Channeling Cleopatra (18 page)

Madelaine took the opportunity to scramble
aboard, but Gabriella could have sworn she saw the girl's shoulder
blades contract when Nessa mentioned the dinner guest.

"
Merde
!" Gabriella said, feeling as
weary as the doctor sounded. Nothing was further from Gabriella's
desires than to entertain, but Ginia would have known that. Mo
hadn't been able to reach anyone at home to tell them to return for
the bike, and so they had no idea if the brothers had made it back
safely or if the villa and its occupants had survived the flooding
of the harbor.

Nevertheless, she dropped Madelaine and
Nessa off and returned to Dilos around eight. She hadn't slept in
almost twenty-four hours. The last thing on her mind was primping.
She pulled a black silk tunic and trousers from the closet, though
she never ordinarily wore black and had bought the outfit to set
off an Egyptian collar Ginia had purchased for her from an
antiquities dealer. Not the sort of thing she could wear in Egypt,
the collar, but she'd worn it here. She didn't bother with it now.
A pair of hammered silver earrings, a little touch of makeup on her
tired, red-lidded eyes with liner, shadow, and mascara, some
lipstick and a silver scarab ring. She scooped her hair into a
twist on top of her head and pinned it, shoved her feet into silver
sandals, and dragged herself to the formal dining room.

The glass doors to the terrace were open,
and the red-tiled outdoor room glowed with candlelight from
hundreds of candles set along the walls and stairways. The place
looked like a church, Gabriella thought with distaste. One of the
servants would catch her skirt on fire. Over the strains of a viola
solo, Ginia's husky laughter poured, warm and intimate. Her head
was inclined toward the dinner partner sitting next to her at the
table. Wine was poured in three glasses. Ginia was wearing a
turquoise long sleeved shirtwaist gown, the one with the flowing
skirt that she wore with the American Indian silver and turquoise
belt and earrings Gabriella had given her when she returned from
Berkeley. Except tonight she wasn't wearing the belt or earrings.
Gemstone drops sparkled against her hair.

The man's voice was amused and intimate,
too. Gabriella had heard it recently.

"Gaby, my dear, there you are. Mr. Rasmussen
has come to see us. Isn't that lovely? He told me you two had met
in Egypt, and when he heard you were here, he wished particularly
to see you, so of course I invited him to stay."

Rasmussen inclined his head and fixed
Gabriella with eyes that were more appreciative than her appearance
warranted, she was sure. "You are looking rather . . . subdued, Dr.
Faruk," he said.

"I was informed by the doctor that a friend
of mine has just died," she replied. "And I am very tired. The
crisis in Alexandria, I'm sure you're aware of."

"I certainly am. It's cost me millions. I've
had the fellow who built that flimsy dam fired, of course."

She nodded absently. "Ginia, may I speak to
you privately for a moment, please?"

"Can it wait, Gaby dear? The first course is
on its way, and Cesare was just telling me the most amusing
story."

"I'm afraid not," Gabriella said, her
patience ebbing rapidly.

Ginia fluttered to her feet—actually
fluttered—laid her hand on "Cesare's" shoulder, whispered something
in his ear, and joined Gabriella, who pulled her off into the
deserted dining room. Ginia's face was flushed with wine, and her
eyes very bright.

"What's he doing here?" Gabriella
demanded.

"As I told you, he wanted to see you. He is
very interested in the process, you know, the blending, and when I
told him you were acquiring Cleopatra, he seemed fascinated. He
asked me to let him know when you arrived, so I contacted him."

"Without saying anything to me?"

"Don't be so touchy, darling girl! I'm
saying something now, am 1 not?"

"He is a slimy man," Gabriella said.

"He is a powerful man," Ginia defended him,
"with far more wealth and resources than I have. You're fortunate
he's taken an interest in us. Even when I told him that your plan
had backfired and all you had was the DNA of that coarse little
policeman you brought home to die, he was not put off but found it
hilarious. He seemed charmed by your wit. He wishes to back your
'movement.' You should be glad. That movement of yours has not been
moving much of anywhere for some time now."

