Last Call For Caviar (22 page)

“I thought it seemed unusually quiet. What do you think is going on? Is Slava behind the disappearances?”

I thought of Leah’s report about the mysterious disappearances in Las Vegas and Mama’s unexplained absence for four days. I wondered if similar phenomena were happening here—maybe everywhere across the globe.

“Probably some of them. There’ve been more suicides, though not all are jumpers. Some are pretty suspicious. But more worrying, I’d say, are the new faces in town. They’re a pretty rough crowd; probably Slava’s bringing in reinforcements, gathering his people around him for the final showdown.”

I saw in my mind’s eye the meaty forearm festooned with tattoos in Cyrillic script. Something clicked, and in that instant, I realized I’d seen similar tattoos once before. Vorovsky Zakov—Russian mafia—the same tattoos that adorned Slava’s chest. Could my back country stalker be one of Slava’s hired guns? I’d wondered what he was doing, cruising on those mountain roads. It might be wild conjecture, but could he have been hunting the runaways, Luca and Joanna? Could there be a connection between him, Slava and the Farm?

I thought of the dark-haired woman, the hag. If either were the kind of new people in Monaco, a door had opened to hell, and some pretty evil spirits had drifted into town.

“I just saw Slava inside the Casino.” I saw I now had all of Joe’s attention. “He’s playing high-stakes poker in the private card room. And there’s one of the Sheik’s boys sitting in on the game.”

“I don’t understand. How do you know? Were you in the private card room with them?”

I had to tread carefully here. I knew I would get an earful if Joe thought I was snooping where I ought not: “No, I went in to the Casino to use the bathroom. The ones here in the Café were out of service. I thought I saw someone I knew in the back by the roulette tables. It was a coincidence that I happened to be passing by when the door was opened to the private card room, so I glanced inside.”

“Did anyone in the room see you?”

“I don’t think so. It happened in all of about ten seconds. Why?”

“I don’t want you involved in any of this, Maya Jade. That was Abdul who you saw playing against Slava.”

“Abdul?”

“Yes. He’s trying to get a sense of Slava’s end game. Slava is known for his indiscretion, his tendency to boast and taunt his adversaries when he’s drinking, He thinks Abdul is just another lackey of Sheik Sakr bin Zayed. Another rich playboy and compulsive gambler with huge debts that he doesn’t want the Sheik to know about. That he can be compromised.”

“But Slava’s seen Abdul around with the Sheik.’”

“He doesn’t know who he really is. The message and the insults are really directed at the Sheik. They’ve been playing this poker game for more than twenty-four hours. Abdul is hoping Slava will let something slip in all his boasting and drunken trash talk.”

I knew there were many layers to Abdul. That was part of what drew me to him from the first night we met. And yet, strangely, I wasn’t worried about Abdul in this dangerous game of wits. Abdul’s mind was agile and razor-sharp. I knew he could hold his own, because unlike Slava, he wouldn’t be tripping over his own ego. He didn’t mind playing a role if it brought the desired results. I knew from my own experience how tenacious Abdul could be when going after something he wanted. Abdul was a dangerous man in his own right.

“Have you talked with Abdul since they started playing?”

“I spoke with him this morning when they took a break. Slava’s drinking heavily and seems pissed off about something. Maybe his façade is starting to crack. Slava’s been in bloody situations before, with his back against the wall. Up until now, he’s always been the one to emerge victorious from these battles. He won’t just walk away. Where would he go, back to Russia?”

“Well, Joe, Slava made his play here—in the Principality. He’s all in. I guess everything is riding on what happens next. Either way, it’s going to be bad, whether he wins or loses. Unless, of course someone takes him out…”

Dusk had stolen upon us as we spoke. The sky was a violet blue, and I could see the evening star rising in the east. I thought how clean the air would be on the heights at the Astrarama. I wished I was there with Buddy, the Celestron out on the viewing deck, waiting for a night of exploring galaxies light years away to begin.

Giovanni took a long pull on his vodka tonic and glanced about the terrace before answering. “Maybe once, that would have changed things, but I think things have gone too far. This whole way of life here in Monaco is dying. This will all be gone.”

