The Lost Sisterhood (50 page)

“Really?” I felt my mood improving at this little curveball. “But if al-Aqrab didn’t order you to take it … then why did you?”

Nick sighed. “Apparently, Reznik had that manuscript stolen from a small archive in Romania. A janitor was framed for the theft.”

“But that’s not why you took it.”

“All right.” He put his seat up a bit. “This is what happened: I had strict orders
not
to attend Reznik’s party, but I couldn’t resist the temptation to see you again. However, before I could make contact with you, I was sidetracked by a woman in a cat suit who stared at me as if she knew me before running off with a friend in a mouse suit—”

“Wait a minute.” I tried to recall the hostile cat woman I had encountered in Reznik’s bathroom. “I saw them, too. The mouse woman stole my phone in Nafplio. And I bet she was the one who mugged me in the labyrinth.”

“I don’t think so.” Nick moved in his seat and winced with pain. “The person who attacked you in the labyrinth stole your laptop, and your laptop was in Reznik’s house well before the party started. I’m pretty sure those two women broke in to steal
it from
him. Now it’s on the bottom of the Black Sea, sleeping with the fishes
and
your cellphone. But anyway—and I’m sorry if this bursts your image of me as a hardened criminal—I saw these lovely chicks sneaking into Reznik’s little antiques collection during the party. I decided to follow and could hear them going all the way to the top floor. This gave me a chance to check out the library. And there it was, ready for the taking: Diana
Morgan’s academic future. I wanted to give it to you that night, as a present, but then things got a little … strange.”

I glanced at him, softened by his frank confession. “I appreciate the gesture, except now we have a bunch of Reznik’s thugs plus some hardhitting Amazons riding our wake.”

Nick made an unhappy grunt. “Okay, I made a mistake. I was sure they had disabled the security cameras together with the alarm system. However, if I hadn’t pinched the
Historia,
then your noble boyfriend would never have ratted on me, and Reznik would never have contacted my people in Dubai about the theft,
and
I would never have learned about the X-ray that turned you into an Amazon. Show me the Greek tragedy that can rival that one.”

We drove for a while in silence. Here, away from the Teutoburger Wald, the night was calm and clear, with stars twinkling around us and a shimmering scythe of moon hovering on the horizon. But the clarity outside did not penetrate to my interior. Layer after layer of confusion continued deep into my consciousness, and it frustrated me that even now, sitting right here next to Nick, I still didn’t know what lay behind the Aqrab Foundation’s interest in the Amazons. But I knew enough to not ask him while we were going 130. Instead, I said, “How did you find me?”

“Let’s see.” Nick sounded amused. “You traveled under your own name, rented a car in your own name, and registered at the Idingshof Hotel under your own name.” I sensed he was smiling at me. “I’m sorry, Dr. Livingstone, but if you really didn’t want me to come, you shouldn’t have left a trail as wide as the Nile … or should I say the Amazon?” When I didn’t respond, he sighed and added, “I called Rebecca. She was more than happy to help. Said Mr. Telemakhos had told you to go to Kalkriese. After that, all I had to do was call around to hotels nearby—”

I felt a twinge of outrage. “Bex trusted you?”

“Why shouldn’t she?”

A thousand reasons sprang to mind, but they all looked rather pathetic next to the fact that Nick had defied the mighty al-Aqrab
and come all the way to Germany to save my life and have his nose squashed.

I
T TOOK ME THE
rest of our drive to relate my misadventures in Kalkriese, including my suspicions about the auction catalogs and Dr. Jäger being an Amazon newsletter distributor. “It would make perfect sense, wouldn’t it?” I said, as we exited the autobahn at last. “
Of course
the Amazons can’t risk someone discovering their secret means of communication—especially not with Reznik’s million-dollar bounty on their heads.”

I was so absorbed in our conversation I barely noticed the blackness around us until I heard the unmistakable crunching of a dirt road. Nick had given me directions, and I had done as he told me, but …

“This is not the Frankfurt Airport,” was all I could think of saying as we pulled up in front of a dark cottage.

“No fooling a philologist,” said Nick, getting out of the car. “I thought we needed a little peace and quiet.”

I heard him unlocking the cottage door with an old-fashioned key.

“Where exactly are we?” I asked, getting out of the driver’s seat and trying in vain to make out the landscape around us. It smelled like forest, and the only sounds were the hoots of a distant owl, but I couldn’t remember seeing many trees along the dirt road. “The Aqrab safe house in Frankfurt?”

