Exposed, page 7
“I know,” he growled, snatching the invitations out of the man’s hand with a vicious swipe.
“Please, come in,” the man said, standing back and quickly waving them through the door. Hallelujah, they were in.
Like the rest of the hotel, the Monarch’s Suite was exquisitely ornate. Yellow tiles and white marble lay across the floor of the foyer, while a marble staircase with an intricately designed gold balustrade unfurled along its length and led to another floor. There were women dressed in exotic gowns and dripping with jewelry. They were accompanied by men in open-necked shirts and suits. The guests milled around with drinks in hand, some conversing, others simply watching. It all looked quite sedate. Diana and Peter fit right in.
They were led to the main party room. It was set up to mimic a tent and was quite different to the open airiness of the foyer. Dark red silk accented with black velvet draped the ceiling and rear wall. White columns patterned heavily with black and gold motifs stood on either side of the steps leading up into the room. Leopard-skin couches were covered in brown, beige, and orange pillows. Glass and chrome tabletops supported by exuberantly designed stands that combined flourishes and curlicues with gold and black were spread in front and to the side of the seating. Restraint had clearly not been a part of the decorator’s brief.
As soon as they walked in and before they’d managed to get their bearings, a heavy set, swarthy man walked up to them. He looked to be in his mid-twenties. Peter immediately recognized him from the picture they had been shown of their target. The man’s gaze was completely focused on Diana.
“Good evening,” he said to Peter, extending his hand, though his eyes never left Diana’s cleavage. “I’m Prince Firat bin Rahid Al Omair.”
“Liam Trevellyn, Your Highness,” Peter shook the man’s hand firmly enough to make him wince just a tad. Shamelessly, Firat paid no heed. He spoke to Diana, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
“And who might this enchanting creature be?” he asked. He had a reedy voice, pitched high for such a husky man.
Diana put her hand in his with a smile. “Rayne Trevellyn, Your Highness,” she replied in a sultry tone. The Prince kissed her knuckles.
“My wife,” Peter added in a less friendly voice.
For the second time that evening, he was ignored.
“I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance and honored that such a beautiful woman would grace our little soirée with her presence,” Firat said to Diana.
She laughed throatily. “Why thank you, Your Highness. I’m honored to be here.”
“I sincerely hope I will have the opportunity to dance later with the most beautiful jewel in the room, in fact, in all of Dubai. Of that I am certain.”
“I would enjoy that very much,” Diana replied with a smile, just stopping herself short of rolling her eyes.
The man was suave, Peter had to give him that. It didn’t help that Diana seemed so charmed by Firat. Logically, he knew it was an act and that he had no right to be so annoyed, but logic tended to abandon him where Diana was concerned.
“And what brings you to our fair city?” the Prince asked.
“Business,” Peter snapped. Firat looked at him sideways as if he was of no consequence, before concentrating on Diana once more as she spoke.
“And a bit of pleasure, of course. How could we not? After all, Dubai is such a beautiful city,” Diana gushed.
“You must let me show you around,” Firat said. “I’ve lived here all my life and know every nook and cranny in our fair city. I would love to introduce you to my Dubai – the way few tourists get to experience it.”
“My husband and I would love that,” Diana replied, “Thank you.”
Firat straightened, looking a little less pleased with his idea. “Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to greet my other guests.” The prince moved off with another kiss to her knuckles.
“The most beautiful jewel in all of Dubai,” Peter mimicked.
His breath left him in a whoosh when a discreet but powerful jab from Diana’s elbow made contact with his gut. “Play nice, darling,” she said sweetly. “Remember, we’ll need the prince’s cooperation if our deal is to go through.”
Peter groaned. She was right. They had to play their parts.
“Drink?” he asked.
“Yes, please. Orange juice. I need to be on my game.”
“Looks like that’s all they’re serving.”
Peter made his way over to the bar. He looked around the room while he waited for the barman’s attention. The party was rather quiet. Still, staid even.
Peter walked back to Diana and handed her one of the crystal glasses.
“It’s a bit quiet, this party.”
“Mmm,” Diana replied.
“Lennox implied it would be wilder. We’ll have difficulty extracting Firat without anyone noticing if the pace doesn’t pick up a bit.”
He saw her eyes roaming over the room and her jaw tighten.
“What’s up?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“JUST WONDERING WHAT the game is here,” she said. “It all feels so fake.”
Peter straightened his shoulders. “Well, shall we mingle and see what we can find out?” he asked.
“Good idea,” she replied. They moved off to circulate, talking to partygoers, most of them business people, some royalty.
After two hours of non-stop schmoozing, Diana pulled Peter to one side.
“So, got anything useful?” she asked.
“Firat is the youngest son of Dubai’s ruler, which means he’s unlikely to ever ascend the throne. He has two older brothers. He’s rich and aimless. Add some testosterone and resentment to that mix, and he’s a ripe and valuable target for recruitment to a terrorist organization, no question.”
“What could his goal be, I wonder?” Diana mused.
“Perhaps joining ILIF is something to do with removing his competition so he can ascend to Dubai’s throne instead of his brothers? Fratricide, even patricide, isn’t uncommon here, so the idea isn’t outrageous,” he said.
