Special Investigations Agency: Primordial Read online

  If her grandfather hadn’t been standing there, and he felt just grouchy and horny enough to do it, he would have tugged her into his arms and kissed her.

  “Not a damn thing,” Zane said, aware he sounded rude as hell.

  Then he walked away without looking back.

  Chapter One

  One Month Later

  Place: Special Investigations Agency

  Section Chief’s Office

  Location: Colorado, Top Secret Facility

  Dr. Keira Jessop thought maybe her hearing had gone bad.

  She looked across the large desk at Section Chief Mac Tudor and asked, “You want me to go where?”

  “San Cristobal in Puerto Azul.”

  Excitement stirred in her stomach, a tingling akin to sexual arousal that startled her. She’d never been there and the archaeology of the area had always intrigued her. At the same time, she didn’t like tropical areas much and she’d experienced all the danger she needed for a long time.

  “You want me to go to Central America?”

  “Puerto Azul is one of the most stable countries in the region. It’s proximity to Costa Rica and the stable economy makes it a desirable vacation spot.”

  She’d planned on staying in London with her grandfather for awhile until his grief mended. Until her grief mended.

  She took a deep breath and pushed away the anger that threatened to rupture civility and reasonableness. “I don’t know if I can. I really wish someone had told me what this was all about before I left England. My grandfather needs me. Besides, you probably have offices in England somewhere, don’t you? Why couldn’t I have gone there to discus this?”

  Her tone held accusation. Lately she found her temper getting the best of her. She’d been ushered to this place, secured deep within the mountains of Colorado, well aware through rumors that this agency worked worldwide and not just within the United States. Why they’d wanted to talk to her, though, did scare her. She didn’t like intrigue. After Egypt she didn’t want adventure ever again.

  Mac frowned and leaned on his desk. “I apologize for the inconvenience. That’s why we sent the tickets. We don’t want this trip to be a hardship on you.”

  “If my grandfather hadn’t encouraged me to come here, I wouldn’t have.”

  “I’m very glad he did.”

  His sincere smile lit up the room. Despite irritation, feminine interest flitted through her. The man was insanely handsome in a rugged, totally kick-ass-and-take-names way that appealed to her. She liked men of action, and she guessed this tall, muscular man had been a field agent for the SIA at one time. Sitting behind a desk took nothing away from his appeal. When her gaze noted his wedding photograph sitting on the desk behind him, and the plain gold wedding ring on his hand, she allowed her intrigue with him to fade.

  “Even if you’d refused to come, we would have tracked you down,” Mac said, his voice edged with steel. “It wouldn’t have stopped us.”

  “I see. Well, whatever it is you want me to do, I don’t think I’ve got the time. I need to return to London immediately. My grandfather is in poor health.”

  “I heard about what happened. Please accept my deepest sympathy.”

  She hated sympathy; it did nothing to shove aside the sorrow eating at her gut while she watched her grandfather waste away from a broken heart. If she went home to San Francisco she would be with her mother and father, and her mother seemed to be taking her grandmother’s death reasonably well.

  Her lips felt wooden as she said, “Thank you for your concern. Now, when can I leave and go back to England?”

  “You haven’t heard why I called you here.”

  “I don’t need to hear anything about it. I already know that the SIA is an international agency designed to thwart terrorist and other similar threats around the world. This summons to Colorado probably means you want me as some sort of consultant. Why, though, I can’t imagine. There are plenty of archaeologists around you could ask for help.”

  Mac leaned back. He picked up a pen from his desk blotter, then clicked it open and shut a few times. “I was about to tell you.”

  She rubbed her eyes, jet lag making her sluggish and beyond tired. She didn’t care if she sounded rude anymore. “All right. What is it you want?”

  “We want you to work for us in Puerto Azul to find an artifact.”

  Now she did want to slap him. She sat up straighter. “Why you would need to me to go to Central America when you’ve got plenty of agents with archaeological experience junketing around the world? Couldn’t you send one of them?”

