Secret Agent Sheikh

Secret

Agent Sheikh

Linda Conrad

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Copyright

About the Author

When asked about her favorite things, LINDA CONRAD lists a longtime love affair with her husband, her sweetheart of a dog named KiKi and a sunny afternoon with nothing to do but read a good book. Inspired by generations of storytellers in her family and pleased to have many happy readers’ comments, Linda continues creating her own sensuous and suspenseful stories about compelling characters finding love.

A bestselling author of more than twenty-five books, Linda has received numerous industry awards, among them the National Reader’s Choice Award, the Maggie, the Write Touch Readers’ Award and the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award. To contact Linda, read more about her books or to sign up for her newsletter and/or contests, go to her website at www.LindaConrad.com.

To Shelley and Peggy, the most ingenious

website and newsletter creators ever!

You two are the greatest!

Chapter 1

Swinging in midair under an endless star-filled sky like some kind of superhero, Tarik Kadir held his breath until his feet reached the solid surface of the ledge.

Monte Carlo’s tourists went about their business at sea level twelve stories below—oblivious to the drama unfolding high above their heads. Steadying himself, Tarik released the thin metal rappelling cable attached to the safety harness under his specially outfitted tuxedo shirt.

He let the line go loose and flattened his body against the stucco wall, stopping to let his pounding heart calm. But his heart continued thundering in his chest. Dropping over a dark abyss with nothing but air between your very existence and certain death was not his idea of smart.

The best part of his job had always been hiding in plain sight. Preferably at the nearest casino table. Becoming a different personality and handing people bold-faced lies was much more in keeping with his lifestyle than any crazy high-flying acrobatics needed to reach hotel ledges. After all, his brothers had always maintained that as the baby of the family, he’d excelled from earliest childhood at being a chameleon and making up stories.

He was born for his old job as a covert agent. But the Kadir family had recently asked all their sons to assume the responsibility for their growing war with ancient enemies, the Taj Zabbar. Out of loyalty, Tarik resigned his commission with the United States Army immediately upon learning of his family’s need for him to lead their intel-gathering efforts.

His foot slipped on the slick ledge and Tarik lost his balance. Grabbing hold of the uneven brick wall with his fingertips, he tried balancing on tiptoes. Looking out at the black expanse of ocean in the distance and the ant people strolling the seawall directly below, he swallowed back his panic and relied on innate athleticism to regain his balance.

Breathing slowly in and out, he made his way along the twelfth story ledge of Monte Carlo’s Le Meridien Beach Plaza hotel. His thoughts turned to his former work as a member of a special para-military task force—a cross-branch compilation of Army Special Forces, Navy Seals and CIA spooks. He regretted having to quit and he missed working with some of the most elite men and women in the world of covert intelligence. His old unit had been special, known within the Department of Defense for its ability to track down international mobsters and terrorists while staying in the shadows.

With his heartbeat stabilized again, Tarik cleared his head, inching along in the darkness. As he reached the balcony of the penthouse suite, he slipped over the open railing and the half glass-wall enclosure and crouched down to conceal himself behind a potted palm. The balcony doors had been closed against the chilly night air, but he’d paid the maid a small fortune to see that the sliding glass was left unlocked for the night.

A secret power-broker meeting was supposedly about to take place in the suite on the other side of these glass doors. He needed to be in position with his high-tech surveillance and listening equipment before any of the action began.

Tarik peered past the edge of the glass. The room was an enormous space, set up with a temporary conference table surrounded by six captain’s chairs. A handful of men had already gathered and were standing at a bar with drinks in their hands.

He recognized the Russian gangster who’d reputedly organized this little get-together from his CIA dossier. The gangster was Karolek Petrov, a renowned physics genius before the fall of the Soviet Union who had since amassed a $300 million empire based on illegal banking ventures and arms deals.

Tarik had to hand it to his older brother, Darin. His intel about this meeting had been spot-on.

As Tarik quietly set up the micro recording/receiving device Darin’s geek department had come up with, he rifled through his memory trying to put names to a couple of the other faces he’d recognized around the bar. Clearly none of the men were members of the Taj Zabbar. He and his brothers had turned themselves into experts at facial recognition when it came to their family’s enemies. At this point he could pick out a Taj Zabbar face from any crowd.

Apparently not everyone had arrived for the meeting yet. The Taj Zabbar participant was the only one Tarik cared about, and he’d better show up soon.

Darin’s technicians had gathered secret intelligence about this private auction a few days ago. It had been one of many dirty dealings the Kadirs had been anticipating from their enemies. The Taj Zabbar were going back into the international black market to buy arms. According to Darin’s sources, the arms for sale at tonight’s auction would be more along the lines of weapons of mass destruction.

