decided against it. No telling who was a real patron of the club and who was here on some kind of criminal business.
As he stood toward the rear of the lines considering his next move, he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him. An argument reached his ears, and he had just enough time to duck for cover under the open stairwell. The conversation was taking place in the Taj Zabbar language and the two men speaking were making no attempt to keep their voices down.
They stopped on the landing right above his head to continue their disagreement. “I do not like the idea of staying in the country for the next four days, Excellency. It is not safe. Too much frivolity in this place.”
“Nonsense.” With that one word, Tarik recognized the second speaker’s deep voice. “The Russian … uh … Eltsin is a powerful man. He will protect us while we are in Brazil. Has he not already told the elder that we have no risk of losing anything in this little charade of his?”
“But what about the other bidders? I am concerned about our main mission and the other item. The one we were sent to Rio to claim.”
“Remember your place and trust me to do what needs to be done. We’ve been invited to stay for the next few days at Eltsin’s retreat in the mountains not far from here. I assume that he means for us to procure that other item during our private stay. His men will escort us into the mountains tomorrow. In the meantime, let’s enjoy ourselves, shall we?”
“Yes, Excellency. Whatever you say.”
Tarik recognized the more formidable voice as that of Malik Kasim Taj Zabbar, head of the secret police in Zabbarán. The two men lit cigars and proceeded down the stairs, disappearing into the crowds on the dance floor.
Well, that answered one thing for sure. The Taj Zabbar were here in Rio to attend Eltsin’s auction. But now Tarik had many more questions. What charade? And what was the other item they’d been talking about?
And where the devil was Jass?
A commotion erupted above his head. He heard a man growling orders in Portuguese. And he heard a woman’s voice, calm and cool, returning the sentiments in Russian.
Jass. Tarik shot up the stairs without thinking. What had she gotten herself into?
Jass tried to keep her voice down, low and sultry like Celile would. But this idiot bodyguard didn’t speak any of her languages and he wouldn’t give in and take her to see the Russian. All he wanted to do was flash his knife and make threats in a slang version of Portuguese.
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