He gestured around the Place du Casino and shook his head in resignation. “The fight is coming to Nice. Slava saw to that when he armed the rebels. We can play a guessing game of ‘what if’…but he destroyed our world. Brave new world, or collapse and a new stone age. That’s what’s coming, Maya.”

“Are you cashing in, Joe? Leaving?”

“Not yet.” He gave a slow smile. I could see the mischief, like a small bubble rising to the surface. “I’m not done. If nothing else, I’ll be here as long as I can to mess up Slava’s plans. Where would I go? My parents are dead. This is my home. I’ll help whoever wants to leave to safety. If nothing else, I’m here to bear witness. Maybe that’s all I can do, in the end.”

There was one more thing that had been nagging at me all evening, by its omission from our conversation.

“But Giovanni, what’s the Prince doing about all this? Why is he just letting everything fall apart?”

“Yes. What’s the Prince doing? Or rather, where’s the Prince? He seems to have disappeared, too. He hasn’t been seen in over a week. Not any of the family, either. The official word from the Palace is he’s in seclusion, trying to mediate a solution with the French and the rebels. But people are wondering. Is Slava holding the Prince somewhere? Has he made a deal with the French, and they’ve got him hidden away safely in France? No one knows, or the ones that do are playing their cards very close to the vest. That’s what is tying everyone’s hands. That’s why no one has made a move against Slava.”

“You think he’s a hostage? Is that why you said it was too late to try and take Slava out? It would endanger the Prince and his family’s safety if you moved against him?”

“That’s what Abdul is hoping to find out. Right now, it’s too risky, assuming Slava has the Prince. The Emiratis need more information before they make their move. I don’t think they’ll just walk away, although they have their Gulf kingdom to retreat back to if things go pear-shaped here.”

“I haven’t seen Abdul since he got back. Joe, I honestly don’t know what to do.”

“I know, Maya. It’s a tough call. Abdul’s a good guy, but…” He trailed off. The existence of Abdul’s wife and two sons was a reality that couldn’t easily be brushed aside. “It’s not really the best option for you.”

“I thought maybe Abdul could get me on an Emirates flight to Vancouver. But I would still have to wait out in Abu Dhabi or Dubai until a flight to Vancouver became available.”

“Have you heard recently from Leah? Is it safe over there?”

“Her last email said she’s getting ready to move to the compound in the north. But I haven’t been able to get hold of her since. I can’t make a move until I know where they are and that they’re safe. It’d be damned foolish to go traipsing halfway across the world, only to get there and I’m unable to find them. In that case, I’d be better off trying my chances in France.”

He looked at me skeptically when I mentioned staying put in France, trying to gauge if I was still stubbornly holding onto the meagre hope that Julian would come back for me. I did my best to look him straight in the eye and dispel any doubts.

“I hoped that you might be able to help me find passage by boat to Rome and that Abdul could help me with an Emirates flight. Last I heard, the border from British Columbia to Washington was still open. If I could get there, Jack could meet me and bring me to the compound.”

“Of course I’ll help you, but let’s make sure you know where your people are first, and Abdul can do what he’s said. But you should leave here at the first sign of fighting in Nice. After that, everyone is going to be trying to run. It will be a field day for Liguria pirates, with all the boats fleeing at once. We’re really trapped here, now that the airport has been crippled.”

“Then how did Abdul get here?”

“Helicopter from Rome to a yacht. The Sheik has a 250-foot ice-breaker lying off the Italian coast. It’s there to evacuate their people. They can stay at sea for months, with the supplies and fuel reserves on that boat. They’re keeping a low profile, but they’re ready for whatever comes down.”

“I guess everybody’s got their back-up plans.” Leah’s advice sang in my head: stay nimble; don’t get boxed in with nowhere to run.

I still hadn’t seen Abdul. I didn’t owe him any explanations about Julian. Or about my heart.

Giovanni signaled the waiter for two more vodka tonics and glanced at his watch. Slava and Abdul had been playing poker for close to twenty-six hours now, for higher stakes than just the chips on the table. The night was deepening around us as we drank. We waited, and it seemed as though the whole world held its breath.

