Risking the World Page 3

  But how? She'd yet to set foot outside the bunker. Her only excursions were the evenings Red instructed her to dress for dinner with Mr. Brown. And whether she dined solo with Brown, or Dr. Black and other scientists joined, no one seemed overly concerned she might learn secrets. That could only signify her days were numbered unless she provided them with something valuable soon. To take her mind off that cheery thought, and the way Red pawed her en route to Mr. Brown's, she made a game of guessing who'd be in attendance and what would be on the menu, convinced Brown had coerced a five star chef to cook for him. Tonight she actually hoped Black or his fellow Moroccan researchers would be present so she could keep a low profile and try to enjoy the food. She visualized an Italian menu, her favorite cuisine.

  She couldn't have known how far off the mark she would be.

  A tall, good-looking Westerner with dark brown unreadable eyes stood alone with Mr. Brown.

  "Dr. Ashe, meet Tiger. He looks and talks like one of yours, but he and I share many of the same clients."

  Attractive and aware of it, Tiger lifted and held her hand like an English gentleman from Masterpiece Theatre. "Pleasure."

  Ha, she was right – British! She pulled her hand back. He could only be in Tivaz if he'd turned coat and Brown had said as much. "Mr. Tiger, charmed to finally meet a man named for an animal, instead of a pigment."

  Tiger, who was near in age to Brown, gave a sly smile. "Ah, but you've yet to see the color of my stripes."

  He might be beautiful, but he was still a traitor. "I've seen enough to know your kind."

  His deep-set eyes sparked in challenge.

  "Tell me, what made a refined English gentleman like you get into a racket like this?"

  He pushed up the rolled sleeves of his fitted khaki shirt above his elbows, flaunting muscled forearms. "Shall we say I had something to prove? How does that strike you?"

  "Selling death to the highest bidder for a thrill? Beyond contempt."

  "Right," he responded in a very British way while he ran his well-manicured fingers through his long brown hair. "What about you? I understand you're cooperating with Dr. Black."

  Shame gripped her. "That's different." Did Tiger know she'd been kidnapped?

  "Nonetheless, we may have more in common than you imagine."

  Brown chuckled and passed a drink to Tiger. "Our friend drinks martinis. Will you join him? Or me, for a glass of champagne?"

  "I don't care to drink tonight."

  "I insist. Martini or champagne?"

  She chose the devil she knew. "Champagne."

  "Are you sure?" Tiger asked. "Making the correct choice is never easy."

  What's he driving at? "Champagne," she repeated.

  When Brown passed her a flute, Tiger raised his martini in salute to her alone. Irritated, she snubbed him. There was nothing to celebrate. Eventually, as though conceding their contest of wills, he switched his attention back to Brown. "I cannot believe you've renounced selling arms with genuine firepower to baby-sit scientists."

  "My sponsors pay well."

  "Well enough to endure life here, in the back of beyond?"

  Brown's eyes surveyed his comfortable surroundings and settled on the ornate sword displayed on the wall. "I've brought a few of my favorite objects. Life is too short to live without the small luxuries."

  Tiger tilted his martini glass toward Brown. "Quite true. One never knows when it shall all come to an end."

  "Exactly. You and I have played this sport long enough to know the only real mistake is ending up dead." He wagged a finger at Tiger. "Your time almost came in Kurdistan. Rumor said you decided to get out of the game after that."

  "Rumor was clearly wrong."

  Brown relaxed into his leather chair. "Which hurt more, Tiger, losing the arms sale to me or getting caught in the crossfire?"

  "Losing to you," Tiger shot back.

  "More than bullets?"

  "Winning trumps all, and this time we can both win." Tiger fished the olive from the bottom of his martini and popped it into his mouth. "You do not need this American scientist, however attractive, to do your dirty work. I can save you a bit of trouble. Shall we see what she thinks about the prize I offer?"

  "I don't need your help. I already possess the world's most lethal tuberculosis strain."