“Anything but,” replied Nick, turning on a few lamps inside. “Welcome to
my
Germany. This is the Taunus, not too far from the airport. You can’t see it now, but there’s a great view of the Main valley from up here.” He smiled at me over his shoulder. “I’ve slept off a lot of jet lag in this house. It’s actually the only piece of real estate I own.”

I entered the small cottage after him. Besides a large bed there wasn’t much furniture. One small desk and a rickety chair stood facing a window, and the only other place to sit was on a large cushion in front of the fireplace.

“What is it?” asked Nick, kneeling down to crumble up an old newspaper. “Not posh enough for Dr. Livingstone?”

I looked around at the rough stone walls and wooden ceiling. There was something utterly seductive about the helpless rusticity and faint smell of charred wood hanging in the air. It was not the Çira?an Palace Hotel, but given the choice I would still rather be here.

When I returned from the tiny bathroom, Nick was leaning on the mantelpiece, waiting for the fire to catch.

“Here.” I handed him a wet washcloth. “Your turn.”

He shot me a wry smile. “I know I’m a mess—”

“No more than usual.” I helped him pull off the blood-spattered sweater and saw him cringing at the motion, favoring his shoulder. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“I’ve been in a lot of pain since the day I met you.” The way Nick looked at me made it abundantly clear what he meant.

“You should have fired me when you had the chance,” I whispered, running my hands underneath his T-shirt. “Or left me to die in the temple.”

He silenced me with a kiss. And another. Then he said, with an exasperated headshake, “I did everything I could to
not
fall in love with you.”

His words made me ridiculously happy. “And the result?”

Nick took my hand, palm to palm, and after a few seconds I could no longer tell whose pulse it was I felt. “What do you say, Goddess?” He looked me in the eye. “Will you allow this mortal to love you?”

I leaned closer. “It’s dangerous. But you like danger, don’t you?”

Without hesitation, Nick drew me into his arms, and we fell on each other ravenously. I still had questions, but could no longer remember them. All I wanted to know was
him
… how his skin felt against mine, whether he was as frantically impatient as I. Clothes were yanked off, hands found their way at last…. Our urgency to be together was so great we both forgot to be gentle. I heard Nick groaning when I clung to his shoulders, but wasn’t sure if it was a sign of pain or pleasure. It didn’t stop me. I craved him more than I had ever craved anything and claimed his body with rapacious greed. Not even fully undressed, I was up against the wall with a significant part of him inside me, so ecstatic I nearly passed out.

“Oh my God,” he groaned, when we finally collapsed together on the big cushion on the floor, his nose bleeding again. “What have you done to me?”

“I think you mean ‘Goddess,’ “ I muttered, gently wiping the blood from his lip, still awash in awestruck fulfillment. “Since when did you become so religious?”

Nick ran his fingers over my sweaty skin, his eyes full of reverence. “Only the immortals can pull at a man the way you pull at me.”

“You weren’t so keen on me in the beginning.”

He smiled, aware I was angling for a compliment. “I’m not sure dragging you into my tent and unzipping my pants would have been the best way of welcoming you to Algeria. Do you?”

“Maybe if you had shaved off that mangy beard first.”

Nick laughed. “Careful. If you don’t behave, it may grow back.”

L
ATER, WHEN WE HAD
made ourselves comfortable in bed, I finally asked the question that had been at large in my mind for days. “What did you mean that day in Istanbul,” I said, running my fingers over Nick’s chest, “when you said you had already taken a bullet for James?”

Nick smiled and kissed me. “You know what I meant. If it hadn’t been for him, I’d have treed you long ago.”

I burst out laughing. “Didn’t your boss tell you not to harass your employees?”

Nick made a grunt. “Harassment is part of the package.”

“Tell me … do you like working for Mr. al-Aqrab?”

He thought about it briefly. “No.”

“Then why don’t you quit?”

“It’s not that easy.” Nick looked uncomfortable, if not downright sheepish. “I guess now’s the time to tell you. Mr. al-Aqrab is my father.”

“What?”
I would have erupted from the bed if he hadn’t held me back.

“Come on.” He kissed me in the neck. “It’s not as if you’re in bed with the devil.”

“I don’t know.” I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. It was hard to be upset with Nick for telling me the truth at last, and yet the idea of him surrounded by the inevitable playboy retinue of fast cars and bikini models made me sad. “Define ‘devil.’ “

“I do have some redeeming qualities, don’t I?” Nick took my hand and guided it underneath the duvet. “Such as a very big … heart.”