Judging by Petrov’s background, the evening’s prize would involve advanced technology. Either biological or nuclear.

Adjusting his earpiece, Tarik finished setting up and settled in to wait for the meeting to start. Crouching in the dark, he listened for anything important.

Tarik thought of Shakir, his middle brother, and of how he had recently destroyed an underground nuclear reactor plant in Zabbarán that had been designed by the Russians for the Taj Zabbar. The Kadir brothers had figured then it was only a matter of time before the Taj Zabbar tried to buy the nuclear capability they needed in the open market.

When the Kadirs had learned of tonight’s private auction, Tarik had gone to his old boss at the Department of Defense, trying to enlist the Americans’ help in gathering intel about the Taj Zabbar. Buying nuclear technology seemed a clear threat against the entire world rather than simple revenge against old enemies. But the DOD had been reluctant to commit, saying their resources were thin at the moment.

“Get me something tangible I can use to convince my superiors that this new third world nation of the Taj Zabbar is anywhere close to obtaining nuclear capabilities,” General Wainwright had told him.

Tarik had tried to explain about the auction and had asked for help from his old unit in putting together a sting. Instead, when the general had turned him down flat, it had been a hard lesson in the futility inherent in a major bureaucracy.

One of the men in the room moved to the glass next to Tarik’s head and stared out toward the moonlit sea. Tarik held his breath and eased farther back in the shadows, quickly coming up with a name for the face. The man was one of the Nigerian terrorists his old unit had recently been trying to locate. Here in Monte Carlo and about to bid on weapons of mass destruction?

Wouldn’t the DOD love to know about the Nigerian’s participation.

Tarik checked his equipment and made sure the video was being transmitted back to Darin’s computers. This Nigerian terrorist alone would have been worth his old boss’s attention.

As Tarik sensed the auction was about to start, a rap came at the suite’s door. A heavyset man who looked a lot like the movie version of a Russian bodyguard went to answer.

Tarik’s pulse rate picked up again. This had to be the Taj Zabbar representative at last.

Instead of a Taj Zabbar agent, a thin man sporting a mustache and wearing a gray tuxedo waltzed into the room with three beautiful women on his arm. Tarik was stunned. Expensive call girls at a secret auction like this?

His gaze flicked to the Russian, whose expression had gone cold. But the man did not make a move to expel the newcomers. Instead he offered them all drinks. It was odd behavior. Tarik studied the new arrivals a little further. Something was not right.

One of the women laughed at the Russian’s greeting, the sound of her voice reverberating deep and erotic in her throat. Something about that laugh …

He narrowed his eyes and looked closer, but she didn’t look familiar. Her blond, pixie-cut hair was thick and shiny. Too shiny to be real. Her eyes were a violet color not often found in nature. Obviously the lady was trying to disguise herself and not doing it very well. But then, Tarik supposed, if he were a high-priced call girl, he might want to change his identity for each job, too.

He let his gaze rake down over her tight, compact body and the too-exposed expanses of exotic, tanned skin and felt a surprising thrill of recognition. Those curves had appeared in his dreams often enough.

What the hell …?

Another knock on the suite’s door grabbed everyone’s attention. When the new man and his entourage entered, Tarik sucked in a breath. Not only had the Taj Zabbar sent a representative to the auction, this one was none other than the Elder Nabil bin Khali Taj Zabbar—the general in charge of Taj Zabbar armed forces. With him was a bodyguard and another man Tarik believed to be the new head of Taj Zabbar secret police, Malik Kasim Taj Zabbar. The Taj Zabbar had sent their big guns.

CIA covert agent Jasmine O’Reilly worked hard not to fidget in her too-tight, scratchy dress while she surreptitiously checked out the men in the room as they greeted the newcomers. Who knew rhinestones could be this uncomfortable?

She was accustomed to wearing six-inch stilettos on special missions, but the flashy hooker-style dress was turning into more than she’d bargained for. How did women wear all these spangles and zippers? The simple answer came to her before she finished the question. The dress was not meant to be worn for long.

Pulling her attention back to the targets, she catalogued what she knew of them. The most important man in the room to her was not the Russian mafia character and his cohorts who’d called this meeting. No, with great glee she fixed her thoughts on the Nigerian terrorist she’d been after for the past six months.

God, was she ever good at her job.

Who else could’ve finagled their way into a room full of third world terrorists and wannabe bad guys? Certainly not that handsome but insufferable ex-agent, Tarik Kadir. She proudly noted that Kadir was nowhere to be found—even after he’d called the DOD’s attention to this meeting in the first place.