  Tiger raised an eyebrow at Brown before he drained the last of his martini. "That is not what I hear on the street. I understand your man is behind schedule."

  "Don't believe everything you hear," Brown refuted.

  Tiger turned to her. "You've been helping in Black's lab. Will his TB work as a bioweapon?"

  Trapped between two men interested solely in the bounty Black's TB might bring, and sick of dissembling, she told the truth. "He's close to weaponizing his TB strain, but there are problems with its stability. Problems that raise doubts about whether his strain can survive outside the body, and if so, for how long."

  Brown glared. She wasn't sure if it was because she had the impudence to speak, or because she'd given voice to his fears. She was so angry she didn't care. But the men soon showed they were far more absorbed in their own joust than in anything having to do with her.

  "A self-destructing biological weapon leaves much to be desired," Tiger said.

  Brown shook his head violently. "It doesn't need to survive very long. Only long enough to meet the needs of my sponsors."

  "And who might they be?"

  Brown scowled. "You know better than to ask."

  "Well, whoever they are, why would they target a backwater like Morocco?" This Tiger tossed off like a jest.

  "I suggest you keep your opinion of Morocco private around Black. He's intensely proud of his heritage."

  Not as proud as he is of his scientific prowess she thought as a barefoot servant carried in food. The Limoges china had been passed over in favor of heavy local crockery piled high with couscous, tomatoes, carrots, onions, peppers, and lamb. So much for my Italian menu.

  "Middle Eastern fare is your favorite, Tiger. I thought we might enjoy a native meal in honor of your visit."

  Tiger smiled and accepted a full plate from Brown. "A nationalist like Dr. Black would no doubt enjoy this marvelous couscous. Did you exclude him from dinner because he's run into difficulties? If so, I can provide you something far more lethal than his ginned-up TB bacillus."

  Brown sneered. "I've got this deal well in hand. I'm sorry to frustrate you."

  "It's your sponsors you'll disappoint should you fail. I can guarantee success, and if you induce them to pay my price there will be more than enough for you and me as well."

  Brown grinned this time. "Are you suggesting collaboration?"

  "Right. My product's a win-win for us both in the event Dr. Black isn't as reliable as you might hope."

  "Tell her what your product is, and we'll see."

  Tiger eyed her intently. "Zamot."

  She tried not to flinch, yet felt the blood drain from her face.

  "I detect interest from the good doctor," Tiger said.

  "Mr. Tiger." She took a furtive breath so her voice sounded normal, and hoped by pretending ignorance she might learn more. "Tell me about Zamoz?"

  He frowned. "Zamot, not Zamoz. Do not play games. It is unbecoming. You know Zamot full well."

  "Why should I?"

  "Because you are a highly trained microbiologist, or was that an immunobiologist?"

  He knows the distinction? "Are you sure it's Zamot you're selling? Can you give me details? Are you a scientist?"

  He laughed. "A scientist, no, I've never been labeled that. But I am acquainted with what I can get my hands on, and it's called Zamot."

  "How is it you've come by Zamot?" Brown asked.

  "Tell me who your sponsors are."

  "You don't need to know my sponsors."

  "And you do not need to know my suppliers."

  Brown thoroughly chewed a piece of lamb. "Can you, in fact, provide Zamot?"

  "Absolutely." Tiger scr
aped every morsel from his plate onto his fork, ate it, and angled his utensils across his empty plate in a show of perfect manners. "For the appropriate price, of course."

  "Why should I pay top dollar when I already have Black's TB?"

  "Because you are bluffing. If Black knew how to weaponize his TB, why take Dr. Ashe?" Tiger speared another chunk of lamb from the communal platter, snapped the meat off his fork, and took time to savor the meat before he swallowed. "My guess is the man has an inflated opinion of himself, and may not even know what to do with Zamot."

  Brown pushed a few errant grains of couscous into a small pile on the edge of his plate.

  "Perhaps Dr. Ashe can help us out." Tiger pointed his fork at her and she shifted in her chair, unhappy to have the focus back on her. "Have her accompany me to Dr. Black's lab tomorrow. She can verify if he has the equipment and knowledge to handle Zamot without killing everyone in this building."

