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She spun right, danced behind a beefy giant grinding his hips. There she pulled her jacket off, quickly turned it inside out and slipped it back on.
Feeling the music, the actress danced toward the exit, her silky black hair moving around the shoulders of her shocking pink jacket.
When she wiggled past Nasty Nicky, his eyes never left the dance floor as he searched the crowd for his boss, and the silver goddess wearing the black wide-brimmed hat.
Chapter 2
“You’re in the deep freeze, Balasi. Your cover’s been blown, and until we can find another use for ‘the actress,’ and Yurii Petrov is no longer a threat, you’re ice.”
Four days after her escape from the Kelt in Bratislava, Casmir sat in Lev Polax’s office in Prague dressed to kill. She wore a pale-blue satin pantsuit, complete with matching shoes and handbag, her blond hair twisted in a trendy knot, drawing attention to her slender neck and the silver filigree earrings dangling from her ears.
Prepared to sit through her commander’s predictable performance—Polax was number one when it came to grandstanding—she crossed her legs and made herself comfortable.
He would do a bit of yelling as he paced the floor, leaving footprints on the plush beige carpet, then stop and yell some more. After exhaustion set in—he was in poor shape, so it wouldn’t take long—they would get down to business and discuss the reason he had sent for her at seven in the morning.
“How in the hell did Petrov escape maximum security? That’s what I’d like to know.” Polax’s voice boomed like a cannon. “Now we’ve got the Russian Mafia crawling up our ass.”
It seemed more appropriate to be asking that question to his superiors, or the prison authorities, Casmir thought. She’d done her job. It had taken months to get close to Yurii, and now those months had been flushed down the toilet.
For sure, Quest had taken a giant step backward on this one. Now they would be scrambling to restore their success record in the spy world.
But the really bad news wasn’t what Quest had lost, or businesswise what Yurii had lost—his empire was still standing. What he’d lost was far more precious. Far more personal.
“I can’t believe this has happened,” Polax raged.
Ditto, Casmir thought.
She uncrossed her long legs and played with the diamond on her finger. It really was beautiful. Flawless, Yurii had said. The diamond from Africa, the rubies from Brazil.
Flawless like my future bride, Kisa.
Polax was on his feet now, starting to pace, his pet chair trailing his flat ass. Or maybe it wasn’t all that flat. Maybe it only looked that way because his chubby tummy stuck out from his cinched belt like a balloon that had had too many injections of helium.
He stopped and faced her. “Are you hearing any of this? You’re sitting there as if you’re expecting me to invite you to lunch.”
Of course she was hearing him. He was shouting, and as spacious as his office was, the soundproof technology inside created a ping-pong effect. Actually she was hearing everything twice. As far as lunch was concerned it was too early, but breakfast would be nice. A glass of OJ, coffee and a little protein.
“We haven’t only lost Petrov. One of our best agents had her throat slit.”
It was understandable Polax would be upset about Pasha. She was an excellent agent, an agent who followed Polax’s orders to the letter.
Casmir had mourned her comrade in private, the Hungarian with the hot temper. They hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but they had respected each other.
Polax was back in his chair, the motorized wonder speeding him behind his monstrosity of a desk.
“The agency can’t afford to lose you, too, so pay attention to what I’m saying. I have a plan to defuse this ticking time bomb.”
Here it comes, Casmir thought. A new identity on a remote island. Crete sounded nice, or maybe she could spend the summer with Nadja in the Azores. It would be great to see the baby. Nadja had brought Bjorn’s child into the world a month ago—a beautiful blond baby boy they had named Dane.
After six months on a tropical beach she’d come back ready to go to work with an amazing tan, as a brunette or a redhead. No, not red, it would clash with her wardrobe. She’d probably have to cut the length. Not her best look, but doable. Gain a few pounds—oh, God, not that.
“I’ve contacted a friend of mine. Everything has been arranged. You’ll leave immediately.”
It was time to speak, make a few suggestions. “Someplace warm, I hope. Crete, or maybe I could visit—”
Polax looked over the top of his glasses, which were perched on his puggy, turned-up nose. They were new. Not the best choice for his face shape. Mini oval rims did nothing for his narrow temples. They made his cheeks look like his tummy—as if they had taken one too many hits of helium. A silver finish would have been better than gold, as well. He should have called her and she would have arranged to go with him to pick out something more flattering.
