Love, Lies, and British Spies Page 10

  At that point the room broke into chaos, men approached their female relatives shouting at them, the women shook their fingers at the men, the men pouted and threatened one another, tears started, voices raised further, and Hassam looked on in utter horror.

  After a few minutes of cacophony Hassam stood from his throne and boomed at the top of his very powerful lungs, “Silence!”

  Activity in the room stuttered to a stop, all eyes turned fearfully to focus on their leader.

  “Take the women back to their quarters this instant, and lock them in — by themselves,” he growled. Several of the men followed their angry wives and sisters out of the room.

  “Now,” he continued, looking at the remaining soldiers in the room. “Everyone else, out! And do not let me see any of you until I ask for you. If I find anyone lurking within a mile of this room I will personally take your right hand in payment for your disobedience!”

  The men scrambled to get out of the room, leaving Hassam alone with Owen, Eva, and Pilar.

  Hassam threw himself into his chair, his face twisted in disgust. “The game is done I suppose. I have been bested by my tiny sister and a bunch of women!” He grimaced. “I guess you are free to go, Agent Martin. Although I feel certain we will see each other again.”

  “Not so fast!” Owen called out loudly. “What happens to me isn’t the point. You’ve got my wife, and I am not leaving without her.”

  Hassam’s laughter rang through the room. “That is quite entertaining, Mr. Martin, but my sister has bargained for your release — ” he looked sternly at Pilar “ — not your wife’s. Mrs. Martin will remain with me until I choose to do something different with her.” He smiled at Eva a little too eagerly and she struggled not to cringe.

  Pilar shifted her gaze to Eva, silent for so long on the edge of this battle of wills between brother and sister. “Hassam, you know you only brought Mrs. Martin here as bait for her husband. You don’t want to keep her. It will be nothing but a headache, and he will keep coming back to try and get her.”

  “You have forced me to release him, my dear,” Hassam said in a suspiciously cheerful voice. “But, you have not forced me to keep from tormenting him. He is free to go, but he will do so knowing that I have his wife for as long as I choose.” The look of triumph on his face was disturbing.

  “Oh bloody hell!” Owen burst out, his fists clenching below his handcuffs. “Then I’ll be staying as well, mate. You can count on it.”

  Pilar stood from her seat and walked over to her brother where she spent several minutes whispering in his ear. As she did so, Eva struggled to keep from looking at Owen, sidling quietly toward her. When she finally glanced his way, their gazes locked and her heart compacted in her chest until the growing ache was more than she could stand.

  At last Pilar stopped whispering to Hassam and stood up. Hassam’s initial scowl had been replaced first by a look of confusion then one of comprehension. Eva heard him mutter, “I sincerely hope you are right.”

  “Mr. Martin,” Pilar began shakily, “My brother has graciously allowed me to be the one to decide if Mrs. Martin will leave with you or not.”

  Momentarily panicked, Eva’s gaze shot to Pilar’s face, until the other woman sent her a look that said trust me.

  “You’ll have to excuse my skepticism, Mr. Martin,” Pilar continued. “But I’d like to see some sort of proof that you love your wife before I release her into your care.”

  Owen’s face turned red as he gritted out, “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “No, I am quite serious. I have an obligation to her as a sister. So far your treatment of her has been deceitful and manipulative. How can I, in good conscience leave her with you when you’ve not shown any love for her, only the anger of someone whose possession has been taken from him?”

  Owen was quiet and looked at Eva who kept her eyes steady on him, but communicated nothing. “I’m not sure how you expect me to prove something like that standing here in your … what is this place? A throne room?”

  “That’s part of the challenge isn’t it?” Pilar replied.

  “I can say Eva, I love you. But that’s just words, right?”

  Pilar nodded.

  “I can show it,” he walked forward and reached up his bound hands to Eva’s face, caressing it gently. “But that’s just sex, right?” he added as he stepped back, giving his wife a lingering look.