  He's not a scientist and he's afraid of Zamot. Good, he should be, but that doesn't mean I'll help him. "I'll do nothing of the sort."

  "Why ever not? Already you're helping Brown and Black."

  Tiger grinned an invitation to join him in a wondrous adventure filled with daring, wealth, and more. That might be his future, but if they were talking about Zamot in front of her, she had no future other than incineration or an unmarked grave.

  "Come now, as we say in England, in for a penny, in for a pound."

  "No!"

  Brown's amethyst ring flashed in a ray of fading sunlight before pain bit into her cheek and eye. She shrank toward Tiger, but when the second blow landed all he did was put down his fork. She felt the chill of spilled champagne seeping into her dress and tried to hide her shaking hands. How did she let the situation spiral so out of control?

  "Make time for Tiger tomorrow, won't you?"

  Brown's phony courtesy didn't need a reply, so she gave none.

  "Red will take you back to your room. He enjoys your company," Brown said with frank malice.

  She stiffened and stood with her head held high, looking straight ahead.

  Nearby Tiger yawned and stretched. "I find myself rather tired. I'll accompany them so I know where to meet her tomorrow morning."

  Red snarled at this intrusion, and she didn't want Tiger's company either, but at least she didn't have to be alone with Red trying to paw her. She couldn't take much more tonight. When they left the room Tiger took her elbow and drew her away from Red and into his side. She recoiled at his touch, finding it impossible to forget he hadn't lifted a finger to stop Brown. But she was caught and Tiger's hold was uncompromising, with barely leashed power surging through his grip. When they arrived at her cell Red shoved her inside and shot the bolt. Outside she heard Tiger's upper-crust voice remind her guard he'd return first thing in the morning.

  Tiger. Was he such a highly attuned hunting animal that he smelled her fear of Red and put himself between them? If so, the name suited.

  She bathed her eye and cheek in cold water and had to urge her thoughts away from Tiger to Zamot, a deadly biologic weapon engineered by the Russians toward the end of the Cold War that combined highly infectious small pox with a deadly hemorrhagic virus. Victims initially exhibited small pox symptoms, which the doctors would rush to treat, while the far more toxic virus worked silently until it erupted with lethal speed. Zamot belonged under lock and key. To imagine it in anyone's hands, especially the long elegant fingers of an immoral arms dealer, terrified her.

  Still, Tiger could move in and out of Tivaz at will, and maybe she could take advantage of his eagerness to provide Brown with Zamot. Tiger was no scientist, even if he knew the difference between an immunobiologist and a microbiologist, although that probably had no significance beyond a blind guess. He definitely needed someone with her skills. But could she trick him into believing he was using her, while she used him to spring herself from this cage?

  A budding black eye throbbed above her cheekbone. She'd have to improvise to trade with the dark angel who stood by while Brown struck her.

  Could she do it?

  She had no choice.

  Chapter 4

  Tiger appraised the room he'd been allotted for the night, one similar to what Claire Ashe entered moments earlier. It's solid door could be bolted from the outside, although, Varat was more apt to kill him than lock him in. He leaned his backpack against the inside of the door as warning against attempted entry, and inspected his gear. Varat had allowed him to keep his weapons. Cocky bastard. Or, lording it over him after Kurdistan.

  He stretched on the cot with his pistol resting on his stomach, and settled in for hours of watchful waiting. Offering Zamot had been a clever gambit. Varat was interested, especially after Claire turned white at its mention. Dr. Black had definitely encountered a snag and Varat had more on the line than an attack in Morocco. But he was no closer to knowing who bankrolled Varat's operation or their ultimate aims than when he walked through the gates of Tivaz. All he had was Varat's curiosity in Zamot, which bought him one further day to learn who was behind this.

