Seal of Surrender (10 page)

“Mr. Chago, I not so young anymore. Been around here a long time and seen lots of things, yeah? This new government, it's good, right. I want to protect this, for my family. Understand?”

Si, he understood. He'd fought many such battles for his Basque homeland — sometimes for the governing powers, sometimes against — but always in the name of justice.

“I'm part of the Mai Mai Yakutomba Gedeo.” Chago frowned at the name and Innocent smiled. “Folks call us ‘militia' for short.”

Militia he knew. “And you fight against Turay?”

“Him and others. They don't come so much anymore. But they still there, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Chago leaned his forearms on his thighs. “How'd they get their hands on the latest Russian equipment? Those weapons are top of the line.”

“Turay got him some connections. Don't ken the specifics, but they say it's a white guy. Foreign, like you.” Innocent's gaze narrowed, as if gauging Chago's reaction.

“And you think I'm supplying them? Not my style.” He retrieved a nearby rifle and tossed it to Innocent. “Present, from me.”

Innocent caught the gun with one hand and checked the ammo. “Nice meeting your fiancée today. She a real pretty woman.”

Chago tensed at the mention of Irena. The scarf he'd bought remained safely tucked away inside his shirt. “I protect what's mine, Innocent. Don't mistake my kindness for weakness.”

“Glad to hear it.” Innocent studied him for a long moment. A smile broke out on his face. “You and me, we have dis in common.”

“I need to return to the hotel.” He rose to find his stance steady. Being Scion had definite advantages. “I've got work to do.”

“Yep, gots to get back home me-self. Quite a meal my wife preparing for you tonight.” Innocent walked toward the van as the others piled in. “You need a ride?”

“No thanks. I'll walk.” Chago waved and took off, eager to process all the new information and allow time for his wounds to heal.

Irena sipped her daiquiri and tapped away on her laptop, researching the new insurgent information Adrienne had provided at breakfast. Distant gunfire echoed off the stone security walls surrounding the Grand Hotel's tiny poolside oasis, a reminder of the true nature of things. War never got any easier to digest.

After Innocent had been called away unexpectedly, she'd come down to the pool to work, figuring some sun and relaxation might do her some good. Two of Innocent's militia guards kept post beneath the awning near the entrance, an ever-present reminder of the dangers lurking in this part of the world.

Chago had disappeared after their interaction in the lobby. Irena remembered the sting of his kiss and the memory ignited her blood like a kerosene fire. Unexpected, yet not unwelcome, his embrace had stirred something primal, something hot and wanton inside her core. She put a quick damper on those feelings. Romance wasn't part of her agenda. Not anymore.

She reached for her drink as a shadow fell across her chair, blocking her sunlight. Glancing up, Irena locked gazes with the recent object of her thoughts.

“I wondered where you disappeared to.” A faint purple bruise peeked from beneath the black curls at his temple. Her polite smile faded as she assessed his now tattered and scorched clothes. “What happened?”

“Scuffle in town.” Chago stretched out on a nearby chaise and studied her from beneath his lashes. “You knew Innocent Balewa heads the local militia?”

“The information was part of the dossier I received from Omega.” Irena held his gaze for a moment before refocusing on her laptop screen. Instinct demanded she grab a first-aid kit and clean him up. Common sense made her crush the desire and remain stoic. To allow this man into her heart would be a mistake beyond irrational. “He's the main reason for this mission.”

“And you didn't think to share this with me?”

“Why? Why would I share any information with you, Chago?” She resumed typing, her fingers banging the keys with enough force to make the laptop rock like a lopsided teeter-totter. “I don't even know why you're here. You followed me, that's all I know.”

He didn't answer.

After a brief period of awkward silence, she glanced in his direction. His pale gaze locked on her with steady intensity.

“We need to talk, Irena.”

“Go ahead and talk.” She attempted to return to her data entry. Any time spent in close proximity to him was proving dangerous to her mental health. Maybe if she ignored him, he'd go away. No such luck. Chago reached over and closed her laptop. She barely had time to slip her fingers out.

“I didn't follow you.” He sat up and leaned closer. “I was sent here to protect you.”