  Again, Pilar nodded in agreement.

  “I only know how to do two things in this world,” he continued. “Spying and singing. I’ve already used one to break in here, but you tell me that only indicates I want my property back. So, I guess that leaves me to use the other.” Owen dropped to his knees, bound hands hanging in front of him. “At the concert I played earlier,” he began in a gravelly voice. “I sang this song for Eva, but I couldn’t see her, and I’m not sure she was still there to hear it. I wrote it for her on the day we were married, which, by the way, was the single happiest day of my life.”

  Owen began singing, and it was as if the entire underground compound came to a grinding halt. The echoes of activity in other rooms ceased. The sputtering of torches burning on the walls went silent. Even the breathing of the people in the room with Owen seemed to be placed on pause, just waiting for someone to hit “play” so they could resume normal life.

  His song talked about the way Eva made him feel, in his heart and in his soul, it described what he saw when he looked at her, what he felt when he touched her. It was deeply personal and utterly romantic. When the last note had died away, Eva held still, a single tear running down her cheek. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to run to him and collapse in his arms, but she knew she mustn’t.

  Pilar seemed unable to speak for a moment. Then she visibly gathered herself, and said, “You win, Mr. Martin. No one could make music like that without feeling love. You are free to take your wife with you as long as she agrees.”

  Eva looked at Owen another second, and said in a barely audible voice, “May I have a moment alone with him?”

  Hassam grumbled and pointed at the doors to the theater room while Pilar nodded at Eva. Eva stood and led the way as Owen followed her into the room.

  “Thank God, love,” Owen exhaled as they closed the door behind them. “I didn’t know how I was going to keep them from forcing me to leave without you. It’d be a lot harder to get back in here the second time.”

  “Actually,” Eva said unsteadily, “you will be leaving without me, Owen.”

  He stepped toward her, his face registering anguish. Eva stiffened and stepped back.

  “Eva,” Owen said quietly.

  “No,” she responded sharply. Her voice gained strength as she continued. “Don’t say a word, just listen, and listen carefully.”

  He shifted his weight, rocking back on his heels, and dropping his chin to his chest.

  “You will walk out of here and you will go back to your life, whatever that might be, and you will never try to contact me again.”

  “What?” he answered, his head snapping up, his voice laced with desperation. “You can’t mean that, love. I know we have things we need to work out and I understand that you’ve every right to be bleeding furious with me, but I would never leave you here with him. Never.”

  Eyes glistening with tears, Eva took a step toward him. He reached his bound hands up to her face but didn’t touch her. “Please, love,” he whispered in anguish. “Don’t cry. It’ll be all right, I promise. I’ll tell you everything. I never meant to hurt you … ”

  Eva’s expression hardened and she took a deep breath. “How could you possibly not have known this would hurt me, Owen? Knowing how I’d been lied to before. After I specifically said that the one thing I couldn’t bear again was dishonesty. You never meant to hurt me?” she laughed coldly. “Just what the hell did you mean to do?”

  “To protect you, that’s all, just protect you,” he replied quietly.

  “Well, we can see how well that wor
ked out.”

  “I know, I know.” He ran his cuffed hands through his hair. “I’ve botched everything completely, Eva, but I can fix it, I can, as soon as we get out of here. We’ll go somewhere just the two of us, and we’ll take as long as we need: days, weeks, months, whatever it takes. We’ll work it out.”

  “Oh, Owen,” she said shaking her head.

  “Eva!” he said, his face a mask of panic.

  “No! No, Owen. There will be no time together, not weeks or days or even hours. We are done. You killed us, and now you’ll have to figure out how to accept that. You need to go now, Owen. I’ll be fine. Hassam and his sister have been good hosts. But, you can’t stay here. You need to leave, and you need to stay away from me, Owen.”

  Owen kept shaking his head and saying “No,” repeatedly.