Whatever was really going down here, Jass was about to make the premier bust of her entire career. She almost rubbed her hands together in satisfaction. But first she wanted to know about the rest of the players in addition to the Nigerian.

There was Karolek Petrov, of course. And a number of bodyguards. Then the high-priced pimp she’d paid to bring her and the other two phony call girls tonight. And if she wasn’t mistaken, the other bidders included an Indonesian member of al-Qaeda, a rogue member of the IRA, a Georgian separatist and—hmm … The two Middle Eastern–looking newcomers were men who’d not been on her radar before. Interesting.

She supposed it was possible these were the representatives from the Taj Zabbar that Kadir had insisted were coming to buy tonight. But no one in her unit or their superiors had imagined he could be right.

Okay, the people known as the Taj Zabbar, from the new Republic of Zabbarán, had recently struck it rich with oil. Rich enough to buy whatever they wanted. But no rumors of their having terrorist leanings had reached the ears of the international intelligence communities. Why would the Taj Zabbar suddenly want to buy nuclear arms? Certainly not to attack the Kadir family as Kadir had insisted when he’d asked for assistance from the unit.

Perhaps it would be worth her effort to question Tarik Kadir at some point. However, tonight she was all about taking down the Nigerian. She wouldn’t allow any of the other people in this room to stand in her way. She’d been after him and his information for six months.

Jass clicked her hidden mouthpiece twice to notify her backup that she was all set. According to the plan, two agents would burst through the door five minutes from her signal. That should be about right. By then everyone would be seated around the table and she could position herself close behind the Nigerian.

The Russian murmured to a bodyguard and a silver briefcase appeared on the table. Petrov nodded toward it and most of the men sauntered to their seats. All but the Middle Eastern men.

“Why are females in attendance?” the older one asked the Russian with a sneer.

“A prize for the losers tonight, Elder bin Khali.” Karolek Petrov beamed as though he had a secret he couldn’t wait to tell. “These are no ordinary women. Each represents a dozen young virgins who will give a man the night of his life before they gladly lay down their lives and die for him. They are worth a king’s ransom … and are my gift for participating this evening.”

Jass was glad the two actresses she’d rounded up looked young and didn’t speak English. She tried to move farther away from the man Petrov had addressed as Elder.

But before she could take a second step, the younger Middle Eastern man grabbed her by the wrist. “This one is no virgin. If I am not mistaken, she is no lady of the evening either.” He swung her around to face the other men. “Look at the intelligence in these eyes. She sees too much.”

Jass didn’t have a moment to react before the man brought a dagger to her throat. “I will let her fulfill her contract and die for my pleasure right now.”

Oh, brother. There went all her best-laid plans.

She gritted her teeth to notify her backup with three clicks that she was in trouble. Then she overpowered her surprised assailant by using a nifty thumb hold she’d perfected years ago. The knife went flying and he went to his knees with a yell and a thud.

Chaos erupted in the room. Shouts in several languages bounced off the walls. Guns were pulled from under jackets. The door banged open and a shot rang out. And somewhere in the back of her mind she thought she heard the balcony’s glass doors sliding open.

But she was too busy to notice. She appropriated a gun from one of the hulking bodyguards with a smooth move he never saw coming and then headed through the crowd toward the Nigerian, who had been standing closest to the balcony. She caught a glimpse of him before he ducked out through the open balcony doors.

Oh, no you don’t. We’re twelve stories up. You’re mine, you bastard.

Tarik was inside the room and fighting to reach Jass O’Reilly before he could think twice about it. His mind had blanked when the head of Taj Zabbar secret police had put that dagger to her throat. Tarik had been intrigued with her from afar for years and the idea of his fantasy woman going down in a slash of bloodshed had moved him to action.

But by the time he overpowered the Russian and put him out of commission, she was nowhere to be found. Had she ducked out the front? Impossible. That exit was now clogged with men in various stages of being apprehended.

He twisted around and as his eyes darted across the room, he realized two unsettling things. The suitcase was missing from the table and the two Taj Zabbar reps were gone.

Worse, with another sweeping glance, he noted both the Nigerian and Jass had also disappeared. But they could not possibly have gotten past him. They’d both been too close to the balcony when the sting went bad.

He would have to consider the Taj Zabbar later. Right now he needed to back up his former comrade in covert operations.

When he barged through to the balcony, Tarik was hit with another shock. Jass and the Nigerian were leaning over the balcony wall, wrestling over a Ruger .357 Magnum. The Nigerian had a good fifty pounds and six inches on her.

Tarik’s weapon was useless under the circumstances. He couldn’t get off a clean shot. He held his breath and moved in closer, waiting for a moment to let the Nigerian learn of his presence—the hard way.