It must have been close to midnight when Giovanni called his driver to come pick me up in front of the Café de Paris. The poker game had entered its thirtieth hour. As each hour passed with no sign from Abdul, Giovanni’s apprehension and restlessness grew. We’d eaten at a small restaurant down on the quay, and I’d left him ensconced at a blackjack table that had a direct sightline to the door of the poker room. Most likely, he would sit there all night, keeping vigil until the door opened and he saw Abdul emerge from the ordeal.

I waited at the curb in front of the entrance for Giovanni’s driver, watching the few late-night revelers loitering in the square. Only three cars were parked at the bottom of the Grand Casino’s marble stairs. The terrace of the Café de Paris was nearly deserted; only a table of nymphs of the evening sat drinking the house’s champagne and chain-smoking, their eyes constantly scanning the dwindling crowd for solitary males. Scented hair, willowy limbs and provocative poses notwithstanding, there were no takers tonight. The rest of the inhabitants of the Principality had long since retreated behind locked doors.

It was then that I noticed the two silver-haired girlfriends, laughing and a bit tipsy, as they emerged arm in arm from the ornate double doors of the Casino. They hadn’t come to any harm and had only moved over to the main Casino to try their luck. The head valet had a taxi waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs.

I watched as he helped them inside. The taxi slowly pulled away from the stairs and rolled towards where I stood at the curb. I saw their heads bent towards each other in the back seat, probably chortling over their winnings and replaying the high points of their evening on the town.

The taxi pulled even with me, passing by only a couple of meters from where I waited in a pool of light. I was raising my hand to wave goodbye to the old girls when I glanced at the taxi driver and my heart gave a sickening lurch. The lights at the entrance to the Café de Paris were glaringly bright; this time there was no distortion or dimness to confuse me.

Dark hair fell about her shoulders like a shroud. Flecks of red burned in the depths of her eyes. Her teeth were blackened stumps. The hunger snaked across her face. It was the hag. The taillights flashed as the taxi braked at the corner, before accelerating down towards the harbor and disappearing from sight.

I shivered as I stood there, even though it was over ninety degrees outside. I felt the wings of a shadow pass over the town, devouring all the light. Heartsick, I wished more than anything that this time my intuition had been off…

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CHAPTER 24

H
AREM
S
CAREM

As it turned out, the game lasted till five the next morning. Abdul won back all the money he deliberately lost to loosen Slava’s tongue, and then some. As it was, the game ended on an acrimonious note—Slava smashed a chair on the table in a drunken rage over losing and threatened to cut off Abdul’s family jewels—and only the presence of the Emirati bodyguards kept any blood from being shed.

Abdul confirmed Joe’s suspicions that Slava’s decision to arm his war dogs was turning around to bite Slava on the ass, and his mask of smug self-confidence was starting to crack. As the tides of fortune turned against him in the last hours of the poker game, he became more belligerent and his taunts all the more direct. Whether it was true or not, it suited Slava’s purposes to let everyone believe he was involved in the Prince’s disappearance.

The Principality was drifting leaderless: garbage piled up in the alleys behind luxury highrises; once-green expanses of clipped lawns in the gardens around the Place du Casino withered and died. The faint smell of rot, mixed in with fear, hung in the sweltering air.

There was muttering amongst the Monegasque that the Prince had been forced to abdicate his throne. A number of Monegasques urged fellow citizens to assemble in front of the Palace on the Roc and demand an audience with their sovereign.

Meanwhile, Slava and Anjuli were seen together everywhere these days, always accompanied by a large entourage. They dined at the restaurants still open in town, presided at the gaming tables, and whiled away the night and early morning in the few unshuttered watering holes like Buddha Bar and Sass Café.

They no longer tried to conceal their partnership; indeed, they made a striking couple: Slava, with his shaven head and massive stature exuded power and barely restrained violence. Anjuli, by contrast, appeared even more exotic and sensuous. People were deferential to them from a combination of uncertainty and fear. Though they had as yet made no overt claim to rule, by force or threat of force, they acted as if it was their due as de facto potentates.

The French and Monegasque police continued to man the checkpoints at the borders to Monaco, and the local police remained visible on the streets. Monaco had always been a transient place, and though many of the former inhabitants seemed to have slipped away in the night or cowered at home, new faces—Slava’s ghouls—appeared every day now to take their place.