"It will once I have Cleopatra. Surely you
can see that I must return to Egypt immediately. The sample must be
on Duke's motorbike. Failing that, I must see what Leda was able to
salvage."

"Delegate, darling. I never ask you for
anything, but you must catch Cesare up on your progress."

"It sounds to me like you've been doing a
very good job of that already. Is that awful little man the one
Pandora has selected as your first mutual lover and mentor?"

"Can't I have friends, too? You have that
dreadful American woman. As if she wasn't bad enough, you had to
drag her father here to bleed all over my laundry room. Really,
Gaby, what if he'd lived? I have no idea what laws you've broken
already, but you might have been more thoughtful of my
position."

It occurred to Gabriella then that Ginia had
killed Duke, or had him killed, simply because he was an
inconvenience—or because Rasmussen convinced her that he was.
Ginia's voice had gone high and brittle, and she avoided
Gabriella's eyes, as Nessa had done.

"Oh, no, Ginia . . ."

"Just this once, try to please me instead of
yourself for a few moments longer, will you? It's true that Cesare
and I are attracted to each other, but that changes very little
between you and me. I am still the one who rescued you from my
brother-in-law when you ran from him to the streets. You'd be
selling yourself to tourists or dead—stoned to death by now—if it
wasn't for me. I took you in, let you choose your own schools,
helped your father's sisters after their husband died, used my
influence to get you the museum job. I have even financed this
so-called movement of yours, and I've asked you for nothing in
return until now."

"Yes, and you've never tried to make me feel
guilty about it before, either, Ginia. What sort of a spell has
this man cast over you, anyway?"

"No spell. We simply enjoy each other's
company. And he is very impressed with how much information you've
been able to gather regarding the Chimera process. Just give him a
few moments, darling, then you can return to Egypt. In fact, I
think he'll insist upon it."

Gabriella felt as if she had stepped through
the wrong door and come to a place where a Ginia impostor had taken
the place of her longtime friend, supporter, and protector.

She returned to the table, following the
drift of turquoise skirts, and sat facing Rasmussen, whose
expression was hatefully smug.

"I understand it has been a busy and
exhausting time for you, my dear Dr. Faruk," he said. "But I
believe we can work together. Ginia tells me you have many
important projects you had hoped to assist by acquiring the
Cleopatra material. I myself am not interested in Cleopatra
specifically, but I am most interested in acquiring a complete
knowledge of the Chimera process to use at my own discretion. You
have already made strides in that direction. I think we can help
each other. I like you, Gabriella—I hope I may call you Gabriella,
such a lovely name. And our dear Ginia likes you, too, of course.
She tells me your rescue efforts on behalf of abused Muslim women
needs more funding, more backing, which I can certainly provide.
She also tells me that ultimately you hope to replace the current
fundamentalist Islamic government with a more secular one. That
would also be a project to which I could lend support. Never fear,
my dear, once you join in the alliance Ginia and I are forging, all
of this will work out for the best, you'll see."

"I appreciate your interest, of course, Mr.
Rasmussen," she said carefully. He did not say to call him Cesare,
even though he had used her first name. "And on Ginia's
recommendation, I will certainly carefully consider your offer.
However, as you say, it has been a busy time for me, and I find I
have no appetite. I hope you will both excuse me if I return now to
Alex. I have no idea how my aunts and cousins are faring."

He nodded graciously. Ginia simpered.
Gabriella longed to throw the table into both of their laps but
settled for making a hasty departure instead.

Working "with" someone like Rasmussen was
not possible. He would always be in charge. He was the same species
as her stepfather, only even more dangerous because he was
wealthier and had more power. Why couldn't Ginia see that? Also,
Gabriella knew for certain that Duke Hubbard had not simply died,
nor had Ginia stooped so low as to kill him. It had to be Rasmussen
who had finished him off, and both Nessa and Madelaine knew it.

* * *

"Dr. Wolfe, I don't know if you remember me
or not but I am Gabriella Faruk, the niece of Contessa—"

"Of course, I remember you, Dr. Faruk," came
the deep, smooth, masculine voice, only faintly roughened by
Wolfe's German accent. "What can I do for you? It's a bit harried
here at the moment, due to the earthquake in Alexandria. We're
mounting a relief effort from here."

