followed. Zidane stopped at the door and produced a hood, saying nothing. Rohki put it on. More theatrics, he thought. He heard the door open, and felt a push. He held rigid, testing the ground before him. He wouldn’t be so shocked if he were being pushed out a window several stories up now that they had the stones. A ride in an elevator, they handed him into a car, the sound of engines telling him there were more participants. No one spoke and he was tired of this secrecy. The promise of a weapon beyond all weapons had a potential he wanted, yet each additional buyer bidding on it risked failure.
Eight days was a long time to wait for power over his enemies.
Zidane perspired in his dark suit, the concrete sweating against the cooler stone of the underground parking garage. He stood back as the hooded man was pushed into the car. The car pulled away.
“He has departed,” he said into the mike poised at his cheek.
“Bring in the next.”
Zidane signaled for the car, a smooth dance to keep the Pharaoh’s identity secret. It had been ongoing for three days. The buyers were contacted via e-mail, then picked up at a remote location, hooded, then driven in the maze of Bangkok streets before coming here.
Only Zidane and two of his men knew each of the buyers by face. They were expendable, Zidane was not. The Pharaoh trusted few, and he did not take it lightly. The men, and sometimes women, who dealt with him were warned. Breaking his strict guidelines would have dire consequences.
Zidane exacted them. Clean up. He kept secrets, buried them deep.
Like Noor. His mind instantly filled with the dark, exotic beauty. Appearances were deceiving, he thought bitterly. While she was sleek and feminine, there was nothing womanly about her; no nurturing spirit, no need for anyone, except the Pharaoh. The man used her to his utmost advantage, knowing that she was nearly obsessed with pleasing him. A father figure, perhaps—Zidane did not know or care.
Zidane shook himself, his unspoken attraction for her disturbing. She was a strange creature and considered sex a weapon of manipulation, torture, to be used to her advantage. Or misused. She had no concept that men would be grateful to find pleasure with her. To Noor, it was punishment, degrading to them. In that, she lost and didn’t know it. A weakness she hated and punished herself.
Two men helped the buyer out of the car. The man adjusted the sleeves of his jacket and tried for dignity. Blinded by the hood, it was impossible. Zidane grasped his arm, ushering him into the lift. He knew who stood beside him, the tattoos across his knuckles a calling card. Law enforcement of the free world would like to see this man tortured for his crimes. Yet Zidane would keep this, another secret, and escorted the man into the suite, a controlled environment where the Pharaoh had every advantage.
Above stairs, he pushed the candidate into a chair. As instructed, the man felt for, then removed the large pouch from inside his coat, and set it on the table. Zidane opened it, spilling the contents into a velvet-covered platter. The uncut stones looked like misshapen ice cubes. Worth more than a million. The fee to enter the bidding. He picked up one, and with a jeweler’s loupe, inspected it, then he lifted his gaze to the cameras and nodded once.
Zidane took a position behind the buyer, removed the hood, then retreated into the shadows. He mulled over the thousands of secrets entrusted to him, the names and faces, the value of the stones. Should he betray the trust, he would die.
He almost wished Noor would do it.
Outside the museum, Dr. Wan Gai fingered the small gold cuff in his pocket, his gaze on the black car moving down Na Phrathat Road—and the woman inside it.
His personal assistant moved to his right, close but not crowding.
“See that she vanishes.”
Behind him, the man stiffened, the only sign he’d heard correctly.
“She will sleep for several hours.” He had seen to it, and the waking would not be pleasant. “Delegate, Choan. Let someone else take care of her.” Wan Gai spun and walked back into the museum, his heels clicking.
With the bracelet in his possession, his king would never know his crown was threatened.
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