“It would make him a psychopath.”
“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know. Can’t say I fell in love with him based on his earlier performance. Did you?”
“Not exactly,” Diana replied.
“So what did you find out?”
“Firat’s father, Sheikh Rahid bin Said Al Omair is a popular ruler and quite progressive, at least by comparison to his counterparts. He’s responsible for much of Dubai’s development, which gives the country its position and power in the region. It used to rely on oil production for most of its revenue, but the Sheikh saw the risks of relying solely on that and encouraged diversification into tourism, banking, and technology. The increase in revenues has meant that the people of Dubai haven’t suffered during the various crises that have severely impacted the price of oil and affected other countries in the region over past years. It has one of the fastest growing economies, despite the fact that oil production is a mere five percent of the emirates revenues.”
Peter looked at her dubiously. “That’s quite a lecture.”
“I was cornered by an economics professor from one of the American university campuses they have out here,” she said. “The Sheikh, Firat’s father, is well thought of here, but there is one issue. There are rumors that he’s considering giving women more rights. That’s displeasing the old guard, including other leaders in the country who are claiming it would set an unfortunate precedent. So there is some domestic political turmoil.” She looked from side to side at the scene around her, her earrings jangling. “Could it be, as you said, that Firat’s connection to ILIF is part of a bigger plan to overthrow his father?”
“But why would he do that? For what reason? Money? Wealth? Surely he has enough of that?”
“Power for its own sake? They have egos the size of continents, these people.”
“Or it’s something else. Perhaps he objects to his father’s policies. Perhaps they are at odds ideologically,” Peter said.
“I think any of those motivations are possible, although ideology doesn’t seem to be his strong point beyond the worship of the almighty dollar. Maybe he really is as childish as he seems and is lashing out at his father in any way he can. Perhaps Firat wants to use his terrorist connections to embarrass the Sheikh, and it’s no more complicated than that,” Diana responded.
She turned to face Peter and whispered. The party was still deathly quiet. “So, what do you think? Time to come up with a ‘Plan B’?”
Peter sighed and glanced around. Everything was just as calm and low key as it had been earlier. People were simply mingling and schmoozing. There was chatter, the occasional peal of laughter, glasses clinking. Wild, it was not. He could even hear the muzak over the gentle hubbub. “I guess so,” he murmured, glancing around uneasily.
Diana put her glass down and prepared to slip away when a loud gong sounded. “Game time?” Peter said, his voice low. Firat’s large bulk walked into the middle of the room, his arms outspread.
“Ladies and gentleman, now that everyone has finally arrived, let the entertainment commence!” He rubbed his hands vigorously and clapped twice.
Diana blinked as the lights were dimmed, the music segued to something more upbeat, and small white lights started to float around the room in a circular motion. Bottles were switched on the wait staff’s trays, replacing the sparking water and fruit juices of earlier. As the alcohol flowed, women dressed in brightly colored bikinis and feathers streamed into the room and quickly draped themselves all over the men, even the ones who had their wives present.
Peter shook his head. “Well, I guess it’s back to ‘Plan A.’”
Diana nodded. “Thankfully. I was not looking forward to propositioning his Highness’s assness.”
Peter barked out a laugh. “Is that what you were thinking?” He grinned at her. “Now I’m really glad we can stick with our plan.” He looked around the room, “So, how long do you think it’ll take them to get totally plastered?”
Diana tapped a finger against her lips as she surveyed the room, which was now a hedonic paradise. “I’m thinking about an hour.”
Peter cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t drink much, do you? I’m pretty sure in about half an hour, most of these people won’t remember their own names, let alone the people they’re hanging off.”
He was right. Thirty minutes later, everyone was either drunk or well on the way. “For a country where alcohol is not easily accessible, they sure can put it away,” Diana murmured.
“It’s because it’s not freely available. Like kids let out of school for the summer, they make the most of it when they can. Not that I know anything about that,” Peter added putting his palms up. Diana looked at him skeptically.
He glanced around. The partygoers were off the leash, guzzling down everything from whisky to wine like it was water.
“Just goes to show how making something illegal doesn’t always achieve the desired results,” Peter replied.
“Is that an indication of your broader political values?” Diana teased.
“Might be.”
Diana smiled. Peter might come across as a bluff grunt at times, but she knew that at heart, he thought and cared deeply about issues that affected people, especially those he was close to.
Before Diana had a chance to say more, Peter saw their target heading toward them. He nodded in Firat’s direction. Diana looked over.
“Showtime,” she whispered under her breath. She fidgeted with her clutch, palming something in her hand. Peter knew it was the vial of scopolamine which Lennox had procured for them and that they would use on Firat.
“I don’t love the idea of scopolamine, you know. We went to such trouble to keep it off the streets of Vancouver and now here we are, using it on someone,” Peter murmured in her ear.
“Needs must, darling. We’re not going to hurt him, or even rob him. And we don’t have much time. We need to get him talking.”