"Of course you are! I knew you would, and
that is why I am calling. I was visiting my aunt when the quake
occurred, and there is no public transportation available back to
Alex because of the quake. Aunt Ginia sent her pilot to volunteer
to transport Red Cross supplies, and I am stranded here, frantic to
know how my family is doing and if my work survived, but I am
unable to return. Do you suppose, if I could get a launch to
Kefalos, I could ride home on one of your aircraft?"

"I don't see why not. As a matter of fact, I
was going myself to assess the damage and speak with some of the
government officials about Nucore's role in the rehabilitation of
the city. Perhaps we could even enlist your services as a
translator?"

"I'd be happy to assist however I can," she
said.

"Where are you now?"

"Mykonos."

"Don't bother with the launch. I'll be
leaving in a few minutes. I'll just have the pilot swing by and
pick you up."

"Thanks," Gabriella said and hung up with an
extremely self-satisfied smile on her face. At least some things
were going well. Mo had remained on Kefalos only long enough to
refuel the Nucore plane and was no doubt already back in Alex.

Gabriella, who felt she was now very much on
her own, wished to stick very close to Nucore, so accompanying
Wolfe to Alex was preferable to any alternative except accompanying
Chimera to Alex.

CHAPTER 17

Duke regained awareness with the distinct
feeling that something was missing. It was as if he had opened an
elevator door and found that the first step was a lulu.

The last thing he
remembered was making his donation for the kid to show Rasmussen
how to match up relatives using DNA fingerprinting. And then . . .
and then he was wherever he was now. In bed apparently. But how had
he got there? He didn't even remember taking a drink, much less
getting so blotto he had a blackout. Had Rasmussen slipped him a
Mickey for some reason? If so, had he slipped Leda one, too? Was
the Kid okay? For that matter, was
he
okay?

Geez, the things he let that kid talk him
into. Why was she so damned interested in this line of work anyhow?
After all, they let women onto police forces now. Why hadn't she
done something sensible like that after the Navy instead of going
into this weird occupation that involved digging up dead people? He
knew he shouldn't have taken her to see all those Indiana Jones
movies when she was going through that tender, impressionable age
girls did at thirty-one or so.

But this Nucore gig of hers was something
else. Chimera and Wolfe were okay, he supposed, good friends to
Leda and all that. But this work of theirs! He'd hired on to
protect it, and he would, but he just didn't get it, this two
folks/ one body thing.

The last he had heard, doctors usually tried
to cure people of having split personalities, not cause the split.
Times had sure changed. Now it looked like even human nature might
be changing as well, what with the scientists dicking around with
it. Maybe he was getting old. Nah. He felt fine. Just a little
confused.

But fine, otherwise, actually, really warm
and happy and cozy. None of his old injuries ached for a change,
and something about him felt kind of young and bubbly. Like he was
falling in love again but he couldn't remember anyone who might be
responsible.

Still, the mystery would probably solve
itself, and meanwhile, it was great feeling this way: sensual,
flexible, kinda luxurious. He stretched his arms, catlike, and
flexed the pink-tipped ends of his fingers. Whoa—nail polish?
Shocking pink? What the hell!

Pardon me, gracious queen. I was in such a
hurry I forgot about the manicure. This is just our modern-day
equivalent of henna, which is what you would have used to beautify
your nails.

"The hell I would!" Duke
answered the feminine voice in his head. Or was
his
the voice in her head? Whatever!
He threw the light sheet aside and was amazed to discover he was in
drag.

"Nein,
Frau Wolfe!" Six big blonds in pink scrub suits ran to his
bedside.

"Wolfe?" he asked, but his voice came out in
a soprano squeak. It was a good thing he was lying down, because
what he was beginning to realize was enough to make a strong man
faint. He wasn't him anymore. He was—had to be—the sample Leda had
just—in his memory—processed. And he had been incorporated into
someone else. A woman someone else. "I'm . . . uh . . . What's the
term? Blended? With Mrs. Wolfe?"