  “Yes. If you really love me, you’ll do this one last thing for me. Go. And don’t look back. Don’t ever look back.” Eva turned away from him before he could see the tears start to pour. She walked quickly to the doors and opened them. Within a few steps Pilar was at her side to gently lead her away.

  As he exited the theater right behind her Owen bellowed, “Eva! Eva! I love you, Eva! Don’t do this!” but as he tried to move towards her Hassam intercepted him and removed him from the room. The last thing Eva heard were his shouts of her name.

  Chapter Thirteen

  London — Six Months later

  The cell phone chirped over and over again, relentlessly. “Bloody fucking hell. Shut up!” Owen hollered, reaching blindly out from under the bed covers to grab the offending item and throw it against the far wall. He turned back over, pulling the pillow over his head. A moment later the phone on his nightstand began to ring. He opened one eye, reached over, and picked up the receiver. “Piss off!” he said angrily into the mouthpiece before slamming the receiver back into its cradle.

  He knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep now, but he refused to get up either. He lay in the disheveled bed, looking across the room at his guitar, leaning against the wall, dusty and unused. He shut his eyes, the familiar pain overtaking his chest, and a really crappy hangover kicking in at the same time.

  Two minutes later the landline began ringing again. Owen sat up, rubbing the heavy stubble on his face and then blinking his bleary eyes. Finally, he grabbed the receiver and held it up to his mouth once more. “This had better be fucking great, mate,” he snarled.

  “And a fine good afternoon to you too, love,” came Derrick’s cheerful voice.

  “What the hell do you want, Scots boy?” Owen sighed.

  “Well, I thought we’d start with lunch and then take it from there.”

  “Look,” Owen said despondently. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m just bloody fine, but I’m not interested in doing girly crap like sharing with you, nor do I need a mum telling me when to eat and that I need a haircut.”

  “You’re a lost cause, mate, believe me that’s not what this is about,” said Derrick flatly. “But, I thought you’d like to know about some possible action involving your favorite Lord of the Paris Underworld.”

  Owen leapt up from bed and started grabbing for the jeans on the floor, stepping into them commando. “I’ll meet you at The Stag and Fox in 40 minutes,” he said breathlessly.

  “Right-o,” Derrick responded as Owen hung up on him.

  “Did he take the bait?” Herb asked as Derrick set the receiver down on Herb’s desk.

  “Like a bloody mackerel,” Derrick answered, grinning.

  • • •

  Forty-five minutes later, Derrick watched as the disheveled ghost who had once been Britain’s top MI6 agent loped along the sidewalk toward the pub where he had commandeered a window seat. He sighed as he took in the sight of the unkempt dirty hair, three days’ worth of beard growth, and wrinkled button up shirt worn untucked over jeans with holes in both knees, and Derrick feared the arse as well.

  Owen entered the restaurant leaving his sunglasses on and spoke briefly with the hostess who directed him to Derrick’s table. Even though Owen was a wreck, Derrick noticed the hostess give him a second look as he walked away, but by the way her nose wrinkled at the same time, it was possible she was looking in horror that someone could be so filthy.

  Owen dropped into the chair opposite Derrick, legs sprawling, sunglasses masking his eyes.

  “Jesus, mate, shower much?” Derrick asked, waving his hand in front of his face.

  “Piss off,” Owen replied with no real conviction. “Did you order me an ale? I need a little of the hair o’ the dog.”

  Derrick shook his head and waved the waitress over to order the drinks. “A pint for my mate here,” he said. “And another of the fish and chips specials … ”

  “I don’t want any bloody food,” Owen began.

  “Shut up and eat it or I won’t tell you what you want to know,” Derrick said curtly.

  Owen held up one particular finger while Derrick ignored him and sent the waitress on her way.

  “So, sunshine, I see you’re doing as well as ever,” Derrick observed.

  Owen leaned forward putting both arms on the table. He allowed his sunglasses to slide down his nose and peered at Derrick over the lenses, his bloodshot eyes showing his frustration and accompanying anguish. “Tell me what you know,” he demanded.

