He escorted her back to the couch and helped her sit. “Do you need anything else?”
Besides Caroline?“No, thank you.”
“Father, your guest has arrived,” Solana reappeared in her blue burka and Celine fought the urge to cringe.
“Escort him to the library.”
Solana bowed and backed from the room, gone as quickly as she'd arrived.
“Celine, it has been my pleasure. I'll leave you to your rest and see you off in the morning. Please make use of your new attire. I must go, as you well know, business waits for no one.”
Mankel bowed and left, leaving Celine clutching her new clothes and alone with the feeling she'd missed something very important.
Chapter 6
Jack Mankel extendeda hand to the slight blond man perched on the edge of his antique 18th-century sofa. “Mr. Sven, so nice to meet you.”
Sven took his hand in a delicate handshake and allowed it to flutter back to his leg. “I'm here to inspect the merchandise. If I find it to my satisfaction, then we can complete the transaction.”
“And what did your employer think of the photos?” He’d taken plenty of pictures from the hidden cameras scattered throughout Celine’s bathroom and bedroom. She would add a nice bonus to his checking account.
And after the way Celine had hungrily gripped the seductive clothing he’d purchased for her, he was fully confident she’d be ready for viewing fully.
“Quite stunning. He's very interested, but you must understand photos are not enough for a purchase of this magnitude.” Sven tapped his cheek and stared up at Mankel through lashes too thick to ever be considered manly.
“Of course, please follow me. You'll be able to observe her at your will.” Mankel led the way from the room. The sooner he could dispose of Celine, the better. His spies had already reported Task Force Scorpions, TF-S, presence about a hundred kilometers from their location. They would pinpointhim soon, of that he had no doubt, and he needed to see to his final preparations.
He'd trained the men on TF-S. He knew just how smart they were and that they now worked for Senator Cotter. His lip curled at the thought. Not much longer. Once he got rid of the extra girl, he'd turn his full attention to his true plan and Cotter would fall, right along with TF-S.
He headed across the polished marble foyer, scattered with priceless Persian rugs, and up the equally impressive winding marble staircase. This was the kind of home he deserved; the kind of life he deserved. Too bad the United States government hadn't seen it that way. If they had, he would've been perfectly content in a nice three-story brownstone off Main Street in D.C. instead of the little shit hole the piss ant salary he'd been allotted allowed him to purchase. Forced to drive secondhand cars and work gruesome hours, all the while covering up top-secret government intel; secrets more valuable than the government realized.
But he'd realized early on and started collecting information, and when he got enough, he made his move, brokering a deal with the now dead leader of the Islamic State of Afghanistan, ISA, and catapulting himself into a life of wealth.
“Your home is very impressive,” Sven commented as Mankel turned right down a long sunlit corridor lined with sculptures.
“I'm sure your employer's is equally so,” Mankel replied. Except Dmitri Stanislov wasn't surrounded by desert. The man ruled his estate right in the heart of Russia without fear of interruption from anyone.
Mankel paused at a narrow door partially concealed behind a column and potted plant. “Please hold your questions until after your observation. I would ensure the purchase has no knowledge of the transaction so transport will be completely compliant tomorrow.”
“Of course, that is assuming I approve.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” Mankel replied and eased open the door. He led the way through the tight hall, using the track lighting along the floor and its dim glow as a guide until he saw the filtered sunlight up ahead. He stopped beside a heavily filigreed grate in the wall and glanced through, ensuring she’d taken the bait of the silk gown.
Celine stood near the balcony, the revealing garment displaying her curves to perfection. Her beauty was unquestionable and right up the Russian’s alley. Mankel gestured for Sven to peer through.
The palace had been built nearly two centuries ago by the sultan known as the Iron Amir, who was known not only for his penchant for war but for pleasure. He'd had large suites built for his slaves with hidden passages to spy on them. He'd never used them before now, but the set up was perfect for his current situation.
Sven peered inside the room for a few minutes and then nodded and stepped back, trying to hide his excitement. Mankel escorted him back out in to the hall and to the library in silence. Sven resumed his perch on the sofa and Mankel sat in the matching love seat, a low 17th century coffee table set with fresh tea and cakes between them. “Well?”
“My employer usually prefers his women with longer hair, but there is no doubt she is a great beauty and will add to his collection. And her history?”
Mankel crossed his ankle over his leg and steeped his fingers. Celine had verified the history he’d had gathered in the past day. “She speaks English and French, educated through high school. Owns a small store back in the States. Her family is poor and she has little involvement with them at this time in her life. They will cause no trouble.”
Sven poured a cup of tea and took a sip from the delicate china. “Does she have a husband? Children?”
“No. She is alone.”
Sven carefully replaced the teacup and saucer, his blank expression easing. “She bruises beautifully. Dmitri will like that, but she is damaged goods. Are you certain she is clean?”
