Comeback Page 7

  Selena nodded, unconcerned that Allori overheard it all. He was often an unofficial participant in such things.

  The young man returned with a gorgeous lacquered tray that held their tea—a small pot and the special pear-shaped armud glasses. And the jam pot, of course, just as intricately decorated as the other serving pieces. He served them with a careful flourish and took their orders. As he left, Allori's expression changed, a barely perceptible smoothing of his features. "Over there," he said, and his eyes directed Selena's quick glance to an older man, a Berzhaani in a formal Turkish three-piece suit, a dignified blend of East and West with a knee-length jacket and loose-fitting pants under the vest. "Davud Garibli."

  Selena nodded. "He replaced Amar bin Kuwaji." Bin Kuwaji, the deputy prime minister who had been executed on the same steps where Selena had almost lost her life…and where she'd eventually emerged victorious.

  Allori nodded. "Conservative, as you might guess from his dress, and yet supportive of Prime Minister Razidae and his efforts to modernize and move forward. But he doesn't appreciate Western interference, and would not be pleased to know of U.S. activity in Suwan. Stay off his radar."

  "Any other changes I should know about?"

  "I would consider him the most crucial. Your legate successor is having quite the time with him."

  "I don't envy my successor, then." She'd have to do more checking on that one.

  Allori nodded at a woman who'd combined traditional with modern, wearing an elegant thigh-length tunic over an ankle-length skirt that moved like tencel and shimmered like silk. Her hijab was of matching material, and her makeup so expertly done as to be invisible. Dobry took one look and his eyebrows shot up to maximum altitude. "Good luck with that," Allori said. "She's one of Berzhaan's rising stars."

  Selena's brow set at a more skeptical slant. "You're kidding. Bollywood, Berzhaan style?"

  "All part of the new Berzhaan—especially since the Kemenis were more or less decimated by your actions last winter." Allori seemed quite cheerful about it all.

  "Great," Selena said. "Just what I had in mind when I did that."

  "And ah," Allori said, "here's someone you should meet." He raised his hand, to whom Selena wasn't sure—not until a harried man made his way over to their table—in his fifties, fit but obviously stressed, he nonetheless greeted Allori with pleasure and hesitated just long enough for introductions. "Scott Hafford, I'd like to introduce an old friend of Cole Jones, Steven Dobry. And this is Cole's wife, Selena." To Selena, he said, "Mr. Hafford works in security consulting, and has had occasion to associate with Cole in other locales, through some of his employees."

  Scott Hafford. Selena kept her reaction from her expression, her mind flashing back to that recent Oracle meeting—to the Spider files and the names of those influential people Delphi suspected of being controlled through blackmail.

  Hafford was one of them. And she was willing to bet the chances of finding someone else with that name—especially someone in an influential position—were mighty slim.

  Hafford looked at Selena and smiled in sudden comprehension. "Selena!" he said. "Jones never did stop bragging on you, but I never knew your name. Now that I do, I can see he had every reason to be proud." He nodded at Dobry, and added, "I'm working with Razidae's people to rebuild the capitol with the best possible security. We certainly hope they never face a situation similar to what you went through, but if it happens…"

  "Be prepared," Selena said, and smiled back at him. She wondered what he'd done to end up in the Lab 33 files, and whether he knew, yet, that someone had him listed for a little undue influence. And then it occurred to her that he might have just the resources she could use—that, in fact, they were just the resources Cole might use, given the chance. "Cole knew your people, too? I'd love to be able to tell him I had the chance to say hello."

  Hafford's mouth twisted ruefully. "I've got a new team. I'm afraid most of the people Cole knew have pulled away to form their own organization after we got here. They were down and dirty guys, always interested in the thick of things. I'm working more with the technical tools of the trade these days, so…"

  Damn. She didn't try to hide her disappointment; it suited the moment either way. Hafford said, "You know, I wouldn't suggest this to just anyone, but you might find Bill Betzer's guys at the Plush. It's a bar…actually has a different name, but none of us can pronounce it, so it's nicknamed the Plush—which I can assure you, it is not. As much as I respect your ability to take care of yourself and perhaps everyone in this room, I wouldn't suggest that any woman go there alone."

