The Trusted Page 2

  Sam looked up as Maide’s eyes hooded, and his voice dropped in timbre.

  “You know the summit’s almost upon us.”

  Sam nodded. “Yeah, I know. But we’ve got more problems.”

  Sam reached into his pocket and took out a package. It was small, silver, and shaped like a solid molded pen case. Sam flipped it open to show a single phial of orange liquid.

  “I got this from Rikard. Dr. Wang, who couriered this package, had rerouted flights, bumping from Beijing, Mumbai, Lagos, Madrid, and eventually Oslo. We’d have missed it if the tech guys hadn’t been scanning on tail call signs. This has got to be something big. See if you can get that analyzed before the meeting.”

  “Tonight?” exclaimed Maide.

  “No, of course not tonight. Can you square it with the PM, and we’ll meet tomorrow? By then, you’ll most probably have analysis on whatever the hell it is.” Sam waved around the silver case.

  Maide scanned Sam’s face. Sam knew he was under inspection.

  Ellie’s beautiful blue-grey eyes surfaced in his mind again, and he could hear the pain in her voice. ‘You’re always somewhere else’. It was true. He was always somewhere else. She never really seemed that bothered before, but when he’d spoken to her earlier, he could feel something. Maybe she was just tired after all the work she’d put in on her new product. But he sensed something was different.

  He didn’t want anything to break the love they had. He couldn’t risk them going down a path that led to resentment and animosity.

  “You’re off duty tonight, and not just because of the analysis, aren’t you?”

  Sam looked down and tried to stop the tidal wave of emotions he could feel building, swallowing up any enthusiasm he may have had for a meeting. The compartmentalization that he always used had failed to engage. Maide had read him. He looked in front of him, trying to avoid Maide’s eyes.

  “It’s just with K-” Sam held back, almost at the brink of mentioning Kinley. Maide’s eyes narrowed. Concern rippled through him.

  “Sam!”

  Sam shook his head like he was getting his thoughts in order.

  “I need to be with Ellie tonight. God knows I never see her.”

  Sam suddenly dropped his head into his hands. He was aware of Maide glaring at him.

  “It’s been ten years. And she still doesn’t know.”

  “Ellie…?”

  “Yes, she doesn’t know anything…”

  Maide leaned in toward Sam. “Do you want her to know?” he said slowly, pointedly.

  “God. No!”

  Maide smiled, reassured. “So what do you want?”

  “I want…”

  Sam’s voice trailed off and he stared past Maide at the curtain on the side. The folds in the curtain took on the layers of his life. Underneath each neat turn lay another crease of lies and deceit. Sam thought of everything he’d seen. Everything he’d done.

  What did he want?

  He wanted his life back. He wanted to live it again, the way he should have done. That’s what he wanted.

  The driver turned into Silent Waters and Sam made to exit quickly from the car. Then he turned around.

  “Look, I’ve got what I want. You can be sure of that. Sorry about changing tonight but I have to sort this. I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Sam, embarrassed and acutely aware that he’d revealed a side of himself that his employers never should see.

  Chapter 6

  Treeborne stared at his desk. The papers for tomorrow’s state business lay in front of him. But he had other thoughts on this mind. He pushed his leather captain’s chair back. The feet made deep grooves in the carpet. Then he stood, circled the desk and walked with haste to the door. He locked it and pressed a button to close the drapes around the room. Once all external links to the outside world had been suspended, Treeborne walked with reverence to his hidden safe.

  He took out a memory stick from his pocket and stuck it into the underside of a console table beneath his own portrait. The front dropped down, revealing a keypad. He punched in his code and waited. Above him, the painting seemed to sink several inches into the wall, making room for a small shelf that rose up inside. On the shelf lay his treasure. Smiling, he took out the contents.

  It was small in his large hand. It was cold, hard and seemed to resonate, although he’d never been able to establish how this happened. As his hands clasped around the object, his mind took him back. Back to when it first began.