“Why would I need protection?”

Silence.

She leaned over to set her computer on the end of her chaise and glanced back to find Chago focused on her lower spine. Her birthmark, now exposed by her low-slung bikini bottoms, itched beneath his scrutiny. Irena grabbed a towel and wrapped it tight around her midsection while Chago continued to stare at the covered area, his scowl increasing.

“My employer wants to ensure your security.”

Disappointment rattled her cage. He didn't like her after all. Irena camouflaged her sudden hurt with an attempt at levity. “I realize things are dicey right now, but I don't think they've reached critical.”

“This situation has nothing to do with the Congo, Irena. It's much bigger. Look, I'm not good at explanations. Xander, my commanding officer, is the pro. He'll arrive soon and can explain everything. Until then, you're stuck with me.”

“Well, I guess I've put up with you for this long. A day or two more won't matter.” Irena packed up her stuff and checked the time on the hotel clock mounted on the wall behind her. One-thirty. Manners forced her to be polite, despite the unease his statements had engendered. “I'm going to change and grab some lunch. Care to join me?”

Chago's stomach rumbled loudly.

“Is that a yes?”

“This is for you.” He pulled a piece of wadded material from inside his battered shirt and tossed it to her. “I thought you might like it.”

She caught the fabric as Chago's gaze dropped to her lips and her good intentions went up in flames. She smoothed out the soft blue bundle. A scarf. “It's beautiful. Thank you.”

Chago licked the corner of his mouth. Irena had the crazy urge to kiss him senseless. Tiny beads of sweat shimmered on his forehead and she ached to trail her tongue across his slick skin and taste the salty moisture. As if sensing her thoughts, he swiped a hand over his face and stood, his dark voice smooth as aged whiskey. “I need to hit the shower.”

He held the lobby door open and motioned for her to enter. Irena flounced past him, heartily turned-on and seriously confused. Men.

• • •

An hour later, Chago sat with Irena at a café table beside a long bank of windows. He ignored his now seemingly constant need to touch her and focused on the busy street outside while Irena drove him insane.

“What about our talk?”

“What?” He glanced away from the windows and forced himself not to stare at her lips as he struggled to remember her question. Si, their talk. Exactly the topic he didn't want to discuss. Now certainly wasn't the time to expose all his secrets. Instead, he stalled her with a different topic. “We need to discuss Omega's true purpose in the Congo.”

“Omega's a peacekeeping organization. Enough said.” Her eyes held a glint of mischief. “Now let's talk about something more interesting.”

Si
.
Chago laughed then gulped down half his beer. No
.
He crossed his arms. “There's more to Omega than their public persona.”

“Does this have anything to do with Drake?”

“For his sake, I hope not. Tell me about your birthmark. Unusual shape, si?”

“Oh, right. Looks like a sword. Yes, it's weird, huh?” She flashed him a small, self-deprecating grin. “Thank God, it's normally hidden.”

“I find it most … intriguing.” He leaned forward.

“Mind if I join you two? I'm famished.” Drake approached their table, his uninvited presence putting a fast kibosh on any chance at diplomacy. Irena fussed with her napkin while Chago fisted the edge of the tablecloth and contemplated homicide.

Drake pulled up a chair and made himself comfy, prattling on nothing and seemingly oblivious to the impending threat of bodily harm. “What's on special today?”

The odious man ordered lunch and after the waiter left he made the unfortunate mistake of grabbing Irena's hand. She snatched it away and scooted closer to the window. He failed to suppress his low growl.

“So how's the visit to Kinshasa, Chago? I heard you were involved in a scuffle downtown.”

“Si.” Innocent's description of Turay's arms-pusher resurfaced and Drake's life expectancy dropped by several years. “You have spies in this area.”

“Always. Remind me again why you're here?”

“Business. Security.”

Drake placed an arm on the back of Irena's chair. She stood and grabbed her purse from the table. “Excuse me. I'm not feeling well. I think I'll go lie down.”

Chago stood as well. “I'll go with you.”

“No, no. I'm just going to my room. I'll be fine.”

