The Property of a Lady (15 page)

“Kazahn Pasha,” Anna screamed, cradling his beloved head in her arms. But Tariq’s blue eyes were fierce no longer and she knew he was dead.

The funeral so soon after the joyful birthday party was a somber but grand affair, just as Tariq had always planned it should be. His solid bronze coffin, emblazoned with
Russian and Turkish emblems, was drawn through Istanbul’s narrow streets by eight matched black horses wearing tall ebony plumes; the old city’s tangled traffic ground to a halt as the long funeral procession trailed slowly through the streets, getting stuck at every corner, and the service was accompanied by much wailing and crying, for the fierce old man had been well loved.

Afterward the procession wound its way slowly to the Asiyan Cemetery atop a hill overlooking the Bosphorus, where many years before Tariq had erected a beautiful marble tomb for himself and Han-Su, and where he had often gone to sit with her and watch his ships far below.

As he had promised, Anna shared in his estate, and to Missie’s surprise, the family offered no objection. “Our father told us he was repaying a great debt,” Michael, now the true head of the family and inheritor of the famous sword as well as the business, told her, “and naturally we shall honor that obligation. Besides, we all love Anna. She is one of our family.”

So, after sixty years, Tariq had repaid his debt to the Ivanoffs and seventeen-year-old Anna was one million dollars richer, though of course a great deal of that was in shares in the Kazahn Shipping Line.

But that was long ago, and now, sitting alone in her Paris apartment, Leyla Kazahn wished with all her heart that she had never agreed to help her “sister,” much as she loved her.

Düsseldorf

The flight to Düsseldorf was half empty and Genie sank back into her first-class seat thankfully. It had been a long night; she had had no sleep and the airport had been impossibly crowded. At least now she could be alone with her thoughts, and she was thinking about Valentin Solovsky. Not the Russian diplomat with a weight on his mind, but Valentin
the man
.

They had talked until five in the morning, sitting by the flickering fire as the storm howled around them, and at the end of it all she still couldn’t recall his revealing a single vital personal detail. Yet there had been that flare of attraction between them. It wasn’t just that he was so handsome. She had known quite a few attractive men in her time and most of them fitted into the genuine egomaniac category, to whom a woman was merely a decorative accessory. No, Valentin was … different. And she had to admit, there was also an exciting flutter of danger. His eyes had admired her, he had paid her subtle compliments, but he certainly had not made a pass at her. And she had had the feeling that he had known what she was thinking before she even knew it herself.

Perhaps it was some new Russian technique to relax the enemy, she thought, closing her eyes and putting on her dark glasses as the plane took off at last. If so, it had certainly worked: With Cal’s plan foremost in her mind, she had told him about her job as a reporter and asked if
she could do a “profile” with him in a new series she was thinking of doing for the network.

“Maybe,” he had said with a laugh, “though I hardly think I’m important enough to qualify.”

“Are you kidding?” she’d retorted. “Why, American women would just eat you up.”

“Is that so?” he’d asked with a lazy smile. His deep voice had sent curls of anticipation through her stomach. Quickly remembering her mission, she told him the story of how much she had hated being sent to Geneva. “I thought the sale was trivial and unworthy of my talents as a reporter,” she said, “but now I see I was wrong. I know the truth is going to come out sooner or later, and I want to be the reporter who breaks it to the world. I am an ambitious woman and this scoop would make my career. And besides,” she added, glancing at him under her lashes, “I already know part of that truth—something no one else knows yet.”

She sipped her brandy, waiting apprehensively to see if he would take the bait.

“It is common knowledge that both Russia and America wanted the emerald,” Solovsky said, fixing her with those dark gray eyes that looked as if they knew too many secrets. “But I confess that in this matter I need a little help.”

“What about the KGB?” she asked innocently.

He smiled. “There are times the KGB is of no use, times where we need a more subtle approach. Of course,” he added, clasping his hands together and frowning, “if the KGB was involved there would be rules that must be obeyed. But in this case”—he leaned forward, staring deep into her eyes—“if I were to ask someone to help me, she would be responsible only to me. I alone would know her identity. No other person would ever know of her existence as … a helper.”

“You mean a
spy,”
she whispered, a thrill of fear making her voice tremble. It had felt so different when she
had said those same words to Cal. He was a friend; now she was negotiating with “the enemy.”

Valentin sat back with a shrug. After summoning the waiter to bring coffee and more brandy he said in a matter-of-fact tone, “I believe that would be a very melodramatic description.”

Genie licked her lips. This was the power of the Soviet Unión she was messing with, and she had heard enough stories of people who just “disappeared” to make her think twice.
But she had to find out It meant everything, not only to Cal and her country but to her
.

“Well, if you really need someone,” she said, running a nervous hand through her blond hair, “maybe I could find out what you want.”

“And what exactly is it I want?” he asked, leaning back against the pink-striped sofa cushions and smiling. “Can you read my mind, Miss Reese?”

“You need to know who bought the emerald.”

He waited until the waiter had served their coffee. “And don’t you want to know
why
we want to find out?”

“I already do; you want to find the ‘Lady’ so Russia can get the money.”

His gray eyes were suddenly remote as he said, “And if that was true, are you not worried about what will happen to her when we do?”

Genie knew it was the billion-dollar question, but sitting here alone by the fire with Valentin Solovsky, Russia suddenly seemed as far away as another planet. It was down to basics, a woman and a man, and somehow she knew she could trust him. “I know
you
would not let her come to any harm,” she said softly.

Valentin nodded. “You are a good judge of character, Miss Reese.” He smiled as he took her hand. “I take it we can shake hands on the deal?” She nodded and he said, “Then the first question I am going to ask you is, Are you working with Cal Warrender?”

