Into the Crossfire (9 page)

Something had to be done fast. The Marie Claire was on its way. It would

stop a hundred miles from the port of New York. The martyrs would be offloaded

at night to four fast boats that would land in New Jersey, and from there would be

bused to Manhattan. The Marie Claire would land briefly in port and be on its way

to Panama by the time the bombs exploded. No one would ever suspect her.

It was all in place except for the wild card of Nicole Pearce, potential

trouble.

Twenty years of planning was coming to fruition. It was unthinkable that

they fail. Even more unthinkable that they fail because of a Western woman.

They wouldn't fail. Muhammed had a plan.

At the topmost levels of American finance, in the heart of America's

softness, Muhammed had been astonished to learn that there were hard men.

Money was defended as fiercely as land in this arcane world, by the iron laws of

warfare, if necessary. Like all overlords, the kings of finance required warriors to

deal with problems. A whistleblower threatening to bring down a lucrative deal, a

divorcing wife threatening to report hidden assets to the IRS, the head of a rival

company whose plane had to go down...these required warriors to deal with them.

And the men of money knew where to go.

Several times, late at night, after a luxurious meal and over the thousanddollar bottle of cognac or brandy Paul had learned to consume, a man was

mentioned. He had many names and no one knew his background, save that he had

been trained to be a ruthless but efficient killer by the US Army. It didn't matter

what his name was, what was important was what he could do.

Anything.

He could do anything at all for you, if the price was right. He also

commanded vast resources and highly trained men. No matter what the mission,

he could deal with it.

The world of high finance guarded its wealth ferociously when threatened

and it had its enforcer--shadowy, fast, smart. Paul only knew his code name:

Outlaw. He knew nothing else, except that there was a cell phone number.

He did not have it but he knew who did.

Muhammed picked up his phone and began the long process of arranging a

meeting with one of the most powerful men in the world.

It was a humiliating process but Muhammed swallowed his pride.

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Soon enough, the world of dishonor would be wiped out, and Umma would

rise from the ashes of the West.

43

San Diego

To Nicole's surprise, Sam Reston hadn't booked at one of the top ten most

expensive restaurants in San Diego, or one listed in the food guides, preferably

one that had been recently reviewed by Lauren Spitz, the trendiest San Diego food

guru, whose word was more authoritative than that of God.

Men have very simple thought patterns. Nicole had learned that fact

through long exposure to the gender.

Sam Reston knew perfectly well that she had thought he was some kind of

a low-level hired hand, one step up from a bum, where instead he was the

proprietor of a successful company and probably earned ten or twenty times what

she did.

A normal guy would go all out to prove just how wrong she'd been about

him and just how successful he was, how powerful. Rub it in. Make her suffer a

little remorse for thinking badly of him.

The easiest way to do that was to spend a lot of money on dinner, the more

exclusive and expensive the restaurant, the better.

But it looked like Sam Reston had hidden depths.

The light kiss had shut her right up. She had no idea what to say. So she

spent the car trip gratefully mulling over the fact that maybe Sam had engineered

her an escape from Creepy and Creepier.

There was silence in the car as they drove south, to an outlying part of town

she'd never been to before. She looked around as Sam started slowing down. This

was definitely not expensive restaurant territory.

It was, however, a lively area, with a great deal of ethnic diversity, mostly

Hispanic but with strong Asian flavors. Sam drove by taperias and taquerias and

Vietnamese and Thai restaurants, finally pulling into the parking lot of a low,

sprawling building surrounded by gardens. BALADI, announced a big billboard,

and if that wasn't enough, there was a beautifully rendered cedar tree covering half

the billboard.

Nicole gave a delighted laugh. She turned to Sam as he parked the car in an

overflowing lot. "Oh my God! A Lebanese restaurant! How on earth could you

know I love Lebanese cooking?"

His hard mouth turned up at her excitement. "I confess I checked your

website. It said you spent some time in Beirut. No one can live in Lebanon and not

love the food. I love it, too. This is one of the best Lebanese restaurants I've ever

eaten at, so I hope you enjoy it."

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He was a miracle worker. Already, her muscles were relaxing. However the

night ended, she'd have had a fantastic meal and a rare evening dining out.

It occurred to her that she really needed this evening. She hadn't eaten out

in, what? Six months, maybe? No, more like seven months. And then it had been

to an extremely boring restaurant with bland, forgettable food. She'd ignored her

instincts and accepted a client's dinner invitation. His conversation had been

blander and more tasteless even than the food. He'd been appalled at how ill her

father was, though Pops hadn't even been fully confined to a wheelchair yet. It had

been a disastrous evening and she hadn't been out since.

No time. No money.

Whatever company Sam Reston turned out to be, she was really looking

forward to the meal.

There was a long gravel walkway and he put a hand to her back as they

walked up. She was actually grateful for that hand as her sandals had been chosen

more for looks than function. The heat of his touch penetrated the material of her

jacket and the dress.

She looked around as they approached the entrance. The building wasn't

luxurious, but looked well tended and friendly. The big picture windows showing

happy-looking diners inside sparkled in the evening light. The decor was simple

and functional, waiters bustling to and fro.

The grounds were extensive. Off to the right she could see-"Oh my gosh. Are those tomato plants?" Row after row of perfectly spaced

stakes with small green knobs hanging off the plants. And now that she looked

more closely, she could see tiny, tender tufts of baby lettuce, brightly colored

peppers, zucchini.

Sam looked down at her. "The proprietor grows most of his own produce.

He says that way he knows what he's getting. And it's delicious, which is an added

advantage."

