot more before this mission was over.
“We’ve already registered you two,” their driver said quietly. “And your suite’s checked and clean. We’ll be able to go over mission specifics without being overheard.”
So … while they’d been in the air, the Task Force had been busy devising a plan. Good enough. Tarik needed to keep his head in the game—and off his partner.
After they settled into the three-room suite and double-checked for listening devices and cameras, the driver nodded toward the dining table. “We couldn’t secure a penthouse suite on such short notice at this time of year, but I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”
Jass removed her jacket and plopped into one of the chairs around the table. “It’ll do for Celile and Zohdi. They’re not on vacation.”
“Well,” their driver began as he set up the rest of the chairs around the table. “This is the honeymoon suite. Part of your cover story is that the two of you are taking a romantic interlude while you wait for the upcoming auction.”
“Uh …” Jass jumped up, looking a little green around the edges. “Excuse me a moment.” She grabbed her jacket off the back of a chair and headed straight for the bedroom.
“Do we know yet when the auction is supposed to take place?” Tarik gladly reached for any excuse to put the spotlight back on the mission and take it off his errant libido.
The driver turned to him with his hand outstretched and not a trace of accent in his English. “We haven’t met, Kadir. The name’s Joäo Bosque, CIA station chief. Have a seat.”
Tarik joined him at the table. “What do we know?”
“Coincidentally, we’ve been keeping an eye on this Russian character you’re after. His name is Andrei Eltsin. He blew into Rio several months ago and immediately took over the territory and operation of one of our bicheiros—those are the gang operators of this city’s illegal lottery.” Bosque scooted his chair closer.
“We inserted a man inside Eltsin’s bicheiro about a month ago. Their headquarters is in a penthouse above a nightclub in the Lapa district.” Bosque poured himself a cup of the strong Brazilian coffee that had been placed on the table along with a basket of fresh fruit. “Our inside man is there gathering intel on their money-laundering operations. We’re sure some of those billions are going to fund terrorism operators in the U.S.”
Tarik nodded and sat back. “Okay. But what about the auction?”
“Our man isn’t positive where, but he believes it’s to be held on the last night of Carnivale. Fat Tuesday.”
“Makes sense. But …”
“It’s supposed to take place in Eltsin’s retreat in the mountains right outside the city.” Jass added the new info as she floated back into the room, looking light and airy in a floral silk pants outfit. “I received a message from Ed. He’s on his way into the country, taking a military transport. Seems the real Celile was … convinced … to contact Eltsin and put her name on the bidders list for Tuesday. We’re in.”
“Fast work.” Tarik couldn’t keep from staring. His real-life partner, the covert agent, had become a real-live piece of art in cool shades of green and blue. And her movements were those of a lithe dancer as she crossed the room.
“The CIA has a convincing team of interrogators working with Celile and Zohdi.” Jass picked up an apple and took a bite with relish.