She felt the telltale blush rising in her cheeks as she
said, too quickly, “Cal? Of course not. We are old friends … the same Washington social circuit, you know.”

He nodded. “And now will you tell me who bought the emerald?”

She glanced at him warily. “Have we not already agreed to trust each other?” he asked. “I am a man of my word, Genie. You will have the exclusive story.”

He took her hand again, gripping it tightly, and she thought they were not the smooth, too-soft hands of a desk-bound man; they felt hard and slightly rough. After taking a deep breath, she said, “This is probably not exactly the answer you expected. The emerald was bought by a dealer in Düsseldorf. His name is Markheim.”

“Markheim?” Solovsky frowned, puzzled, then his brow cleared suddenly. “Of course,
now
I understand.” His smile was so dazzling that she smiled back. “You see, Genie, you have already been of help. And now I’ll tell you how you can help me.”

Lying back in her seat as the aircraft circled Düsseldorfs airport, Genie thought of what she was going to do. It all seemed easy enough. Of course Valentin hadn’t mentioned the other “secret” everybody was after, the thing Russia really wanted, but she knew about the money. Then when Valentin had told her whom she was to contact, all of a sudden things made sense. She grinned as she thought of what Cal would say if he knew what she was up to, but she had skipped out at the crack of dawn, deliberately missing their nine o’clock rendezvous. The romantic storm-tossed night was gone and in the cold light of day she had realized that the story was turning out to be bigger than she had thought. She was going to play this game her own way, and if she was clever enough she would find out the truth. And then she would be
sure
to have the exclusive.

The lobby of the hotel was bustling with pinstriped businessmen waving platinum credit cards. Genie’s heart
sank as she realized there must be a trade fair, but she had chosen the hotel precisely because it was large and she could get lost in the crowd. She sighed frustratedly as she waited in line to register.

“Of course, Miss Reese,” the desk clerk said smoothly. “There is a message waiting for you.”

“Oh, but no one knew—” she exclaimed, surprised, taking the envelope from him. “Hi, Genie,” she read. “Sorry I missed you this morning. I’m just down the hall in 516. Why don’t you join me for tea? Cal.”

“Dammit.” She groaned. Was he clairvoyant, or what? How the hell had he known she would be here? It wasn’t going to be as easy to lose him as she had thought. In her room, she tossed the note onto the table and placed a call to her office in Washington, asking them to trace a private number for her. Then she hung her clothes in the closet, took a shower, and felt about 100 percent better. The call back from Washington came just as she was drying her hair, and she wrote the number down and dialed it immediately.

After her conversation, she fixed her face and walked down the hall to room 516. As she tapped on the door a waiter emerged from the elevator wheeling a cart set with silver teapots, two cups, saucers and plates, a platter of tiny crustless sandwiches, and a small mountain of traditional German cream cakes. She stared at him, astonished, as he stopped outside Cal’s room and the door was flung open.

“Great timing, Genie.” Cal beamed at her. “You must have learned it from doing so much television.”

“I want to know where you keep your crystal ball,” she retorted, stalking into the room. “How the hell did you know I was here? And how did you get here before me? And how the hell did you know
exactly
when to order tea?”

He shrugged. “I’m the seventh son of a seventh son,” he intoned menacingly, “and you know they always have secret
powers.” He laughed as she glared at him. “Okay then, I’ll come clean—if you’ll pour the tea. I’m sure you need it after your hectic day.”

“How do you know how hectic my day was?” she demanded, blushing.

“I know
how
hectic,” he replied, munching on a smoked salmon sandwich, “but not
why
. When you didn’t show up at nine, I called your room. They told me you had already checked out. Now that wasn’t quite the way we left things last night. Remember? When I last saw you, you were about to join our friend Solovsky for a little chat. I was concerned; I felt it was my business to find out where you had gone.” He shrugged and took another sandwich. “It wasn’t difficult. The concierge had booked your flight and your hotel. If you want to be a spy, Genie, you’re going to have to polish up your act.”

“Oh, dammit, dammit!” she exclaimed, slamming down the teapot, exasperated.

“Tut, tut … such violent language,” he mocked.

“That still doesn’t explain how you got here first, or the tea,” she said with a sigh.

He smiled winningly at her. “Did anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are when you are angry? Blue eyes flashing, cheeks pink and rosy … okay, okay …” he added hastily. “I flew here by air force jet. I asked the hall porter to tell me when you arrived, allowed an hour for you to shower and freshen up—
et voild!”

“You’re in the wrong business,” she said icily. “You must come from a long line of private detectives.”

“Nothing so grand,” he said, grinning. “But now, let’s get down to business.”

She glanced at him over the rim of her teacup. His eyes had lost their laughter and no longer reminded her of a beautiful red setter. They were implacable as he asked for an explanation.

“I don’t have to tell you everything,” she replied defensively.

“Everything connected with last night you do,” he said with a steely edge to his voice. “Remember? We made a deal. I want to know what happened with Solovsky and why you ran off to Germany without telling me. Anything could have happened to you. Besides, I thought we were in this together!”

“We are.” She avoided his eyes, pretending to eat an enormous cream cake.

“You shouldn’t eat that,” he said reprovingly. “Think of the cholesterol—and the calories.”

“Oh, all
right!”
She flung it back on the plate. “Solovsky wanted me to help him.”

“And?”

“I said I would, if he would help me.”

Cal stared at her but she was avoiding his eyes. “This is serious, Genie,” he said quietly. “I’m a friend, I’m on your side, but you can’t go around making promises to guys like Solovsky and not keeping them.”

She shrugged. “What’s so serious? He’s just a man, like you.”