He pulled two passports from his top drawer. “You’ll be en route within the hour. No one will know where you are except for me and your bodyguard. He’ll pick you up.”
“You’re giving me a bodyguard? That’s generous, but not necessary. I’ve soloed on more missions than any other agent at Quest. I certainly don’t need a babysitter lying on the beach blocking the sun.”
“You need whatever I deem relevant. You’ve been assigned a keeper, and that’s that.”
“A keeper?”
“If you prefer bodyguard or babysitter, call him what you wish. Watchdog. Glue. Fungus. I don’t care.” He shoved two passports across his desk. “I hate to inform you of this, but there was a kidnapping attempt on your mother last night. I believe it was initiated by Petrov.”
“He went after Mama?”
“If he had been successful he would have used Ruza to lure you out of hiding. You would have probably gotten emotional and made some silly deal with him to free her. Of course that would have ended up with both of you dead. Since that is unacceptable, I’ve decided—”
“Was she hurt?”
“A bump on the head, and shaken up a bit. I took it upon myself to assign her a guard after the incident in Bratislava. An agent was staked out in front of her apartment. We interceded before she was taken.”
“Obviously not a very good one if someone was able to break in.”
Another austere look over his glasses. “Ruza is packed and ready to join you on your little getaway. She’s been given a story that parallels the bullshit you’ve been feeding her over the years about working for an international real estate agency. As your real estate boss—” he made a face “—I’ve told her that we’re sending you on a little business/pleasure trip. I sent someone to pack for you. You’ll leave straight from here and meet Ruza at the airport.”
“Our destination?”
“The U.S.”
Too vague. “Where exactly?”
“An out-of-the-way little place called Le Mystère.”
“Le Mystère? It sounds lovely. Which coast?”
“The Gulf.”
“Florida?”
“Louisiana.”
“What’s in Louisiana?”
“Alligators, snakes and…hot weather. It seems I’ve made one of your wishes come true.”
“Why not a sunny island in—”
“Because your bodyguard is familiar with Louisiana. He’s got a house there.”
“With alligators for neighbors.”
“Look at it this way. You won’t have to make an effort to be…nice. You can be yourself.”
At Quest, Casmir was known as the bitch with an attitude, the agent who got away with far more than Polax put up with from anyone else. She didn’t know why that was. She knew agents who had been suspended for speaking their mind. She, on the other hand, had simply gotten Polax’s famous look.
“Does my bodyguard have a name?”
“If I’m not mistaken, you’ve already met.” Polax opened the file on his desk and shuffled through a stack of papers. “Pierce Fourtier was the agent who helped out on the Austrian mission a few months ago. The one you played body double with.”
Not that arrogant jackass. No, Casmir thought. The gods wouldn’t be that sadistic. Give her anyone else. A seven-foot gorilla with body odor, a three-foot circus midget on crutches. A transvestite with a shoe fetish, and better taste than hers. Anyone, just not Pierce Fourtier.
“An excellent operative. I’ve never met him, but his file is quite impressive. Seven years as a rat fighter makes him the perfect troubleshooter to watch your backside.”
“The perfect asshole, you mean.”
“As I said, call him whatever you wish.”
“I can’t work with him. We didn’t get along in Austria.”
“I have no record of that.”
Of course he didn’t—she hadn’t made an issue out of it because she was sure she’d never see him again.
“I’m not asking you to like him. You’re a professional, and professionals put their differences aside. Bring your acting skills along and you’ll do fine. It’s always worked before. Until four days ago, that is. This time the only difference will be that instead of standing out in a crowd, and dining with royalty in a two-thousand-dollar miniskirt, you’ll be blending in to your surroundings. That should lighten your suitcase, and Quest’s expense account.”
That was mean. He knew damn well that she spent money out of her pocket for at least half of her wardrobe.
She should point that out. Point her toe and give him a kick under his oversize desk.
Instead, she asked, “How long will it take to put Yurii back behind bars?”
“If I knew that I’d moonlight as a psychic. The important thing is coming out of this smelling like petunias instead of yesterday’s socks. The eyes of the intelligence world are watching us. We can’t afford to make another mistake where Yurii Petrov is concerned. He’ll be out for blood now.”
