Smokescreen - Iris Johansen Page 0,133

smoke as he closed his computer after watching Zahra’s speech. “Interesting. She’s either amazingly improved from the time when we were an item or she was inspired. What do you think?”

“I have no idea.” Novak added, “But Jill would say she told the story with incredible conviction and that she came across as a combination of Angelina Jolie and Mother Teresa.”

“I believe she was inspired…maybe by Varak,” Gideon said absently as he gazed at the ambulances still racing from the homes and shops on the streets surrounding the U.N. toward the hospital. He was realizing that some of the smoke he was breathing was carrying the scent of the burnt flesh of those victims caught in the flames. It was too damn familiar. “But I don’t think even Mother Teresa could inspire any mercy for the people who did this. What’s the count?”

“More than fifty. If the staff of the U.N. hadn’t been sent home, it would have almost doubled.”

“She mentioned that some of the guards who took care of the vault had also been assassinated. Swanson?”

Novak nodded. “They wanted to get anyone connected to the skull. It was a well-planned raid.”

“Varak can be brilliant.” Gideon’s lips twisted. “The smell of this smoke reminds me of the day I came back home to bury my parents. He was very thorough. Everything stank for weeks of smoke and flesh. He burned every living soul on the property.”

“You never told me that.”

“It was over,” he said. “Until it wasn’t.” He looked away from the ambulances. “Do you need me any more tonight? I think I should—” His phone rang, and he glanced down at the ID. Presidential palace. No designated name.

He quickly turned away from Novak. “Excuse me. I’ve got to take this.”

Novak’s brows rose. “Confidential?”

Gideon didn’t answer as he moved a few more steps away. He punched the access key. “Gideon.”

“I’ve got to see you right away.” Dalai’s voice was shaking. “You said you’d help me. Will you still do it?”

He stiffened. “Yes. But I’m a little busy right now. I’m sure you can hear the sirens.”

“I’ve been hearing them ever since I got back to the palace. I think I’ll hear them forever.”

“Then I imagine you heard more than the sirens. How close were you to the explosion?”

She didn’t answer. “I need to see you. I’ll be at the coach house in thirty minutes. Please come.”

“How can you get away? I’m standing here watching the U.N. headquarters burn to ashes. And I just heard Zahra give a speech to rock the ages.”

“She’s surrounded by all those reporters. She doesn’t want me around to get in her way. She told me to stay in my quarters.”

“She never did like to share the spotlight.”

“Will you come?”

“I’ll come.” He cut the connection. He turned back to Novak. “I’ll see you later. I have something to do.”

“Curious. Or someone to see?”

He smiled. “Perhaps.”

Novak’s narrowed eyes were studying his face. “It’s that young maid of Zahra Kiyani.”

Gideon’s smile never wavered. “Perhaps.”

“Be careful. It could be a trap. It’s odd that you’d hear from her after Zahra probably blew up a good bit of the city. She could be dangerous. Are you sure it’s worth it?”

“No. But it’s promising.” He lifted his hand. “I’ll call you later and let you know.”

* * *

Dalai wasn’t in the coach house when Gideon slipped inside the back entrance twenty minutes later. But the entire palace seemed to be teeming with activity, he noticed. He’d been lucky not to be seen coming here.

It could be a trap.

Yes, it could. He was taking a chance that Dalai had not gone to Zahra and told her that he had been to see her. Or more likely, she might have lost her nerve and was still cowering in her bedroom.

Then, suddenly, the door of the passage opened, and she was there, running toward him. “I was afraid you’d leave. Madam called me down to the press office to redo her hair. She said it wouldn’t photograph well if she—” She broke off and drew a deep breath. “But you didn’t leave. So it’s all right.”

“Yes, it’s all right,” he said gently. “Why did you call me? Did someone hurt you again?”

“No, not like that. Usually it’s only him. It was the blood…he shot Mr. Wyatt in the head. There was so much blood.” She was biting her lower lip. “But he will hurt me again. I know it. She’s too afraid of him. She’ll do anything to keep him from hurting her. But

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