  Derrick leaned casually back in his own chair, as if contemplating whether or not he was going to share the information. It was cruel, but he couldn’t help messing Owen about just a little.

  “Derrick,” snarled Owen.

  “Getting to it, getting to it.” Derrick took a sip of water. “So, it appears that Hassam has gotten involved in a little dust-up back in Egypt. The Al Qaeda group there wants to undermine the new government because they think it’s too tight with the Yanks. Apparently, they’ve contacted Hassam to get some weapons hijacked from a shipment the military’s got coming in. Then they’ll leak it that the guns are American-made and supplied by a well-known U.S. contractor who’s been linked to an active anti-Islam campaign in Pakistan.”

  “So, has the theft taken place yet?” Owen asked, sounding more like himself than he had in months.

  “No, which brings us to the reason you’re here with me,” Derrick responded. “Herb’s been given permission to pick a team and send them in to stop the hijacking. You’re still in the active status files you know,” Derrick said, looking up at Owen briefly. “It seems that Vic’s people are completely overrun with IT requests and purging personnel files is at the bottom of their list.”

  Owen huffed out a bitter chuckle. “Really? Well isn’t that convenient?”

  “Yes,” said Derrick. “It really is. So, are you in?”

  “Hell, yes,” Owen answered bitterly. “And when I’m done with him, the son of a bitch won’t know Al Qaeda from the women’s sewing auxiliary. When do we leave?”

  Derrick grinned a little too enthusiastically. “It depends on how fast you can get through Herb’s new brush-up training program, mate. He’s designed it just for you.”

  “Bloody fucking hell,” Owen groaned.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alexandria, Egypt — Two Weeks Later

  Eva Martin tucked the headscarf more tightly around her face, making sure not one strand of blonde hair escaped the hijab. She had become quite skilled at arranging the head garment and she looked at her reflection and sighed, thinking how much her life had changed in the last six months.

  She grabbed a small purse, checking to see that the tiny pistol she carried was inside and loaded. She glanced at the clock and was unsurprised when the phone on the hotel room nightstand rang.

  “Hello?” she said quietly into the receiver.

  She sat for a moment listening to the voice on the other end of the call. “Yes,” she replied. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  • • •

  After a ride in a beat up taxi that took her through some of Alexandria’s wealthier neighborhoods, Eva arrived on a quiet
residential street lined with walled homes and palm trees. She motioned to one particular driveway and the taxi pulled to a stop. She thanked the driver in Arabic and then walked to and rang the buzzer in the wall. She correctly answered a question that emanated from the intercom, and then a buzzing sound allowed her to open and slip through the small gate to the left of the larger main one.

  Ten minutes later Eva sat in a beautiful, sunny room with white plastered walls and large arched windows. She set her bare feet on the plush kilim carpet underneath her seat and smiled at her companion.

  “I am so happy to see you, Eva,” Pilar bubbled as she walked into the room and grabbed Eva’s hands in hers. “Would you care for tea?” she asked.

  Eva nodded in assent and then said, “I’m happy to see you too, Pilar. Are you enjoying the time here in Egypt?”

  “Oh, yes,” the younger woman answered. “As you know, my family spends a great deal of time here every year, so I am always happy to be back.”

  “And, has your mother arrived yet?” Eva asked as she took a sip of the sweet, spicy tea Pilar handed to her.

  Pilar leaned back in her chair that sat on the other side of the small side table from Eva. She looked at Eva carefully then set her own teacup down. “My mother will be coming in a few weeks. For now I am here with one of my sisters … and Hassam of course, but I think you already knew that. What exactly do you have planned for us, Eva?”

  Eva smiled but did not respond to the question.

  Pilar pouted. “You’re only making me more curious you know. I’m privy to some of what you’ve been up to, but you have not told me why you are here in Egypt, other than it is for your work with MI6.”

  Eva smiled. “Yes, I am here for work, and my employer is hoping that you might help us.”