“How about a very big explanation?” I countered, reminding myself of all the excellent reasons why I had run away from him in Istanbul. “Your people were spying on my family! You actually had some … sleazy detective crawling through hedges and shrubberies to take photos of my parents in their home. And what about those guns under your bed? I’m assuming you use them to shoot people.” I stared at him to see if my words had any effect and was somewhat gratified to see his smile disappearing. “So, excuse me if I’m a little disgruntled to say the least. From day one, you have been lying to me, bullying me, manipulating me—I don’t even know your first name!”

Nick sat back and folded his arms across his chest, the firelight casting ominous shadows over his face. “My name is Nick. I told you so. My dad named me Kamal, but my mother called me Niccolò.”

“Your Brazilian mother?” I proposed, eager to help him along. I remembered well our conversation in Mycenae, over Mr. Telemakhos’s blackboard dinner table, when Nick had regaled us all with vignettes—all fake, I now realized—from his destitute childhood.

“No.” Nick sighed and closed his eyes. “My biological mother.”

As he sank into silence, my lingering confusion grew into complete bewilderment. I had been so sure we would be talking about the contents of the envelope I took from him, starting with the detective report on me and my family. The realization that I might, in fact, merely be a secondary character in Nick’s big explanation was strangely sobering.

“My dad was born in Iran, in an old and wealthy family,” he began at last, his eyes still closed.

“The al-Aqrab family, I assume?”

“No, no, no.” He brushed the suggestion aside with a tired gesture.
“Al-Aqrab is an Arab name. It means ‘scorpion.’ My dad changed his name when he was cast out of the family at twenty-two.”

Perhaps sensing my surprise, Nick opened his eyes. He looked so miserable I felt a throb of pity. Only then did it occur to me that maybe the underlying reason for his protracted secrecy with regards to his real identity was not so much a desire to fool
me
as it was a need to maintain a mental buffer between himself and his father. All the different disguises and moods, all the different passports—could it be that he was hiding not just from looters and smugglers, but from himself as well? Leaning closer, I kissed him on the cheek, and he smiled in response.

“Thirty-four years ago my dad made the Oxford rowing team,” Nick continued. “He and his mates went into London to celebrate. There, he met a woman, and they ended up spending the night together. But she was gone before sunrise, and he never saw her again.” With that, Nick got out of bed and disappeared into the small pantry, completely naked, leaving me to wonder how I could possibly have kept my hands off this gorgeous man for so long and, slightly more relevantly, whether that was the end of his story.

Minutes later, he returned with a bottle of red wine, two glasses, and a box of crackers. Only when we were both equipped with a full glass did he touch his to mine and say, “One year later my father received a baby in the mail. That was me. With a note attached. The note said, ‘Dear Hassan, this is your son. His name is Niccolò. Please forgive him. He can’t help what his mother is.’ There was more, but nothing that matters now. The note was signed ‘Myrina.’ “

I stared at him, speechless.

“As you can imagine”—Nick took a swig of wine—”my dad has spent thirty-three years trying to find this Myrina again. He is convinced she was an Amazon. She was so beautiful and strong, and the circumstances of their meeting was bizarre. My dad was walking back from a nightclub with his friends when a beautiful Latin woman joined them and took him by the elbow. It wasn’t until later, when he was thinking the whole thing through, that it occurred to him there had been several police cars in the street just then, sirens going. Anyway,
the woman walked into the hotel with them and followed my dad all the way up to his room. He was so mesmerized by her he didn’t object. As soon as they were alone, she excused herself and went to the bathroom. When she had been there for a while, my dad knocked on the door and asked if she was okay. No response. When he tested the door and found it locked he kicked it in, thinking maybe she was doing drugs or committing suicide…. All kinds of things went through his mind. He found her sitting in the shower, crying hysterically. At first, he thought she was hurt, because there was blood on the hand towel and in the sink, but he couldn’t see any wounds. Then he noticed the hunting knife in her pile of clothes.” Nick grimaced at me. “My dad, of course, was intrigued. Who is this woman? What has she done? He tries to talk to her, but she pushes him away and sneers, ‘Do you know the punishment for defiling an Amazon?’ In the end, she gets up and dries off, and my dad persuades her to spend the night in his room. I don’t know the details, but seeing that I was conceived that night, I am deducing my dad did not sleep in the armchair. And yes”—Nick nodded at my arm—”she wore a bracelet just like yours. That’s why my dad went to Mycenae thirty years ago, to talk to Mr. Telemakhos.”