But what started as whispers amongst the Monegasque was every day more loudly repeated. It had been weeks since he had last appeared in his Principality. The question on everyone’s lips was, “Where is the Prince?”

The latest communiqué from the Palace explained that the Prince had fallen ill; his treatment and convalescence were offered to excuse his continuing absence. Still, the timing was quite a neat coincidence and helpful to Slava. But no matter how many secret meetings were held behind closed doors, no matter how the locals grumbled in the street, collective action was paralyzed, and there weren’t any overt public protests.

The waterspouts offshore danced along the edge of the world, while the sky, burdened with metallic-gray clouds, pressed down on our heads. The month of August had alternated between days of searing heat and raging winds, but the end of September was set to beat all records. We steamed in a pressure cooker of hot, humid air while rolling blackouts increased in frequency as the power grid in France began to fail.

I hadn’t seen Abdul in more than six weeks, and although he’d been well-occupied during our separation, this afternoon all his attention was focused on me as he awaited my reply.

I looked around at the stone walls of my villa. The jasmine that spilled over the roof edge and twined around the pillars drooped in the heat. A slight breeze from the cove ruffled the leaves over our heads and brought a momentary breath of cool relief from the sodden heat. I took a moment to light a cigarette, fiddling with the lighter to buy time.

“I don’t think I can do it. Your offer really touches me, Abdul, but it just wouldn’t be good for anyone involved: you, me, your wife, and especially your sons. You’ve got to realize that.”

I touched his hand, stroking the long fingers and the gold band on the left hand, hoping to soften my rejection of the offer to live under his protection in Abu Dhabi. My answer surprised him. I realized it had never crossed his mind that I wouldn’t jump at the chance to join his harem. Granted, Abdul was very rich and very sexy, but here was a perfect example of the cultural divide that yawned between us. He knew I was in a tough spot, without much room to maneuver. Frankly, my situation was pretty fucked-up, and he assumed I would exchange it for comfort, safety, and himself.

“But it’s impossible for you to stay here.” He gestured around my terrace, but I knew he meant so close to the fighting in France. “Time is running out. It’s almost as though you think this is some kind of game. Damn it! Don’t you get it, Maya Jade? Today, tomorrow, next week… it’s all coming down. You’ve got to get out. I can’t protect you here.”

I knew Abdul was under a lot of pressure, and everyone’s temper was fraying these days. Though I appreciated his concern and knew he was one of the few people who could actually help me get to the other side of the world, his tone of voice showed that he felt himself to be addressing a petulant child. This didn’t bode well for my new life in the desert with him as lord and master.

“You’re right. I know I can’t stay here anymore, but Abdul, I can’t live with you in Abu Dhabi, no matter how lovely it sounds. I have to try and reach my sister and family in Oregon. That’s where I belong, now that all this will soon be gone.”

He laid hold of my hand and traced circles with his thumb along the sensitive skin on my wrist, slowly moving higher along my inner forearm. His voice was low and hypnotic. “It’s very beautiful in the desert at night. I want to show you the dunes under a sky filled with a million stars.”

I wished I could let myself go and fall into those dark eyes. It all sounded so easy: a virile, handsome lover to take care of me; sensuous nights in his arms, under the desert stars. But that would only last until the novelty wore off and he found another plaything.

Even if everything fell into place and I was able to get to Rome and then Dubai, it might take a couple of months to get on a flight to Vancouver. Nothing was guaranteed anymore, and if I tarried too long in Abu Dhabi, so many things could happen to prevent my departure. The madness from Cali could overtake the Pacific Northwest and then British Columbia would close its border with Washington. The Emirates might ground their worldwide fleet if it became too dangerous to fly. Or Vancouver might suspend all commercial flights if there was a worldwide pandemic.

I would be trapped all over again, but truly this time a stranger in a strange land, completely dependant on Abdul’s every whim and most certainly not well-loved by his wife, his other concubines, or his family. I would be safe, but at what cost? Every instinct inside me screamed that the Emirates could only be a luxurious, silken trap.

“Can you help me get to my home, Abdul? I had word from my sister, Leah, it’s not good: my mother is sick.” I crossed my fingers and hoped I wasn’t bringing down any illness on her head with the lie I’d just told. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Mama was thriving ever since they’d hit the road. “I miss her so much. She’s getting on in years, and I want to be with her before she goes. You’re probably the only one who can help me get there.”