Innocent's men lingered in the lobby and he gave the nearest guy a nod as Irena walked out. Chago tracked her until she disappeared into the elevator, with the armed guards in tow. Only then did he return his attention to his uninvited lunch guest.

“I don't like being spied on.”

“Nobody does. But it's a necessary evil, I'm afraid.” Drake hailed the waiter and canceled his order. “Please excuse me, but I've just remembered another meeting.”

Chago finished his coffee, watching while Drake left the hotel and climbed into a pale yellow pickup near the hotel's entrance. Righteous anger and bitter satisfaction bubbled in his gut as a piece of the puzzle fell into place. Omega was supplying the rebels with weapons.

• • •

Archon had hidden at the rear of this abandoned hanger for hours, waiting for the hideously dressed man and his unknown accomplice. Networks of the Bantu tribesmen had led him to this remote location on the outskirts of Kinshasa. They still viewed him as a god, despite his continued feedings. Now they offered themselves up as sacrifices, thinking their voodoo magic would grant them immortality. How wrong they were.

A metal door slid open at the far end of the building. Two figures entered, silhouetted by the bright afternoon sun. Archon maneuvered around several more crates for a better viewing position. Several more men followed, light glinting off the barrels of their weapons. The guards had been easy to convert to his cause. After the initial introductions were made and the proper inducements had been found — namely drugs, money, and terror — reaching the movement's leaders had been a snap.

Murmurs reverberated off the metal walls, barely distinguishable above the squeaky rats scurrying for food. He inched closer to the fray and strained to hear their conversation, recognizing the broken speech of the one the guards called the Terminator. The clipped tones of the other man, however, were new. In the dim light, their faces were impossible to discern.

“Where me fuckin' weapons?”

“Patience, Turay. Patience. My suppliers are working hard to get you exactly what you need.”

A derisive snort sounded, followed by a bark of laughter. “You think me a fool? I pay you a fuckload of money to gets them weapons here in two days. Gots me a war to fight, git? Now what's me gonna fight wit? Me good looks?”

Sniggers rang out from the guards. Archon could smell the adrenaline of the one nearest to him. Hunger niggled, but he tamped it down. Feeding could come later. A rat skittered across his cloven foot and he snatched it up, swallowing the creature whole before returning his attention to the scene playing out before him.

“You'll get your weapons, Turay. Then you can wage your little conflict and I can get the hell out of this shithole.” The man's contemptuous tone reminded Archon of his father. “Don't know why you'd want to fight over this filthy place anyway.”

“Dis my home, fucker.” Turay's snarl resounded off the nearby crates. “Say something like that again, and you be dead, git?”

Guns cocked and silence reigned for a brief moment before the other man continued.

“Look, I need you and your men to complete a job. You handle the assignment and you'll get your weapons.” The snooty man's tone held a steel edge. “Guaranteed.”

“What makes you tink you in a place to bargain?”

“Because without me, your little struggle falls apart. No Drake, no weapons. Ever.” His unpleasant laugh reverberated as the man's steps shuffled closer to Archon. The scent of expensive cologne and fear floated on the air. This Drake wasn't as calm as he sounded. “I need a man killed.”

A click sounded, followed by a sudden burst of light, quickly extinguished. Tobacco smoke hung heavy. “Dis corpse got a name?”

“Chago.”

Archon sat back on his heels. If the Scion were here, the Seal was close. For years, he'd listened to Lucifer's inane bragging about his beloved Seals and his future plans. None of the plans included Archon.

“What's in it for me? Besides me weapons.”

“Money. Power. Success. Omega's backers have unlimited resources. They can provide you with anything you desire.”

“Anything I want, huh?” Turay laughed. “Just like da fucking lottery.” Another round of laughter sounded from the assembled men. “When you needs this done?”

“The sooner the better.”

The glow of a cigarette passed by the space between the crates in front of Archon, allowing him a glimpse at the insurgent leader. He'd spotted him once before, his flamboyant garb worse than any disaster Lucifer had ever wrought. The man took a last drag on his smoke and dropped the spent butt to the floor, crushing it underfoot. Darkness descended once more. “Where we find dis Chago?”