Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Jack
The air was thick with cigarette smoke as Jack leaned back in his chair, staring across the small card table at Alain Roche.
Ironically, the real Alain Roche was as stylishly dressed as the imposter Ruby had claimed was Roche.
No Panama hat but a nicely tailored suit and elegant white bowtie and dinner jacket.
He kept a silver cigarette case on the table from which he’d pulled the cigarette he was currently smoking.
The wrinkles around his lips, hidden only slightly by a trim black moustache, spoke to a tobacco habit.
Roche sipped on the glass of red wine he’d just been delivered and frowned at Jack. “Are you certain you don’t care for a drink?” His French accent mixed with the finesse that the Levantine people seemed to give the language.
Jack gave a tight-lipped smile. He wasn’t about to admit to Roche that he didn’t have a cent on him—or that he’d just been robbed. Neither gave the semblance of competence. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Roche raised a brow. “You’re not in America now, monsieur. You can drink freely here.”
This time Jack did smile. “I’m not a fan of temperance either. Just need to keep a clear head tonight.”
“I see.” Roche sniffed, then settled further into his seat. “Well, how can I help you, Mr. Darby? I’ve heard a great deal about you. You have quite the reputation in Cairo, it seems.”
“Maybe I did once. I only visit Cairo to see friends now.”
Roche’s smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Ah, yes—Captain Noah Benson, correct? I was told you still frequent his house in Cairo during the winter season.”
“Sometimes.” Jack shifted in his seat. Apparently, he hadn’t been the only one trying to find information on the other for this meeting tonight. And Roche had been far more successful than Jack had been at accomplishing his goal.
“But not this winter.”
Jack flattened his palms over his thighs, feeling unsettled. Being robbed likely had a good deal to do with that. Not to mention the reason he was seeking out Roche in the first place.
Focus.
“Not this winter,” he said. “Captain Benson and his wife were unable to come to Egypt this year.”
“Pity.” The corners of Roche’s mouth lifted. “I’ve heard stories of Captain Benson’s wife. She’s described as being quite beautiful. A shame I could not meet the English rose myself.”
Jack’s throat clenched. He didn’t have to overthink Roche’s line of questioning. The implication was clear enough. He’d heard of the scandal surrounding Ginger and Jack’s divorce.
Whatever reason Roche had for informing him just how much he’d learned, Jack was familiar enough with this sort of man to understand the subtle warning: Roche had access to information. And that could be used against Jack, if necessary.
“She’s more than beautiful,” Jack said gruffly. “She’s a doctor and surgeon. And she runs a private hospital in the country, which makes it difficult for the Bensons to leave England. Maybe next year.”
“Indeed.” Roche held the stem of his glass in his fingertips, swirling the wine gently. “But I interrupted you, of course. I assume you didn’t call me here to discuss Captain Benson and his wife. Forgive my curiosity.”
“No apology necessary.” Jack’s breath slowed. “I was given your name as someone who might have contacts in Iraq.”
Roche nodded, his eyes glittering. “That’s true.”
“I’m looking for information—discreetly—on two women who went missing in Iraq. And I’ll pay for that information, if necessary.”
“Two women?” Roche leaned closer. “Friends of yours?”
“My sister. And … her friend.”
“Do you know where they were last seen?”
Jack hesitated. How much information was safe?
He did a quick survey of the room. The smoking room may have been a better, more private place for a meeting, but it wasn’t hard to get a good sense of who gathered nearby.
The wood-paneled walls seemed to absorb the golden-hued electric light, the scent of beeswax drifting from their reflective polish.
Voices here were low and muffled, the constant reminder of polite society that restrained its laughter—and its emotion.
“They were working at the dig in Ur,” he said at last.
Roche nodded. “Fascinating site. I’ve been there several times.”
One of Jack’s least favorite aspects of modern archeology—the transformation of digs into major tourist attractions.
He kept his face blank and nodded. “I don’t have a lot of information to go on—either about the extent of their involvement with the excavation or where they were last seen.