  “We already have a man on the ground. He’s going to meet you at the airport in San Cristobal to ensure the mission is completed.”

  All the hair on the back of her neck prickled. She glanced down at her hands, clenched in her lap, and realized she no doubt looked as nervous as she felt. She’d recovered stolen artifacts before, but only after a police agency obtained the artifact from the one who’d stolen the piece. This assignment sounded less sterile and far more dangerous…like her experience in Egypt. When she looked up at him, he paused with a patient expression that said he could wait for hours.

  “Why me?” Something didn’t add up and an alarm went off in her psyche. “I’ve specialized in Egyptian and British archaeological sites all my life. My specialty doesn’t cover Central American archaeology.”

  “It does now.” Mac turned his swivel chair toward the credenza behind him and reached for a small remote. With one click the serene landscape portrait behind him slid almost soundlessly upward into the ceiling and revealed a plasma widescreen.

  She smiled without humor. “I don’t have time to watch home movies, Mr. Tudor.”

  He chuckled, the sound deep and appreciative. Instead of answering her sarcasm, he watched as the screen lit up with a large picture of a jungle-covered high plateau. A breathtaking green, the flora-covered photo intrigued her at the same time it repelled.

  “This is San Cristobal Plateau located deep in the Selva Negra Jungle. Although the city is nearby, no one ventures into the jungle. It’s one of the few places in Puerto Azul that hasn’t been explored in great depth. The only man who dared penetrate the area in recent years is Ludwig Haan.”

  “The Ludwig Haan? The fashion designer?” she asked in disbelief.

  “Believe it or not, yes. He led a little-known expedition into the jungle last year and when he came back, he claimed to have discovered a fountain of youth. But we think he discovered something else.”

  She almost sneered. “The last photograph I saw of him, he looked older than ever.”

  Mac nodded. “The SIA has watched him closely over the years and we’re certain he’s into smuggling artifacts out of countries and into his own personal collection.” Mac clicked the remote and another picture came into view. “This structure is Rancho La Paz owned by Haan. It sits just within the outside boundaries of Selva Negra. His area is little traveled and then only by his special guests or rebels who like to attack unsuspecting tourists. Other than a select few people, almost no one is allowed to enter Haan’s complex. The last agent we sent in to investigate turned up dead in San Cristobal a few days later. We couldn’t prove Haan had the agent killed, but we suspect it.”

  The three-story wood and glass structure stood in a small clearing surrounded by jungle. Designed to look like a glamorous hut nestled in a serene rainforest, it conveyed decadence.

  “It’s a ranch?” she asked in disbelief.

  “No. That’s just what he named it. Haan entertains an international cache of select guests at Rancho La Paz when he’s not jetting around to fashion shows in the United States and Europe.” Mac turned his chair back to her. “We want you to infiltrate his lodge and discover whether a particular artifact is hidden there.”

  Her mouth popped open in incredulity. “What?”

  He didn’t blink an eye. “You’ll leave in two days.”

  “At the risk of being rude, Mr. Tudor, not only no, but hel
l no.” She stood slowly. “This is one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard. Why would I want to go into a dangerous situation like that just to tell you whether Haan has a stolen artifact?”

  This time Mac’s smile didn’t materialize. Maybe she’d pushed him too far. Good. She didn’t have time for this.

  “Because your grandfather helped him steal it.”

  Keira felt the world tilt, just as it had a month ago in Egypt. She couldn’t take two wallops so close together. Pain sliced through her as she battled with an urge to cry. Her eyes stung with tears but she held them back. She’d suffered a blow learning what her grandfather had done to try and save her grandmother. Now this.

  “No,” she whispered.

  Mac’s eyes didn’t hold a trace of sympathy. “Unfortunately, yes. We’ve been tracking Aloysius Makepeace’s movements in the archaeology world for some time, Dr. Jessop. He’s done more than work for the Chesterham Museum; he’s been stealing from them for years.”

