Azarov glanced over at the woman in the backseat with him. She was unquestionably one of the most alluring creatures he’d ever seen. But that came at a price. Her magnetism wasn’t produced just by her beauty—there were many equally stunning women. It was the sense of danger she exuded. The sharp edge that became a bit more ragged with every passing day. There was little doubt that at one time she and Rapp had been involved, and it was even more obvious that she would like to see that relationship rekindled.
The fact that Rapp was so tightly tied to Claudia was unnerving the woman more than she was willing to admit. Donatella was at an age where her irresistible power over men would soon begin to fade—a painful realization that would be magnified by the way Rapp looked at the younger Claudia Gould.
Would those issues translate into recklessness? Could she be trusted in a fight? Interesting questions, but not ones worth asking at this point. While he wasn’t in the habit of relying on other men’s judgment, he made an exception for Rapp. If the American felt she deserved a place on this team, it was likely that she did.
Kent Black’s voice came over the phone again. “I’m set up and have eyes on the prince’s vehicle. Give me a second and I should be able to get a head count.”
*
Donatella Rahn only half listened to the ensuing discussion, instead watching two girls walk across the parking lot toward the door. Both were in their early twenties, thin, tall, and expensively dressed. The one on the left, while wearing this year’s Chanel, didn’t seem comfortable in it. The other was even worse, looking dangerously unsteady in ancient Jimmy Choos.
Fresh off an Eastern European farm, she suspected. Looking to use the gifts nature had provided to build a better life. They entered without challenge but ultimately would be of little interest to anyone outside of the bedroom. And even then, she suspected their talents leaned more toward slopping pigs.
“Okay,” Black said over the speakers. “We’ve got two men in front and one in the back. They’re about to take the left into the club’s entrance.”
“Roger that,” Rapp said.
They watched bin Musaid’s car pull in front of the club as a valet rushed to open the back door. The prince stepped out, not exactly keeping a low profile in his red-checked headdress. The attendants were obviously familiar with his habits and none made a move to park the car. Instead, the bodyguards pulled into a space close to the door.
“Did you get a good look at him, Donatella?”
“He’s hard to miss.”
They waited another five minutes before Azarov tapped the back of Rapp’s seat. “There. That’s Klaus Alscher. I’ve known him for years.”
He got out and crossed the lot, feigning surprise at running into Alscher. After a warm handshake and a few introductions, he disappeared inside.
“You’re up, Donatella,” Rapp said. “Be careful.”
“This isn’t the Gaza Strip,” she said, opening the door and stepping out.
Unlike the girls who had entered earlier, Donatella neither teetered nor looked uncomfortable. She moved gracefully across the lot, aware of how the light played across her silk dress and of the men watching her approach. She gave one of the bouncers a seductive smile and he stepped aside to open the door.
The interior was what she expected—marginally stylish and wildly expensive. Girls like the ones she’d seen in the lot were everywhere, on the prowl for a wealthy man who might be interested in lavishing them with gifts. Or perhaps even setting them up in an apartment for a secret long-term relationship. She understood these women better than Claudia ever could because, for a time, she’d been one of them.
Azarov had managed to maneuver his companions into a tactically viable position and was getting a fair amount of attention from the young women around him. They’d be probing, trying to determine his wealth and station in life. If they succeeded, he would quickly become the most sought-after man in the bar. Not only rich but a marked improvement over the potbellied Arabs who made up the majority of the clientele.
Laughter burst out from the east corner of the room when a young man jumped onto his chair and began gyrating wildly to the sedate music. Donatella allowed herself a bemused smile and moved toward the bar. Bin Musaid was standing at one end, surrounded by friends and the requisite contingent of women. He glanced in her -direction, and she met his eye for a moment before turning her attention to the bartender. He brought her a martini that she sipped while intermittently engaging and dismissing the men who approached her. Whenever she sent one away, she would steal a glance in bin Musaid’s direction. And every time she did, he paid increasing attention.
The truth was that the girls in this bar were sheep. And while hunting sheep could be mildly amusing, bin Musaid was a man who would find hunting a tigress far more diverting.
CHAPTER 29
I AM Prince Talal bin Musaid.”
Both Donatella and Azarov had microphones on them that fed through the BMW’s sound system. Rapp glanced at his watch when he heard bin Musaid introduce himself to Donatella. Eight minutes forty-two seconds since she’d walked into the place. She hadn’t lost her touch.
He cut back the volume on Azarov’s conversation about Venezuela’s economic meltdown and half listened to her coy banter. There was no reason to worry or second-guess. She’d play with him for a while, get him worked up, and then inside of forty-five minutes they’d be on their way to her hotel suite.
Rapp watched the flow of traffic in and out, memorizing the positions of drivers waiting for their clients. It was impossible to know how many were armed and how many just handled the wheel, but it paid to learn as much as possible about the operating environment. Even if his role turned out to be nothing more than watching Donatella sashay to bin Musaid’s car.
The conversation droning from the speakers was the most interesting thing on the menu until two Volvo S90 sedans cruised up to the entrance. The light from the building passed through them, illuminating an interior that caught Rapp’s attention. Each contained two men in front and three wedged into the back. All were bearded and appeared to be between twenty-five and forty. An advance security team for some heavy hitter? Rapp glanced back, hoping to see a limo hanging back. Nothing.
“Kent. Are you seeing these two Volvos?” he said into his radio.
“Yeah, I got ’em. What’s up?”
“Probably nothing. But stay sharp.”
The valets opened the doors and the men began stepping out, taking pains to stay facing the car. What were they hiding?
“Finger on the trigger, Kent.”
“Who are these assholes? A bunch of Arab soccer players?”
“I don’t think so,” Rapp said, opening his car door a couple inches.
Finally, one of the men was forced to move away from the vehicle in order to let the next one out. When he did, he opened his coat and swung an assault rifle into firing position.