Pussycat in Peril (Pussycat Death Squad Book 3) (4 page)

He made a counter offer a little more than half the stated price. The man’s flat black eyes flashed his annoyance, but he shook his head and stated a slightly lower price than his initial offer. Kaeden settled down for some serious haggling raising his own offer by ten percent. A counteroffer followed and this time Kaeden only moved up five percent. This went for more than ten minutes until finally the other man rose from the table.

“That is my final price. It cannot be done for any less than that. If you don’t take it I will have to assume that you are not serious about freeing Ms. Ibrahim.”

Kaeden remained seated, having little doubt the man had others in the room prepared to take him out at even the suggestion things were going sideways. Besides, he knew a tactical ploy when he saw one. “No. No. It’s just that I only have a certain amount with me. And I must escape with her afterwards. You don’t leave me with enough to do that.”

The other man gave a dismissive shrug. That wasn’t his problem.

Kaeden finally agreed to the other man’s price. He’d actually sneaked into the country by way of Italian smugglers and intended to leave the same way, and those men had already been paid. Still it was always good practice to drive a hard bargain. If people thought he was a sucker they’d be continually trying to take advantage of him.

“How much time do we have before Al Hakam returns?” he asked the fixer.

“Who knows?” the man said with a casual shrug. “That is why we will put our plan in place immediately,” he said, returning to his seat across from Kaeden. “I will, of course, have to be paid before the plan is initiated.”

“I will pay you half tonight. And half when the lady is free.”

The other man opened his mouth to protest but Kaeden cut him off. “That is non-negotiable. I am not foolish enough to give you my money without having anything in return. I am a stranger in this town and don’t even know your name.”

The other man sucked his teeth and gave Kaeden a baleful glare, but he didn’t protest further. “Fine. Give me the money.”

Kaeden reached inside his jacket and pulled out his wallet. He carefully counted out the agreed-upon amount in the murky light of the bar before passing a wad of bills under the table. The man glanced down, but didn’t attempt to count them. If he’d thought the man would balk at the large denominations he was mistaken. It couldn’t be helped. There was no way to carry that amount of money in small bills inconspicuously. “Euros. That is good.” He looked at Kaeden again with an avaricious gleam in his eye. That was to be expected, indeed Kaeden would have been more suspicious if the man hadn’t tried to rob him or at least considered it.

“I don’t have another penny to spare, but I do have a very large caliber handgun pointed directly at your crotch,” Kaeden said, his tone soft but nonetheless strong enough to let the man know he meant every word he said. “I know you’ve got men here that would kill me but you would still be ball-less or dead.”

The other man laughed again. “Oh, you amuse me. You do amuse me,” he said, tucking the money into what Kaeden assumed was a money belt at the waistband of his trousers.

“Okay. What is this plan?” Kaeden asked impatiently wondering if he’d live to see this mission through.

“You have no need to know. You will return here tomorrow night at the same time, and I will tell you. For now you will depart.”

Kaeden nodded and then rose to his feet. He’d deliberately sought a seat with his back to a wall, now he strode purposefully out of the shisha bar, fearing a shiv in his back, but trusting the other man’s greed would keep him alive.

Chapter Three

Astaria paced back and forth within the confines of the tiny five foot by eight foot cell. Though she’d been confined for less than forty-eight hours it felt like an eternity. While she was terrified of what would become of her, she was no ingénue; it was clear that her captors intended to kill her as they had killed her father. As they had, for all intents and purposes, killed her mother. And with that thought she paused, frozen in place by the pain of her parents’ deaths. Her mother’s suffering was finally over, but it was more likely than not that the stress of the political situation in the past few years had brought the cancer out of remission.

Her mother had never prayed to live, but only that she not suffer. Allah in his mercy had seen fit to grant her request and for that Astaria was eternally grateful. But for her father…Dear sweet Babba who’d never hurt another living soul. A man of science, an archaeologist dedicated to preserving the cultural heritage of their people. She looked down at her hands. Replicas of his. Large and strong. Oversized for a woman’s hands. His so gentle that he was able to repair the wings of the delicate songbirds he rescued. She used that same sensitivity to take life. She’d made her peace with that a long time ago, and if she died she figured she probably deserved it for the many lives she’d taken. But her father…His murder was senseless and she knew just who to blame.

Fear. She refused to even to think about that. If she did, she would be paralyzed and unable to take advantage of any mistakes the men who held her made. Unfortunately, thus far they’d made precious few. But she knew from experience that the longer she was held the greater the likelihood that someone would slip and make a mistake. An error or misjudgment she’d have to have her wits about her to exploit. Besides, what she felt more than anything right now was anger. Rage. Rage was good. Rage gave her an edge, kept her alert. And while most of her anger burned toward Al Hakam she reserved quite a bit of it for herself.

She’d been fighting with the Legion of Valor for only a month, and had always been so careful. She knew the various political factions warring over Amaru would love to get their hands on her. As a former member of the Amazonian Guard she represented the old regime. If IJIWO knew about her past in the Amazonian Guard they probably thought her ransom would be a healthy addition to their coffers. The question now was, would Al Hakam let his lust for her blood override his obedience to his overlords? Of course, little did they know she’d die at her own hands before she’d let her capture earn them more blood money. She still didn’t know how she’d been captured, but she must have slipped in her vigilance somehow. She’d turned that question over and over again since the raid on the basement lair where she’d taken shelter since returning from her mother’s deathbed to find her father dead.