But the longer their struggle went on, the more he could see Jass weakening. The Nigerian had her bent over backward with her upper body hanging out over nothing but night air.

Tarik couldn’t wait. He had to make a move now.

Grabbing the assailant by the shoulder, he tried to turn the Nigerian around to face him. But right at that moment Jass made her move, too.

She hooked her leg around the Nigerian’s knees and used all her power trying to bring him down. But Tarik’s shove had overbalanced the assailant and all three of them slid closer to the balcony wall.

Horrified, he watched as both Jass and the Nigerian slipped over backward and disappeared completely into the black night. With a roar, he dove over the wall, landing tenuously on the ledge beyond.

“Help me, you idiot.” The small voice coming from below him finally cleared away the hazy panic in his head as Tarik spotted her fingers gripping the edge.

“Jass.” He flattened himself on the ledge and made a grab for her arms.

When he felt the warm skin of her wrists and fastened his hands around them, he began to murmur quiet encouragement. “I’ve got you. Take it easy.”

She groaned. “Stop talking and pull me up.”

Earlier the breeze off the ocean had been benign and gentle. Now it felt like a full-force gale. He latched one arm around the balcony wall and hoped to hell he could drag her up one-handed. It would do no good for both of them to take a header into oblivion.

Whenever he’d thought of Jass in the past, he’d never thought of her as particularly thin or small. But with a spurt of much needed adrenaline, he raised her up over the edge without a lot of effort.

Son of a gun. They were still alive.

Dragging her closer to his chest, he waited until his breathing slowed and he could actually feel his extremities again. That was as close to death as he ever wanted to go.

Jass pushed at his chest. “How about we move to a solid surface?” She came to her knees and reached for the balcony wall. “I suppose you expect a thank-you for saving my life.”

Suddenly irritated, he pulled them both over the wall to the balcony floor. “I would rather get an explanation as to why you felt it necessary to bust in on my sting.”

She stood in bare feet with her wig askew and dusted off her hands. “Not your sting, pal. Mine. I’ve been chasing that Nigerian for months and now you’ve ruined our chances of ever questioning him. You owe me.”

Damn.

“My mistake,” he muttered as he turned toward the suite doors.

He left her standing there trying to figure out what he’d meant. If he’d known how ungrateful she would be, he might’ve left her swinging in midair.

Now he had the sinking feeling he was going to live to regret tonight’s entire heroic episode.

Chapter 2

She was completely screwed.

Jass ran her hands through the auburn mop on her head that laughably passed for her real hair and squared her shoulders to face the music. Ed Langdon, her CIA handler, and General Gus Wainwright, the head of their interagency Task Force, came through the conference room door. Tarik Kadir was right on their heels.

She jumped up and stood as still as if she were at attention. It was barely twelve hours since the Nigerian had gone to his heavenly paradise and Jass hadn’t had much sleep. For most of the night she’d been too busy trying to interrogate the men who’d been captured in the hotel room and, when that became futile, working desperately to salvage something from the fiasco of last night. She had come up empty-handed on all counts.

For the last hour she’d been sitting quietly in the American consulate’s office waiting for her scheduled meeting with Ed. Jass had been going over all her moves from last evening’s sting, still trying to piece together how things had gone wrong. When she’d originally designed the plan for last night, she was positive nothing could prevent it from becoming one of her biggest career highlights. Capturing a man that the Agency had been seeking for the last three years had seemed the perfect path to advancement.

The fact that General Wainwright was here in Monaco—that he’d felt it necessary to fly in from the states, did not bode well for her rising career at all. The general motioned for her to sit and she took her first breath since he’d walked through the door. Somehow she had to survive whatever came next with her job intact.

Tarik Kadir plopped down in the seat next to hers. Her senses started reeling. She could actually feel heat emanating from his body, even considering his place at the table was well over two feet away. She scooted her chair a little farther to the side, but it didn’t help.

Glancing at the ex covert agent out of the corner of her eye, she found him staring back at her. Besides being insufferable, the man was also a rude bore.

He flashed her a crooked grin from behind his benign-looking black-framed glasses. Was he in some sort of disguise this morning? She knew for a fact that the man did not need glasses for his eyesight. Last night in a tux he’d been delicious to look at. Like the billionaire playboy sheik he was rumored to be. But this morning, the hand-tailored button-down shirt and soft suede jacket made him look unpretentious and conservative.

Bull. Did he really believe anybody would miss the aura of controlled power or the watchful intelligence hiding underneath the traditional cut of his coal-colored hair or in the eyes behind those ridiculous fake glasses?

“You still waiting for a thank-you for saving my life?” she asked while trying hard to sound unaffected.