  Treeborne had been eight years old when his parents had relocated to the Middle East. Both were chemical scientists working for a petroleum corporation engaged in oil exploration in Uruk, Iraq. Their contract had been two years and it had been his parents’ intention to return to the US once their spell in the Middle East had ended.

  Treeborne had turned ten just a few days before they arrived. His birthday had been uneventful, but his parents promised to take him on an exploration dig for his birthday treat.

  That day was the day of the dig. His parents bought some new books on geology for him. They’d told him the books were ‘cool’ and ‘exciting’, but all he could see were diagrams of rock strata. They really didn’t do much for him. But he persisted with reading the books, as he knew his parents meant well.

  After taking him to one of the exploration sites and showing him around, they had to get back to their work and undertake their geological tests. Treeborne was left with a local guide to keep an eye on him. By midday, the heat had sucked the energy out of everyone and his guide, being no different, had fallen asleep by 1 p.m.

  Bored with his ‘cool’ geology books, Treeborne had wandered off, deciding to explore on his own. He’d travelled only a short distance when he found a stocky pyramid. Its upper levels were in ruins but the lower half was intact. He recognized the structure as a Sumerian ziggurat from ancient history books. Stumbling around it, he found a fissure between two massive blocks. His frame was small for a boy of his age, and without a thought, he slid through the crack.

  The fissure led into a tunnel. Although small in diameter, he fitted it smoothly and crawled along, tentative and wary. The sand under his hands and knees shifted for the first time in 6,000 years. Finally, he reached a chamber, which was far higher than the tunnel.

  Treeborne had scrambled to his feet. A flush of cold hit him. But he dismissed it and walked inside the chamber. The farther he walked, the greater the flush of cold. A sinister aura reached out to grab him. But he was unafraid.

  He held up his oil lamp to see the chamber, but the light went out. At first, he thought it was a draft causing the light to extinguish. But as he moved deeper into the darkness, he could see the flame didn’t want to stay lit; it was going out deliberately.

  His last attempt to shed light through the chamber lasted for a few short moments. In that instant, he noticed that an area on the far side of the wall appeared much darker than the rest. Drawn inexplicably, he headed toward the strange dark patch. Some may say it was merely boyhood curiosity that drew him forward. But that was not the case. Treeborne felt a physical attraction to the place.

  With his candle refusing to ignite, he had no means of light, but he knew that light was something he no longer needed. He could now see his way clearly. Darkness encircled him and he felt one with it. Unity in ebony.

  Reaching the wall, the urge to touch the dark center was so great that his hand lifted as if magnetized. On his touch, the wall melted away like it had never been there in the first place. Its absence revealed a secret compartment.

  He wasn’t scared. Treeborne felt a strange comfort in the darkness. He edged his hand forward into the secret compartment and rested it on something. Something small, rectangular and ice-cold. Dislodging it from its ancient resting place, he eased out the object and held it. At the same moment, the dark swirled. The air twinkled and oscillated, and then solidified.

  Over him towered a giant. A strange twinkling aura outlined the huge man’s form. Overwhelmed by omnipotence, Treeborne dropp
ed to his knees and shut his eyes. He remained immobile until the dark god spoke.

  “Rise, child, and look upon me.”

  The giant’s voice reverberated around the chamber. As Treeborne listened, the dark god’s tone stirred strange feelings. He sensed displacement, and he knew the chamber’s sandstone walls didn’t surround him anymore.

  Treeborne rose and looked upon the man as he was told.

  “I see in you a great destiny,” said the dark god, known as Aswa-da. “You will be a man of strength, wielding a power unsurpassed.”

  Then Aswa-da reached out and touched him.

  From that point, Treeborne’s life would never be the same.

  Back in the present, alone, Treeborne looked at the small, rectangular and ice-cold object in his hand. He regarded it as if for the first time. It was just an innocent-looking stone tablet with ancient writing, similar to but smaller than the Rosetta stone. Although it was a piece that would not look out of place in a museum, this tablet was not a relic. It was the center of his success. It was the embodiment of all his successes, past, present and future.

  Only he knew of its existence.