  "Not a problem," Dobry said, and his Kenneth Goff voice turned out to be all gravelly. How'd he even do that? "We can give it a visit."

  Excellent. Already a potential trail to follow.

  They exchanged a few more polite words and Hafford moved on. Selena sat back as the server brought their order. "And that," she told Dobry with satisfaction, "is why we had time for this."

  Chapter 8

  They stood outside the Plush as Selena deciphered the faded Arabic script scrawled along the side of the door. "Grout," she finally said. "Who would name a bar 'Grout'?"

  "Whoever first started calling it the Plush had a permanently warped sense of humor."

  "British, probably," Selena murmured. "One of their rhyming slang things. Probably started out as Flush, because they knew the place was a toilet. Although if they were hoping for actual flush toilets, I'd say they were disappointed." She adjusted her hijab, unaccustomed to the full-coverage scarf. Her clothes, too, were modest—a traditional feminine salwar kameez with loose cotton pants beneath a tunic, easy to move in even if it did lack a surfeit of pockets. She found the loose, ankle-length cotton coat over it all to be more confining, but it warded off the fall chill and offered plenty of opportunity to bring along a knife or two.

  Dobry stuck with western clothing, but his shirt was loose-fitting and long, as close to a tunic as he'd get without actually putting one on. He drew no notice; there were enough Western men in the city that his modest clothing let him blend in with the crowd, especially in this neighborhood. Selena was the one who didn't belong by virtue of her sex, no matter how she dressed.

  It was the reason Dobry had come to Berzhaan with her. Or rather, that Kenneth Goff was here. Selena had had no problem during her legate days here; she hadn't been trying to keep a low profile, and it had suited her to be noticed and remembered. Likewise, plenty of Berzhaani professionals were women—but even then, business attire wasn't necessarily suitable outside the workplace.

  And Selena was definitely outside the workplace. "If we're really lucky," she said, "Cole's already made contact with these guys."

  Dobry took the straight line. "And if we're not?"

  "Then he probably will contact them. We're ahead, any way you look at it." One step closer to bringing in a valuable asset…and one wayward operative. She'd already done her best to alert Oracle to the impending terrorist attack, pausing in an Internet cafe to send an anonymous, veiled e-mail warning to Delphi. She'd follow up when she could…but she wanted to see what she could learn this evening first.

  "As long as we come out of there with our heads intact," Dobry agreed, but Selena took it to be a classic Dobry grouse and allowed him to lead the way.

  The interior was smoky, smelly and double-smelly, incense on top of cigarette fumes. Selena let her hijab fall around her shoulders, not concerned about keeping up appearances here inside. In fact, the sooner they understood she would take care of herself, the better. She let Dobry hit the bar to murmur discreet inquiries while she sized up the place and the occupants and summed it all up with an ugh. Tough, scrappy, and capable, but ugh all the same. Small tables, crowded corners, dark frayed decor, not-so-friendly arguments and an entire population of men who looked like they'd made a study of mean and ugly.

  A hand landed on her arm, firmly enough to halt her in her tracks. Her pulse shot up into the triple digits, fight or flight zinging
along her nerves. Kill before being killed…

  But she fought past the instant body memory, hands on her arms before they threw her against a wall—before they overwhelmed her no-holds-barred attempt to escape and escorted her into captivity—

  Instead of going for her Cougar, she grabbed the thumb—hairy knuckles and all—and gave it an expert twist. Not a gentle one, but a painful move that resulted in a bass squawk. "If you thought you could touch me," she said, her deadpan voice the only way she could balance her internal chaos of reaction, "you were wrong."

  The man was big, more-burly-than-thou, and as darkly hairy as his knuckles had suggested. He drew his hand back to put her in her place with a mighty slap. "You little—"

  Too predictable. Selena stepped into the opening and jabbed her little stiletto—so easy to palm from the wrist cuff that held it—against his armpit. Groin would have been better, but men like these learned early to protect themselves on that front, especially when facing a woman.