  As for Dr. Ashe, the lady deserved credit to survive this long. A woman with a weaker will would surely have crumbled by now. Unfortunately, she was reckless as well as brave. Shouting her refusal to help him hadn't been judicious, and her outburst changed the terms of engagement just as he was making progress on Varat's plans and his sponsors. Perhaps a black eye would tutor her in the wisdom of biding your time, even when every fiber within craved action. His fist twitched once more as he recalled Varat striking her. It required every ounce of discipline not to plunge his fork into his enemy's carotid and end the game for good.

  Impulsive Dr. Ashe. He should have suspected her 'take no prisoners' persona masked smoldering passion. She breathed hostility when he didn't stop Varat's violence against her, but he enjoyed imagining how she might behave under other, more auspicious circumstances. Such as untying her lush wavy auburn hair to let it frame her face, a face graced with a smattering of freckles across her small straight nose and high cheekbones. Yes, underneath her rather severe guise, she was a courageous beauty.

  He growled, and sought to empty his mind of her and refocus on his mission. Yet she occupied his thoughts through the long night's vigil and accompanied him to her room at first light, where he found Red posted. The guard unlocked the door, and she emerged in loose lab clothes and sneakers. Her hair was pulled back even more closely than the evening before, captured in a tight rubber band rather than a silk scarf. Her right eye was puffy but fairly open; her cheek flamed from the attack he'd made no move to stop.

  He attempted to dismiss Red, but the guard doggedly followed at their heels. With no chance to hint she wasn't completely on her own at Tivaz, he asked her how familiar she was with Zamot.

  "What makes you think I know anything about Zamot?"

  "Do not be flippant," he warned in hopes of curbing her recklessness. "I observed you shudder last night when I spoke its name."

  She slowed and looked at him. Her dark green eyes burned black with intensity. "I can't believe you're offering it to these people. Zamot belongs under lock and key."

  He agreed, but telling her directly was too dangerous. "Precisely why I require an individual such as you, who understands the science, as a means to persuade Varat it's worth every penny I'm asking."

  "Why should I help you?"

  He offered an oblique clue. "Because we've something in common. We're in no man's land, where allies are hard to come by."

  A door swung open, a white-coated scientist brushed past them, and she led him inside the lab. The extent of the space itself was unremarkable, but the set-up beggared description. Stainless steel counters gleamed beneath an array of the world's finest equipment – centrifuges from Germany, French incubators, Korean gauges, and masses of Chinese equipment. Someone was willing to invest serious money in the success of this operation.

  A short, oily-skinned man approached. "I am Dr. Black."

  "Impressiv
e laboratory for such a remote location. I wish I'd known you were in the market for this equipment. I could have assisted."

  "We considered your services." Dr. Black's eyes shone like a man wheeling and dealing in a souk. "But concluded your prices would be too high."

  "Pity."

  "Not really. We were able to purchase on the open market without mark-up."

  "Yet your sponsors must have pots of money. I'm sure they would have paid extra for the secrecy of a private sale."

  "Talk to Brown about that."

  Black was either in the dark, or unwilling to elaborate on who was bankrolling this operation. He forged ahead. "Keep me in mind, nonetheless. I offer many things, and some of my wares are . . . well . . . more difficult to come by." He paused but Black did not react, a patent indication Varat hadn't mentioned Zamot to his lead scientist. Which meant Varat was seriously considering buying it as a back up. "And how is your work progressing?"

  "We have accomplished a miracle with our tuberculosis bacillus."

  "A miracle? How is that possible?"

  Black opened his arms to encompass his high tech domain. "With gene technology, and cutting-edge science and equipment, we have altered TB so it reproduces at an astonishing rate."

  "Truly? But will it succeed as a weapon?"

  "Our strain is resistant to all known treatments. Nothing can slow its progress. Nothing."

  "You are certain it is suitable as a weapon? Last night Dr. Ashe told Mr. Brown of the difficulty in spreading infection with your TB. It dies once exposed to the air, as I understand it."

  Black's lips tightened. "Tuberculosis is known for its ability to survive long periods outside a host."