  Treeborne heard footsteps approaching. He returned the tablet back to his safe, replaced the painting, drew back the curtains and unlocked the door. Seated at his desk, he positioned himself in a posture of command as decreed by the office he carried. Treeborne waited. A knock on the door caused him to speak.

  “Come in.”

  His visitor entered. “Mr. President, do you have a minute?”

  Chapter 7

  Patsy wasn’t a very good cook. She hadn’t been brought up that way. Being an army brat, with both parents in the forces, she’d lived by take-out all through her formative years. Yanked from one place to another, friends had been transitional, and life always had a sort of continuous motion about it. She couldn’t really settle down anywhere. Home schooling had been the best option for her, and her tutors had been great. She’d eventually landed herself a place at college in Phoenix and graduated in Business Management. Life then took on a steadier pace. She secured a job as an administrator in the Department of Defense, and that’s where she met her husband. He’d been ten years her senior. But love, as they say, is love.

  Age made no difference.

  Within a year of getting married, Zoe had popped up, and seven years later, Peter was born. She gave up work and became a mother. It was a new job she adored, and although take-out was still the principal diet of the family, she was a devoted and loving mother in every other way. Her children were her life and through them she’d experienced a life of stability, something she’d never had as a child herself.

  She was to be forty that year, but she didn’t look like she’d hit thirty yet. Broad, swaying hips and a well-endowed bosom gave her the typical hourglass figure of the crime noir dames. Her husband had always said he was her gumshoe that would save his damsel in distress.

  Goodness knows she could certainly sashay him to distress!

  Patsy smiled, thinking about her husband, and pulled open the big bag of MacDonald’s take-out. As she reached over to the cupboard for plates, she heard the front door open.

  “Zoe, can you put the drink on the table and get Pete out of his room? I’d like us all to have a meal together for a change.”

  A tall fifteen-year-old with sharp, pale blue eyes and blonde hair entered carrying a bag. Tight, ripped and faded jeans clung to her lithe body and a white diamante Guess sweatshirt with cutaway sections accentuated her youthful breasts.

  She heaved the bag up onto the breakfast counter and scowled as her phone pinged. Her attention focused on her phone and she drifted away from the kitchen. Patsy looked up, annoyed, shoveling chips around a quarter pounder.

  “I said put the drinks on the table. For once in your life, girl, put that bloody phone down!”

  Zoe stared sulkily, shrugged and slouched over to grab one of the bottles of coke and put it on the dining table.

  “And put some glasses out please, young lady.”

  “God! I thought slavery had been abolished,” muttered Zoe, opening the cupboard.

  “Slavery! My girl, you don’t know what work is. You got it easy.”

  “Whatever,” said Zoe, placing the glasses on the table. Then she snatched out her phone and started to scroll through it again.

  “Go and get Pete down,” said Patsy, eyeing her daughter as she chopped up some lettuce and tomatoes. She could just about handle a salad.

  “Pete, dinner’s ready!” yelled Zoe.

  “I said go and get him. God, Zoe. What is wrong with you lately?”

  Patsy pushed past her daughter and made for the stairs, but something caught in her peripheral vision. A shadow across the glass crescent at the top of the door. She turned around and peered through the crescent, but nothing was there. She shrugged. Maybe a tree branch.

  She alighted the stairs, her mind on getting Pete away from that bloody Killzone game he was obsessed with.

  Behind her, the front door exploded, shooting glass fragments and wood splinters across the hallway. The force of the blast pushed Patsy forward, and she lay on her stomach across the lower stairs.

  She heard Zoe scream.

  Her body shook with fear, but she knew she had to pull herself up.

  Before she could stand, hands grabbed her from behind and hauled her backwards. She tried to turn around, but as she did, a blindfold was tied tight around her head, cutting off her vision. Her hands were bound by something that immediately dug into her flesh.

  Zoe. Peter.

  “Mum!”

  “Run, Peter. Run!”

  Something hard smashed into her stomach, winding her. She gasped.