But that’s where I was hoping you might come in. ”
“My condolences of course. This must be a … difficult time for you.” Roche swallowed some wine, then shifted in his seat. “Unfortunately, I have a situation I must confess to you. I’m unable to help you at the moment.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed at him. Unable? “You can’t or you won’t?”
Roche cleared his throat. “Surely you remember Captain Maxwell Knight? He believes you’ll remember him, at least.”
Jack nearly groaned.
Knight? The man was a menace. An intelligence agent for Britain’s MI5, he’d contacted Jack several times over the last couple of years, requesting a meeting.
When Jack had finally met with him, he’d made it clear that British Intelligence wanted Jack back in service—especially with the rise of socialism everywhere.
The US State Department had done the same thing but less aggressively. At least they seemed to take no for an answer. For now, anyway.
But what could Knight possibly have to do with Roche? Or this?
“I know him, yes.”
Roche offered an apologetic smile. “It seems that Captain Knight feels it necessary that those of us with … connections should refer you to him before assisting you with any inquiries.”
Jack’s jaw nearly dropped. What the hell? “He wants what?”
“Regretfully, he’s requested that you speak to him before I lend you my aid.”
Hands clenching into fists, Jack’s head spun. Knight had made it clear when they’d last spoken that if he wouldn’t help him in intelligence work he wouldn’t tolerate his participation in it. “I’ll be keeping a close watch on you, then. If you’re not with us, you’re against us.”
But this?
“I didn’t know you were beholden to the British government,” Jack snapped, his irritation flaring.
The tips of Roche’s teeth showed, stained red with wine.
“Careful. You wouldn’t want to discourage me from helping you later, would you?
” Taking a drag from his cigarette, he went on.
“Besides. You must understand my position. There are certain individuals I must keep content. Captain Knight has made it clear there are consequences for those who cooperate without his blessing.”
Like he gave a damn about insulting Roche.
“So that’s it, then. You won’t help me unless Knight gives permission? What do I have to do, exactly, to get this permission?”
“He thought you might ask.” A plume of smoke came from his lips.
“He’s asked that I travel with you to London.
Come to a resolution.” He gave Jack an eagle-eyed look.
“But you should know—the greater the favor you ask, the more he’s going to expect.
And you’re not nearly as valuable to Knight as your friend Benson. ”
A deep, sudden pressure pushed in against Jack’s chest, sudden understanding dawning.
Of course.
Captain Knight had intimated as much when they’d talked. He wanted Jack’s help at MI5—but Jack was American. And Knight knew the Americans wanted him. He would be willing to let Jack go and defer to the wishes of his allies.
But Noah?
Noah was British. Brilliant too. A polyglot who could blend seamlessly into a variety of cultures, and a veteran with hard-boiled experience. And while Jack had politely declined Knight’s proposals, Noah had been less congenial.
Knight wouldn’t just ask for Jack to help him this time—he’d try to leverage Jack’s need for help and information to find a way to pull Noah back into this.
Jack’s anger coursed through his veins, hot and unfiltered. The room felt smaller, the air thicker and suffocating.
“I don’t speak for Noah,” he said with a glare. Then he stood. “And you’re not the only person who has connections in Iraq, Roche.”
As he turned to go, Roche said, “I’m afraid you’ll find a similar result anywhere you turn, Jack. Captain Knight has made certain of that.”
Jack shook his head. “I’m willing to take my chances.”
“Are you?” Roche gave a skeptical look. “I thought this was about your sister. A loved one. Perhaps … her welfare is of less concern than I assumed.”
His words landed straight on target.
Alice.
Kit.
Maybe Prescott had lied. Or maybe they were out there in the dangerous desert right now … captive or worse.
He couldn’t think about that.
But did he really have time to waste? Jack heard his pulse hammering in his ears, unable to take a full, deep breath to ease the choking feeling. “And if Knight permits it, then you can help me?”
This time, Roche’s smile showed delight. “You were referred to me for a reason. Help can always be arranged—for a price. You just have to decide what you’re willing to lose.”