“Mine.”
“Well put. He has unlimited resources. Behind every legitimate business he owns there’s a million-dollar fraud in the works. From money laundering, to smuggling, to forgery and counterfeiting. He’s the go-to man every criminal wants as their friend when they need someone to disappear, or a few billion dollars cleaned. To put him out of business we need the location of his headquarters. It’s too bad he never took you there during the months you spent with him.”
He was referring to Nescosto Priyatna. Yurii’s secret sanctuary was still a mystery to the intelligence world, and to her.
“For us to come out of this bungle with our heads high, we’re going to have to get creative. We want his operation destroyed. Until that happens you’ll be vacationing in hell.”
“Hell?”
“Sorry. I should have said heaven. Snake heaven, that is. I’ll keep you up to date on the situation on a need-to-know basis. For now you don’t need to know anything, except what time your flight leaves.”
“Snake heaven.”
“You really are listening. Good.”
Casmir knew Quest’s policy when it came to offering information—only active agents involved in the mission were briefed on the when, where and how.
She didn’t want back in the hot seat, but it was a foolish move to keep her out of the loop altogether. She’d been the only agent to get inside Yurii’s tight circle. She knew his habits. Knew things that hadn’t made it into his file.
She’d gotten close enough to know that he slept on his back, not his belly. Knew what he did first when he got out of bed in the morning, and it wasn’t make a trip to the bathroom. Knew what quenched his thirst above all else, and why he had his shoes custom made, and it wasn’t the same reason she did.
She couldn’t shake that feeling that she always got when the cards in the deck had been switched and she was playing poker, holding a sucker’s hand.
She said, “Now that Yurii’s been burned, it won’t be easy getting close to him. He has plenty of men to do his legwork. Their loyalty is beyond question. And he has Filip.”
“Yes, the brother. Thank you for bringing him to my attention.” He scribbled the name on a piece of paper. “So that’s it, we’re on top of the situation, with every confidence that we have the right bait to make Yurii bite.”
If they were on top of the situation, Yurii would never have escaped his iron cell in the first place, Casmir thought.
Polax looked up and gave her a satisfied smile. “You’re on vacation starting now.”
“But I—”
“There’s no need to concern yourself further. I’m confident this time things are going to go our way. Get comfortable in your new home and take up a hobby. Knitting, perhaps, or maybe cooking. Can you boil water yet?”
She would like to boil him, and the look she gave him said so.
“You won’t be returning to Quest until Petrov’s command center has been destroyed and the final paperwork is on my desk. My advice is to put your feet up and enjoy the time off.”
“I don’t see why—”
“Your argument will be a waste of your time and mine.”
Casmir scalded him with her best bitch look. The problem was by now Polax had become immune to it. But she kept it going.
She’d been given the name royal bitch, which she embraced. She’d had a good teacher. Her mother had written the rule book on bitchdom, and Casmir had read every word.
A weak woman was as vulnerable as a three-legged dog on a fox hunt, Mama had always said. A strong woman knows how to get what she wants. When to add a cup of sugar, or a drop of arsenic.
A confident woman is wrinkle free, walks like she owns the sidewalk and isn’t afraid to kick a little ass when the shoe fits. And if the ass is big, wear boots—preferably a pair you can run in should your aim be an inch or two off and the brute doesn’t go down.
Polax was speaking again. Casmir made eye contact, her eyes snapping like a bitch on fire.
He dismissed the look. “We never know what tomorrow will bring in the intelligence business, Balasi. Four days ago you were the actress. A busy little spy doing what you do best, playing games with a winning hand. But now your cards have been turned over and Petrov knows you outplayed him. Until we have him back, you’re—”
“A prisoner with an asshole jailer.”
“A jailer who has a reputation that gives new meaning to the word survival. I’m confident Fourtier will be able to protect you should your sunny disposition irritate the neighbors and start them hissing.”
Very funny, Casmir thought. If a reptile crossed her path, she was going to shoot it in the head with Yurii’s dependable Gyurza. She still had his gun, with a round of ammo guaranteed to turn Fourtier’s neighbors into leather shoes, complete with matching handbags.