  “What’s happen-”

  She heard her son momentarily before a whooshing shot past Patsy’s ear and cut Pete’s voice off. She heard a heavy thump and footsteps raced past her up the stairs.

  “Let go of-”

  Like her son’s, Zoe’s voice stopped abruptly.

  A piercing pain hit Patsy’s neck and the sounds around her faded as her mind cut out.

  Chapter 8

  The key turned in the lock. By the time it reached a full turn, Ellie was at the door. She opened it wide and stood smiling in her blue satin robe. Her belt, tied tight, sharply outlined her mouthwatering figure. Sam took in the moment to gaze admiringly at his wife from head to foot.

  Ellie reached up and slipped her right hand around his neck.

  “Darling,” Ellie said softly, moving her fingers gently through his short, black hair. Then her hold strengthened, and she pulled him forcefully through the doorway.

  Sam smiled, wrapping his arms around her. One hand in the middle of her back and the other around her waist. He drew her in close. Pressed against him, he knew Ellie could feel just how much he’d missed her. Bending down to her lips, Sam kissed her hard.

  He moved across her face, kissing her skin.

  “God, I need you,” he whispered, biting her earlobe. “It’s been too long. And I’m starving!”

  They fell into the apartment, kissing hard. Sam rammed Ellie against the wall, pinning her tight, and kissed down her neck. Dexterously, he caught the edge of the door with his foot and slammed it shut. Voyeurism was definitely not his thing.

  His hands reached up as if to pull down her robe. But Ellie was quicker. Laughing, she slid down the wall out of his hold and maneuvered behind him.

  “Well, darling, your dinner is served. Bon appetito!”

  Ellie giggled, licking her lips lasciviously, and slipped off her robe, unveiling her delicious naked body.

  Sam gazed, his mouth salivating at the á la carte offering before him. Tearing his tie free, getting ready to tuck into the meal on offer, Sam advanced. In unison, Ellie moved forward, plucking at the tiny mother of pearl buttons on his shirt. Parting the expensive woven silk to expose his firm chest, Ellie kissed him and murmured appreciatively. Her fingers deftly smoothed his shirt back from his firm, broad
shoulders. The fabric fell to the marble floor beneath.

  Sam bent down and kissed her neck. With almost frenzied, full-on passion, Ellie returned his kisses. Her hands drifted down to his belt. She unclasped it and pulled down his zipper. She hooked her thumbs underneath the waistline of his trousers and yanked at them. His boxers dropped in unison, swept down by Ellie’s sleight of hand.

  Sam breathed deep and grasped her porcelain shoulders. Moving down her body, he savored the peachy, ripe smoothness of her skin beneath his lips.

  As Sam’s kisses reached her stomach, Ellie arched slightly, breathing hard. She pushed her body, limpet-like, against his lips. His kisses descended lower and Ellie purred. Sam inhaled her fragrance. After twenty-eight years, she’d never changed it. An intoxicating mix of sweet honeysuckle, magnolia and vanilla that was still good enough to eat. With his hunger overpowering, Sam consumed her.

  Ellie screamed under Sam’s exquisite touch and pressed his head harder against her groin. Slowly, Sam lifted her up, cupping her ass and holding her tight as she wrapped her long, slender legs around his neck. The bedroom was light years away. They dropped onto the sofa, panting and gasping, and made love noisily for the rest of the evening.

  Like the proverbial cat who got the cream, Ellie’s grin hung happily on her face as she drifted into satisfied sleep, curled up in Sam’s arms.

  Chapter 9

  In Washington DC, two men sat in a wood-paneled room and stared at the information flashing up on the laptop positioned between them on a table. The first, a small, squatty man in his late fifties with piercing rat-like eyes and a cruel slit of a mouth was called Godley. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the desk and he shook his head.

  “They’re getting better all the time. How did they get to Rikard Allan? You do know what this means?”

  The other man was Pedro Russo, third in command in Al Nadir. His strong, angular face was immutable, as if it was carved in rock. Beneath his designer suit rippled the muscles of an athlete. He raised an eyebrow and glared through eyes of ice.