Firat walked shakily over to them, and in the way of young bucks used to having anything and anyone they wanted, he grabbed Diana by the wrist and hauled her off to the bar. Peter bristled but quietly followed them at an appreciable distance so that Firat wouldn’t notice. The Prince leaned on the bar talking animatedly to Diana. Peter watched her closely. Only he saw her swipe her palm over Firat’s drink. Delivery was complete. Now, they just had to wait.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HALF AN HOUR later, Diana and Peter stumbled into their suite with a sagging but very amenable Firat.
“We need to talk,” Diana whispered to Peter. He nodded and hauled Firat off into the bedroom. “Wait here,” he said to the lump flailing around on the bed Peter had been so coveting earlier.
Firat grinned up at him like a lunatic. “Of course,” he replied.
Peter left the room and locked the door behind him. “What’s up?”
“That idiot in there will never make a good asset. Lennox would be wasting his time,” Diana said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Besides the fact that his only convictions lie at the bottom of a bottle and his only goal is to get into the pants of as many women as possible, his values are so warped that he’ll do anything to spite his old man. He is way too unstable, self-obsessed, and egotistical to trust even mildly. He’s liable to turn us in to his ILIF friends the moment we release him. We could never trust him or even manipulate him more than once.”
“You managed to figure all this out on the way up here?”
She nodded. “More or less. The alcohol and the scopolamine did their job, and a quick chat at the bar before we brought him up here told me all I needed to know. Yuck. In fact, I wish I could wipe my memory of the disgusting suggestions and anti-daddy rants he kept spewing. He’s beyond selfish, and well, let’s just say he’s one of the few people that might make me rethink my stance on torture.”
Peter gave a lop-sided smile.
Diana continued. “The risk is just too great. He’s such a blundering idiot, he’d end up giving the game away. He couldn’t fool anyone. He may be brilliant in the boardroom, but anything beyond that and he’s a complete, total, and utter mess. And way too compromised by his base values.”
“Well, then, I guess we stick to the plan. We get the intel we need and disappoint Lennox. I can’t say that I’m unhappy we don’t have to deal with Firat longer than necessary. And the scopolamine was a good call.”
“We’ll take him back to the party after we’re done, hang around for a little while, and then disappear. Tomorrow, he won’t remember a thing.”
“Sounds good. Shall we?” Peter nodded toward the bedroom door. “The sooner we get rid of him, the better.”
“Let’s go. I’ll start by setting out the rules; that he needs to respond to our directions,” she said.
“Is that necessary? Won’t he do our bidding because of the scopolamine?” Peter asked.
“I want to reinforce the idea that he needs to cooperate.”
Peter unlocked the bedroom door and walked into the room. He stopped in his tracks. Firat was lying flat on his back, eyes closed with both his hands on the pillow, his curled fists laying either side of his ears. He looked like a massive, grotesque baby.
“Oh no,” groaned Peter. “Please tell me you’re not asleep.”
“I’m not asleep,” Firat said obediently as he sat up.
Peter breathed a sigh of relief. “Follow me,” he said curtly. Firat stood, and followed Peter into the living room like a well-trained puppy.
“Sit down.”
Firat sat.
“Now, you will answer all our questions truthfully and give us all the information we need,” Diana said. She stood over him. Peter pulled up a chair and sat directly opposite Firat.
“What do you know about the assassination attempt on Senator Riley Greene?” Peter asked him.
Firat looked at them blankly. “Firat!” Diana snapped. The man jumped.
“Yes?” he asked. Peter repeated the question.
“I don’t know anything,” he said. Peter opened his mouth to argue.
Diana raised her hand to stop him. “Why did ILIF try to kill a Canadian senator?”
“Because he was threatening to back out of the deal. I gave the order!” Firat said triumphantly before he sobered with the effort and slumped in his seat.
“He obviously likes you more than me,” Peter said.
Diana shook her head. “It’s not that. He probably doesn’t know the senator’s name. Scopolamine makes people very literal.”
But Firat hadn’t finished. “The Canadian senator had our guy killed, but he paid up, so the deal’s back on.”
Diana turned back to Firat. “What deal do you have with the Canadian senator?”
“He’s going to pay us to take the responsibility for the bombing in Canada.”
Peter and Diana exchanged glances.
“What bombing?” Peter asked.
“What, what?” Firat hiccupped.
Peter inhaled and spoke sharply, “What bombing is ILIF supposed to take responsibility for?” he said as though speaking to a child.
“The one the Canadian senator is organizing, of course,” Firat responded. He was slurring his words and finished his sentence with a giggle.
“Why would he do that?”
“Why would who do what?” Firat asked.
“Why would the Canadian senator pay ILIF to take responsibility for a bombing?”
“He wants to become Prime Minister, silly,” Firat replied.
“Tell us what you know about this bombing,” Diana said.
“It’s scheduled to take place soon. In one of Canada’s major cities.”
“Which city is the bombing planned for?” Diana asked.
Firat shrugged. “We don’t know the details, they haven’t told us. We’ll know when it happens, it’ll be obvious. We’ll release a statement.”
“How much was the Canadian senator going to pay you?” Peter asked.
“Twenty million dollars,” Firat replied. “Half now, half after the job was done.”