  That's okay. Armpits were tender, too.

  "Read my lips," she told him, as he froze in his awkward position. "Still wrong. No touching."

  From a corner table, a man spoke up. "Buzz," he said, "you're going to give this place a reputation."

  "No one's bleeding yet," Selena offered. "We'd still just be talking if Buzz hadn't tried the touching thing." She spoke to the man at the table, but didn't take her eyes off Buzz. When he shifted slightly to adjust his balance, she let the stiletto draw a pinprick of blood, staining the man's shirt.

  "Talking about what?" the man said, and by then the rest of the room had quieted to listen in—and, Selena thought, to dive in. They might not even care that Buzz would get spitted on her stiletto, not if they were bored.

  "Looking for Bill Betzer," Dobry said, coming up behind Buzz and positioning himself between Selena and the room. She gave an inward blink—he'd put himself in the line of fire for her. But he was still his same dour self as he aimed a remark over his shoulder at her. "That didn't take long."

  "His arm is still in its socket," she reminded him, a comment that made Buzz flinch in spite of his obviously lurking temper.

  The second man at the table stood up, a Dolph Lundgren kind of guy with the hard eyes that Dolph had never learned to fake. "I hope you're looking for work. If you do me out of a man, I'll need a replacement." To Buzz, he said, "That's what you get for making assumptions, bud. Now go find yourself a place to sit. The beer's on me."

  Rather than trust him, Selena nudged his shoulder hard enough to make him take a step for balance, and as he did it she slipped under his arm and behind him. After a glance at Betzer, he growled, "Damn right the beer's on you," before he stalked off to his own rickety table.

  Selena discovered her hands shaking from reaction, the internal conflict of restraining herself. Of holding back. It was never Defcon 1, she reminded herself. Her body had only thought that it would be. She closed her hands into fists, nails biting into her palms and one hand weighted by the cold metal of the stiletto.

  "Have a seat," Betzer said, nodding at the nearest table. The three men currently sitting around it rose without comment. "That could have gone badly for you."

  "It could have gone badly for him," Selena responded, but she knew all too well he was right.

  "And was it worth all that to find me?" Betzer shoved his own drink around the table, a mug of kvass. Nonalcoholic, malt based, known for its vitamin B content and freely available throughout Berzhaan. A careful man's drink.

  "Let's find out. I'm looking to meet up with—"

  "Cole Jones," the man said, startling Selena right into hope.

  "Have you seen him?" She couldn't keep that hope from her voice.

  He dashed it with a grunt and a shake of his head. "Just know who you are."

  She narrowed her eyes at him, but Dobry was the one to voice skepticism. "You just happened to know—?"

  That got them a snort. "I do read the papers. I even tune into a news station now and then. For a while there, the whole world knew Selena Jones."

  "Selena Shaw Jones," Selena muttered, an interruption Betzer barely noticed over a gulp of kvass.

  "I had more reason than most to pay attention." He set the mug down in its previous condensation ring. "Cole was in some of those photos, too. Former teammate and all that."

  Dobry made a noncommittal noise; Selena didn't even do that much. She'd been in the news, true enough. But that had been months ago, and these men hadn't been in the country at the time; Hafford had brought them in afterward. They'd presumably been busy elsewhere, probably in Iraq. Busy enough so Selena's appearance wouldn't be more than a blip on the radar.

  Besides, she knew Cole. He'd have discovered this hangout even faster than she had. And he'd have come here to see these men. So Betzer had either seen Cole or he expected to; his mistake was in revealing that the contact had refreshed his memory, making her so easily recognizable. "You don't trust me," she surmised.

  "I have no reason not to trust you," he responded, and when she just watched him he smiled a small wry smile and added, "You might well be able to fight your way out of a besieged building, but that doesn't mean you're good on the streets. Different skill set." Meaning, No, I don't trust you.