She smiled. "It reminds me of the hillsides outside Beirut. All those truck

garden allotments." You could always count on seeing an elderly member of the

family, carefully weeding and watering, a kerchief on his head to protect against

the hot Mediterranean sun.

"Yeah." Sam smiled. "We used to go up into the hills and picnic with the

guys we were training. Picked figs off the trees, it was great."

Sam was known here.

When he opened the door for her, a handsome olive-skinned man wearing a

long apron came out of the kitchen and rushed toward him. They gave each other

one of those manly thumps on the back where women would have kissed, and the

man turned dark, intelligent eyes to her.

Sam did the honors. "Nicole, meet the best chef in the state, Bashir Fakhry.

Bashir, this is Nicole Pearce. She lived in Beirut for a few years."

"Pleased to meet you." Nicole had that phrase in Arabic down pat, having

used it thousands of times in Beirut.

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"Welcome to my restaurant. I hope you enjoy the meal." The beautiful

Arabic syllables flowed like water as he took her hand and bowed over it.

"Thank you, I'm looking forward to it. You have a very beautiful place

here," Nicole answered carefully, now having to create an actual sentence. Arabic

was not her strongest language and she was prone to grammatical mistakes.

Either she hadn't made a mistake, or Bashir Fakhry forgave her. He beamed

at her.

"A beauty beyond compare and she speaks Arabic," he murmured, dark

liquid eyes gleaming. He shot a sly look at Sam, then smiled back down at her.

"Ditch this hobo and run away with me."

Nicole laughed. His English was excellent, with a to-die-for accent. Nicole

was sure Bashir was a great hit with the ladies. She'd loved the extravagant

personalities of the Lebanese, who had managed to retain their humanity even as

their country was being torn apart.

Nicole had been lucky enough to be in Lebanon in the halcyon years after

the civil war had ended and before the new war started. Her father had been

Deputy Chief of Mission of the Beirut Embassy for two years. She'd just started

her studies in Geneva, but she spent her summers in Lebanon, enjoying her

parents' company, desultorily studying Arabic and flirting with the cultural attache

she suspected was CIA.

Bashir led them through room after room of loud, happy diners to a quiet,

small room in the back where a plate-glass wall gave out onto lush-looking fields.

The room was delightful--intimate and glowing with the evening light. He

seated them at a corner table, at right angles to each other. Nicole was amused to

note that Sam immediately took the seat with his back to the wall, which meant he

had to turn his head to look out at the beautiful view.

Bashir disappeared without taking any orders, but within a minute, a

beautiful young girl who looked like him started ferrying out bowl after bowl of

food. A full array of mezze that smelled and looked delicious.

A young man who shared the family resemblance uncorked a bottle of

Syrah from Baalbek and poured a finger in Sam's glass. He stood at attention as

Sam sipped and nodded. Sam waved a long finger at Nicole's glass.

"I won't say anything until the lady has tasted."

Nicole sipped and narrowed her eyes at the explosion of taste in her mouth.

Sunshine, cherries, oak..."Wow."

Sam nodded. "I think that will be fine, then, Maroun. Thank you."

The young man disappeared. Nicole looked around, pleased with

everything. The room, the view, the food, the wine.

The man.

It was already the nicest time she'd had in, oh, at least a year, and she hadn't

even eaten yet.

So far, Sam Reston hadn't said or done anything obnoxious, which put him

in the tenth percentile of dates. The food smelled glorious, the wine was

46

magnificent.

Her father was in good hands this evening. She'd landed the contract with

the Wall Street Master of the Universe, inching her way slightly closer to, if not

wealth, then at least solvency. Maybe.

The evening reminded her of happier days with her family and carefree

summers with friends. It reminded her of another, lost, life.

Sam dipped a crispy lettuce leaf into the hummus in an enameled bowl

decorated with swirling earth colors.

"If you're already smiling, then I want to see you after you put this in your

mouth." He held it out to her. Her fingers brushed his as she accepted it.

It was like a little electric shock. Nicole paused, the leaf trembling in her

hand and looked at him, dismayed.

Oh no.

No no no.

Just when she was settling into an enjoyable evening, too.

When her fingers met his, a powerful burst of heat had coursed through her

system, head to toe, as if she'd stepped in front of an open furnace. Classic hot

flush, only she wasn't menopausal.

Oh God, no. She was attracted to Sam Reston. Massively. It had been

hidden by his little trip through Grungeville, but apparently underneath, humming

like a powerful engine, there'd been attraction.

Sexual attraction. Wild sexual attraction, of a pitch and intensity she'd

never experienced before.

She'd been pleased to think that she might be making a friend of him. It

would be nice to have someone to go out with occasionally, spiced by a little tug

of sexual attraction, just to keep her hormones ticking over. He spent most of his

working days across the hallway from her, which meant maybe she could have

company sometimes at her noonday meals, which up until now had basically been

yogurt and a packed sandwich alone at her desk.

She needed friendship. She did not need this red-hot connection to every

erogenous zone in her body.

Dismayed, she looked down at the uneaten hummus-laden leaf of lettuce,

out the window at the neatly tended gardens below, then back at Sam Reston.

She winced at the heat in his eyes.

He saw her trembling hand and steadied it with his own. He removed the

lettuce from her fingers, curled his big, rough hand around hers and brought her

hand to his mouth.

His breath was a hot wash over her skin. Goose pimples broke out when he

kissed her hand.

He understood exactly what was going on inside her. His dark eyes were so

intelligent and so heat-filled she didn't know where to look.

If he had had that annoyingly smug male look of someone who'd hooked a

live one, this would have been easy. Put up a wall, eat the nice food, make light