Originally she’d assumed they knew she was an LOV fighter, but they’d disabused her of that notion. They were only concerned about her association with her father. She wasn’t even sure if they knew about her past in the Amazonian Guard and her subsequent escape to the U.S. Her parents had not broadcast either, and typically claimed she was studying in France whenever someone inquired about her. Her mouth twisted in a wry smile; funny how being Faisal Ibrahim’s daughter had turned out to be more of a liability than being a bodyguard in the old regime or even being an assassin with the LOV. Of course, if they knew about her LOV connection they would’ve killed her immediately. Now the question was how the hell did she get out of this?

For the first time she regretted the impulse that led her to stay in Laritrea after her parents’ deaths. Frankly she wasn’t sure she could have escaped, but her rage at IJIWO and what they had done to her country had led her to join the LOV. And who knew what would happen to her now. She wasn’t even sure where she was. She’d been blindfolded when brought to the cell, and though she’d listened closely for any and all sounds, there was absolute dead silence.

That silence was actually her primary clue as to her whereabouts; in the dungeons beneath the Presidential Palace. Despite her role in security for Colonel al-Fariq, she’d never actually been inside the cells. Rumor had it that they were maintained by the Colonel’s secret intelligence service, and that people were tortured there. Obviously, Lelia would never have had anything to do with such, so no one in the Amazonian Guard had ever been there. Of course she could be wrong, al-Fariq was rumored to have many such secret locations.

Hearing a key in the lock of her cell, she turned to face the door. One of the three men who were set to guard her entered. She frowned her confusion as they typically came only twice a day to bring food and water and they’d already come for the day. This guard, who she’d heard one of the other guards refer to as Amir, entered, a small black cloth bag in his hand. He carefully closed the door behind him. That was odd too. Usually they didn’t enter the cell at all. She wasn’t sure if they knew about her profession or were simply cautious. Most men didn’t fear women, even when the woman was a killer like herself. It was a mental error she’d taken advantage of more than once.

Astaria let her gaze meet his. The other two men usually looked at her with masculine interest, even lust in their eyes. But not this one. His eyes were flat and expressionless, and somehow more terrifying. There was no maliciousness there, or anger or really any emotion at all. Other than his scary eyes, his face was nondescript, the type of man anyone would struggle to describe because he was just average; dark hair and skin like the every other man in the country. He was neither tall nor particularly short, and nothing on his face stood out in her memory. But those eyes, she knew she’d be seeing his reptilian eyes for some time to come.

The Lizard was the nickname she’d given him. She referred to another guard as Pig Pen for a character from one of Kaeden’s favorite Charlie Brown comics. Giving the enemy unfavorable nicknames was an old trick that she utilized now. When someone held you captive there was a tendency to imbue them with superpowers, at least in your mind. Belittling them with nicknames could help keep that from happening. Though she referred to him as The Lizard, he carried himself with an unmistakable air of authority. This man was in charge, not only of the small security detail watching her, but also of something more. She suspected he might have Al Hakam’s ear, and that could be beneficial to her if she could figure out an angle.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Astaria stared at him, as this was the first time he’d spoken in her presence and his voice, like everything about him was not particularly distinctive, though she noted an accent she couldn’t place. As he continued to stare back at her she considered his question. He’d been there from the beginning and certainly knew who she was. She wasn’t sure how to address his question, or even why he would ask it, but she decided the direct truth was her only course.

“You know who I am. I’m Astaria Ibrahim.”

“Of course, but who would spend €50,000 to secure your release?”

Astaria sucked in a deep breath, then lowered her eyes to keep him from reading the excitement that she knew must be being broadcast there. The high amount let her know who her rescuers were. The LOV didn’t have a lot of ready cash, they spent every penny trying to acquire weapons. Besides they’d be more likely to try to break her out. They certainly wouldn’t give the limited resources they did have to the enemy. She’d just joined their ranks, though her brother had been fighting with them for nearly two years. Though she had value as a sniper she was not in a leadership position and even if she were, she would never be worth such a princely sum. Lelia had to be behind this, but who could she have sent?

She almost looked up again as the terrifying thought of Lelia coming herself occurred to her, but she quashed it immediately. Lelia wasn’t that stupid. She had children and a husband and putting her life on the line this way would definitely be stupid. Lelia could be called many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. Besides it would be almost impossible for a woman to launch a rescue mission in this part of the world. She rapidly considered the rest of their group, and couldn’t think of anyone else who could successfully take on such a mission. In her mad scrabble of thoughts she’d almost forgotten about the guard.

“Ms. Ibrahim?” he said instantly halting her scurrying wits.

“Yes?”

“Could you be so kind as to address my question? It’s clear that you do know someone who would expend that type of capital.”

Astaria shook her head in the negative. “No. No, I don’t, but if I had to guess I would assume it was friends of my father. He was well known and popular throughout the country.”

Amir shook his head as well. “I had considered that, but most of your father’s friends are either dead or too frightened of Al Hakam to even piss without permission.”

Astaria lowered her eyes again. This time to conceal the unmistakable rage that rocketed through her system at his words.

“No, this is a mystery and I don’t like loose ends,” he mused as though he’d forgotten she was even in the room. He crossed his arms then slowly began to circle her, his steps moving in time to the slow tapping of his forefinger on his chin. Astaria stood her ground, hands open and relaxed as she controlled the insane impulse to attack. He studied her intently, clearly he suspected she knew more than she was telling, but damned if she would let on. Finally he stopped circling her. “Still, I gave my word.” He shrugged in an almost cavalier fashion and turned toward the door of her cell. After a couple of steps he paused and tossed her the cloth bag. “Be ready,” he said before he exited the cell.

Astaria caught the bag reflexively, her mind too caught up trying to decipher the man’s cryptic words. The bag was heavier than it looked and when she saw what it contained she was even more puzzled. A gas mask? She shook her head as she examined the mask closely. Be ready when? And for what? Yes, this was a mystery indeed.