  "I can't argue with that." She shook her head at the scantily clad—by Berzhaani standards—young woman who stopped by the table with a drink tray. After all, she didn't trust him fully, either. She certainly had no intention of mentioning Aymal. "It doesn't mean I'm not good on the streets, either. And I'm obviously not alone."

  Betzer squinted up at her, his gaze shifting briefly to Dobry. "When it comes to that, I don't recall hearing any introductions."

  "If you want a name, I can give you one," Dobry said, and for once Selena applauded the hard note in his voice.

  Betzer smiled back at him. "I don't see the point, do you?"

  Time to get things back on track. "If he hasn't been here yet, Cole will show up once he knows you're in the area. I hope you'll at least tell him that I'm staying at the Park Hyatt."

  "You've lost him pretty thoroughly, have you? Don't tell me I've ended up in the middle of a lover's spat."

  She refrained from rolling her eyes. And far too close to what felt like it must be true. Now he was just plain being a smart-ass. Playing with her. "When I find him," she said, moving away from the table, "I'll be sure to mention how helpful you were. In fact, I know a number of people who would be interested in how helpful you were." It was a veiled threat, just enough to show him she could play games, too. With her contacts at the embassy and intelligence communities, she could well make things difficult for him.

  His smile turned thin. "If I see him, I'll let him know. But I wouldn't wait for it. Check out—"

  "Agabaji's?" She turned that smile back at him. "It's where I'd be right now if I hadn't heard you were here."

  He held his hands up in a universal backing off gesture. "Just trying to live up to my helpful nature."

  "Maybe you'll have another chance," she told him. She discovered the path to the doorway was unnaturally clear, and decided to take the hint. These guys might have Cole's confidence, but they clearly were a closed group. She bid Betzer and crew a good evening, and preceded Dobry out onto the street.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Dobry eased out a tense breath. "Waste of time."

  "Not as useful as I'd hoped," she agreed. "But it may turn things our way before we're through. And Agabaji's is just a few blocks away." She eased the hijab scarf back over her hair, although she was bound to attract attention walking in this part of town after dark regardless. She touched the little LCD pressure light in her pocket, with no intention of using it unless she had to. It would only broadcast the presence of unusual visitors with unusual toys.

  "You knew about this Agabaji's place?"

  She glanced at him in the light of the half-waning and barely risen moon, bright enough to gleam off the occasional glossy stone edifice and the worn cobbleston
es. Enough to mark the inevitable byproducts of the horse-drawn carts that still frequented this area. Selena carefully avoided such spots. "I know about a lot of places in Suwan. This particular place is a good one to pick up information, but it's a little rougher than the Plush. It's worth walking in with a little attitude already showing."

  "Great."

  "Cheer up," she said, wondering if his glass was ever half-full. "I'll be recognized. We won't have to go through that little butt-sniffing ritual again."

  All the same, she set a purposeful pace. At Agabaji's she didn't expect to find news of Cole, but there were those who would talk to her—in exchange for U.S. cash—and who would know the recent activity of the streets. Dobry matched her pace and they walked in silence, listening to the sounds of the Suwan night. In this quarter, that meant the occasional faint honk of a car horn, the random shout in the distance. Those on the streets either walked with purpose, as did Selena and Dobry, or else staggered under the influence.

  "You can't even smell the sea," Selena murmured, thinking of her old embassy apartment with its view of the sea…how it sometimes turned bright in the sun and reminded her of Cole's eyes. The last time she'd had those thoughts, she'd been uncertain of their future together, uncertain if she carried their child. Odd how events could crystallize the truth of one's feelings, as the hostage incident had done for her, solidifying their partnership—turning them into a couple now trying to become a family. And now their future was once more uncertain, and this time Cole was the one in trouble.

  Cole and a man who could save a school full of lives.

  For she couldn't think of any circumstances under which it was a good thing that Cole hadn't made contact with his former teammates. He more than anyone knew how to take advantage of the unexpected.