He moved his chair closer, and I could feel the heat radiating from his body as he leaned in towards me. But for some reason, it didn’t excite me the same anymore. Maybe the oppressive heat had something to do with it, or the goddamned humidity in the air today that made me feel as though I’d swallowed a hot sponge. Add the awkward reality that I needed him sweet to help me get to the other side of the world. Suddenly, all I felt was his physical presence crowding me. I knew I was slowly being backed into a corner.

“Of course, Maya. I’ll help you. Just come out to the Emirates, and I’ll see what I can do. I can set you up in an apartment in Dubai while I find you a flight. Our security is good there. You’ll be safe, darling. We don’t have rebels trying to overthrow our Sheik and the government.”

He started nuzzling my neck, as he continued in the same low and seductive voice, “Dubai is a very sophisticated city. You’ll feel at home. And in the next months, the weather will be cooler and we can ride in the desert. We have some of the most beautiful horses in the world. There’s so much I want to show you in the Gulf.”

I knew that most women in my situation would leap at the chance to escape the tide of mayhem and fighting that would soon consume this corner of the world. Abdul wasn’t trying to sell me into white slavery. I knew I was being unreasonable and should be grateful. He was offering to protect me in these uncertain times—set me up in my own apartment. Maybe even give me a pony if I was a good girl!

And yet, I had run out of options. Unless something drastically changed in the next few weeks, I was going to the Emirates. It would be a new life, interesting on many levels—the culture shock, exotic in the extreme. Though I knew he was from a tribal culture where the males held all the power, I hoped his time spent in California would somehow have made him more open-minded and less chauvinistic. I liked Abdul. That wasn’t the issue.

“I’ve been so worried about my mother and my family. I didn’t know what to do, or how to find my way there alone. But Abdul, if you could help me…,” I let my voice trail off.

He leaned over and kissed me, his lips moving sensuously over mine, and I felt a stirring, a small flame spring to life and heat me up inside.

“If you come to Dubai, darling, I’ll help you. I promise.”

I tried to divine if there was anything hiding in the depths of his eyes. I wanted to trust him, to believe that once I was in the Emirates he would keep his promise, but I felt the slightest prickle of unease run down my spine. He kissed me again, thoroughly, and then stood up and held out his hand. I didn’t really have any options left and let him lead me to into the coolness of my bedroom.

Later that night, I looked at the people scattered around the restaurant: the soft peals of laughter from the women in their bright slashes of silk and jewels, their manicured hands and perfumed hair; the men, dark eyes flashing to punctuate the low-voiced conversation in Arabic. Glasses of cognac in hand, the smoke from their Havanas curled in lazy spirals above their heads.

Was this going to be my world? Were these going to be my people? The only thing I was expected to do was wear my silks and jewels well. I felt Abdul’s presence by my side. Felt the gentle pressure of his fingers on my hand under the table, white teeth flashing in laughter as he leaned forward to answer the heavyset man opposite him. His warm, strong hand was the only thing anchoring me to his world. All I felt was numbness, a vast empty space inside that reached to my very soul.

Abdul was still the same man, radiating an easygoing humor and a gallant manner. The same thick, straight black hair, broad shoulders and long-lashed eyes, but there had been a subtle shift in the dynamics between us since this afternoon. I’d felt it in the touch of his hand that rested lightly on the lower curve of my back as he guided me through the restaurant. In the tiny seed of satisfaction—of possession—that gleamed in the depths of his eyes. I was under his protection now. Or rather, I would be as soon as I left these shores.

It was only later that I asked myself why I let myself give in so easily to Abdul’s vision of my future, when I finally confronted what I had done. At the time, I told myself I was only doing it so he would help me get to my family on the other side of this disintegrating world. I started to believe in Giovanni and Abdul’s conviction that alone I wouldn’t survive, that I had to place my trust in other people to guide me. I’d forgotten who I was. I’d forgotten my heart. I’d forgotten that Mama’s blood flowed through my veins.

Every time I thought of Julian—let myself picture the last image that was seared on my heart, of him standing alone against the storm—the world went dark for me.