  Anger roared up inside her. “My grandfather’s position as an assistant curator ended when he retired ten years ago. How dare you—”

  “It’s true.”

  “Then why, in God’s name, didn’t you have him arrested a long time ago?”

  He looked up at her. “We needed definite proof.”

  A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed hard, ire destroying the tears threatening moments ago. “So you say my grandfather has been stealing from the museum and selling to numerous clients, or just Haan?”

  “Several clients over about a ten-year span.”

  Keira closed her eyes as resentment stung her like a whip. No. She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t. “You’re lying.”

  “I don’t lie, Dr. Jessop.” His voiced deepened along with his frown. “I know this is hard to hear.” Mac turned back to the plasma screen. “And I think this will convince you.”

  The picture on the screen changed to a photograph of her grandfather, clothed in a robe and talking with Darren Hollister, the man who’d destroyed their lives last month in Egypt. Mac clicked the remote again and a snapshot of her with Hollister and her grandfather in the market place come up on the screen. One photo after another appeared on the screen, including one of her staring in the direction of the camera. She’d been looking right at the damned camera without knowing it.

  Someone took these pictures right before an assassin had murdered Hollister. Her mind flashed back to that horrifying moment and the man who’d saved her life. She’d often wondered about her rescuer and his identity. More than that, she’d replayed those intense moments in the alcove over and over again when she lay awake at night.

  “Dr. Jessop?”

  “If you believe all these things about Grandfather, why ask me to help you? Why would I help you?”

  She saw something flicker of his expression, an acknowledgment that he didn’t care much for this assignment or what he asked her to do. “Because if you want to clear his name and yours, you’ll take this assignment. It’s the only way to clean the slate.”

  More hot anger swelled up. “Blackmail?”

  He nodded. “The SIA wouldn’t do this if we didn’t have a good reason.”

  She shook her head and glared. “I don’t see how any of this can be legal.”

  “It is. And we want to give you a chance to prove your innocence before the law decides this is a matter for prosecution. The photograph shows you and your grandfather with one of Haan’s associates, Darren Hollister.”

  Her mouth dry and her heart aching, she said, “I didn’t know there was a connection between Hollister and Haan.”

  Mac nodded and turned off the plasma screen. It slid back up into the ceiling as if it had never been there at all. “He’s more than connected; he was a part of his cartel.”

  Her thoughts went into chaos and her stomach clenched with nervous nausea. “Someone from Haan’s cartel killed Hollister?”

  “It’s possible, but we’re not certain. It’s a tangled web. Your grandfather sold artifacts to Haan in the past, and we have the evidence you and your grandfather spoke with Hollister before he was killed. For all we know, your grandfather arranged to have Hollister killed.”

  A gasp slipped from her throat and she sat forward in her chair. Her fingers gripped the armrests. “How dare you? My grandfather is a good man. He would never do anything like that.”

  Mac’s expression eased from hard-nosed to sympathetic. “You’re right, I don’t know your grandfather or his motivations. Just as I don’t know you. Help us trap Haan at his game and perhaps the courts will go easy on your grandfather.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed, a sense of inevitability sweeping her. “In other words, do this assignment and our so-called transgressions just go away?”

  “You could say that.”

  Never in a million years could Keira have imagined this happening even one week ago. Her life had been cleaved by the trip to Egypt. She’d tried to keep perspective, but with this much stress she knew it would be difficult. Now her life started a new pace towards hell.

  “What happens next?” she asked, her throat tight.

  He slipped a file across the desk. “Your tickets and travel information.”

  She lifted the folder, placed it in her lap, and flipped through the papers inside. When she looked up she sighed. “This artifact you’re looking for. Why is it so important to the SIA?”

  Mac sat back in his chair. “This is the part that’s difficult to believe.”

  She sniffed. “Hah. This whole setup is hard to accept. I want to know why I’m putting my neck on the line.”

  “You’ll have to suspend a lot of belief. I know I did, and I’ve seen and heard some very strange things in my career.”

  “Such as?”

  “Nothing I can talk about. I can tell you this case is tricky. Many things are not what they seem. You’ll need to be on alert.” This time he didn’t appear so casual, his expression more concerned and less business-like. “That’s why an agent is going to be with you at all times.”

  He stood and walked to the window, one of the few she’d seen in this huge complex. Bright summer sun and cerulean high-altitude sky reminded her that the world outside existed.

  He leaned back against the windowsill. “The artifact you’re seeking is extraordinary. It’s actually two statues that interlock together with an octagon-shaped base. It’s about seven hundred years old. It’s often been called The Octagon, but in reality that doesn’t describe it very well. The museum had both pieces of the statue, but they disappeared last year not long before Haan’s fateful expedition into the jungle. The statue is also called La Pasion and when matched together both pieces weld tremendous power. When both statues are sealed together, the result is often catastrophic.”

  “Power?” she asked doubtfully.

  “A terrible force.”

  More doubt poured into her. “How does anyone know this force is so terrible? Have they put the statues together?”

  Mac’s lack of answer, the way his lips went grim and tight—well, that gave her the answer.

  “What happened?” she asked when the silence went on too long for her comfort.

  He walked back to his desk, but he stood rather than sink back into the high-backed executive chair. “Back in forty-five, after La Pasion was transported to the Chesterham Museum, the curator of Egyptian antiquities put them away. He had the help of a young assistant who went with him into the bowels of the building.”

  “They didn’t display it to the public?”

  He shrugged. “No. You know how museums can be. They store a lot of things that never get shown to the public. It’s probably a good thing considering what happened next.” Although his voice stayed steady and calm, her insides twisted with tension. “The curator took the assistant into the basement and even though the curator had been given strict instructions not to open the crate, he did. The assistant watched as his boss place the octagons together on the crate.”
/>   She realized she sat on the edge of her chair.

  He moved back behind his desk and sank into his chair. “The assistant said there was a blinding flash of light, then he passed out. When he came to he was lying on the floor next to the curator’s smoldering body.”

  Her stomach did a flip. “The curator was burned?”

  “To a crisp.”

  She swallowed hard to stem the nausea the image created. “Why wasn’t the assistant burned?”

  “No one knows. The rest of the room was singed and smoking. From that day forward the items were put into the deepest bowels of the museum. That’s where they remained, separated from each other, until a year ago.”

  She couldn’t suspend her disbelief, even though something told her she should. “This is ridiculous. It sounds like the curse of the mummy story that was fabricated and circulated about King Tut’s tomb. Are you sure it isn’t a story made up to keep people from stealing it?”

  The Section Chief gave her a sardonic smile. “I wish it was fiction.”

  Pieces of the puzzled started to come clear. She drew her twinset sweater across her breasts and buttoned it against the air conditioning and the cold settling in her heart. “And you think my grandfather sold both pieces to Haan last year sometime.”

  She didn’t want to believe it—couldn’t believe it.

  “The United States government does,” Mac said.

  “But we weren’t in Egypt a year ago.”

  “Your grandfather didn’t deliver the device to the thugs personally.”

  Renewed irritation rose inside her. “So just because you say you have proof my grandfather has been stealing from the museum, you think he sold the octagon statues, too?”

  He put his arms on the desk and folded his hands, a picture of sincerity and seriousness. “Correct.”

  She felt like a guinea pig ready for the slaughter. “If I refuse this assignment, what happens?”

  “My agent goes in and gets the statues anyway, and when legal action is taken by the museum, my guess is that your grandfather, and perhaps you, will be prosecuted.”

  Prosecuted. A sharp, unforgiving word that fit the deed. Simple days and simple times faded away into deceit and jeopardy.