The Lost Sisterhood

  He silenced me with a kiss. And another. Then he said, with an exasperated headshake, “I did everything I could to not fall in love with you.”

  His words made me ridiculously happy. “And the result?”

  Nick took my hand, palm to palm, and after a few seconds I could no longer tell whose pulse it was I felt. “What do you say, Goddess?” He looked me in the eye. “Will you allow this mortal to love you?”

  I leaned closer. “It’s dangerous. But you like danger, don’t you?”

  Without hesitation, Nick drew me into his arms, and we fell on each other ravenously. I still had questions, but could no longer remember them. All I wanted to know was him … how his skin felt against mine, whether he was as frantically impatient as I. Clothes were yanked off, hands found their way at last…. Our urgency to be together was so great we both forgot to be gentle. I heard Nick groaning when I clung to his shoulders, but wasn’t sure if it was a sign of pain or pleasure. It didn’t stop me. I craved him more than I had ever craved anything and claimed his body with rapacious greed. Not even fully undressed, I was up against the wall with a significant part of him inside me, so ecstatic I nearly passed out.

  “Oh my God,” he groaned, when we finally collapsed together on the big cushion on the floor, his nose bleeding again. “What have you done to me?”

  “I think you mean ‘Goddess,’ “ I muttered, gently wiping the blood from his lip, still awash in awestruck fulfillment. “Since when did you become so religious?”

  Nick ran his fingers over my sweaty skin, his eyes full of reverence. “Only the immortals can pull at a man the way you pull at me.”

  “You weren’t so keen on me in the beginning.”

  He smiled, aware I was angling for a compliment. “I’m not sure dragging you into my tent and unzipping my pants would have been the best way of welcoming you to Algeria. Do you?”

  “Maybe if you had shaved off that mangy beard first.”

  Nick laughed. “Careful. If you don’t behave, it may grow back.”

  LATER, WHEN WE HAD made ourselves comfortable in bed, I finally asked the question that had been at large in my mind for days. “What did you mean that day in Istanbul,” I said, running my fingers over Nick’s chest, “when you said you had already taken a bullet for James?”

  Nick smiled and kissed me. “You know what I meant. If it hadn’t been for him, I’d have treed you long ago.”

  I burst out laughing. “Didn’t your boss tell you not to harass your employees?”

  Nick made a grunt. “Harassment is part of the package.”

  “Tell me … do you like working for Mr. al-Aqrab?”

  He thought about it briefly. “No.”

  “Then why don’t you quit?”

  “It’s not that easy.” Nick looked uncomfortable, if not downright sheepish. “I guess now’s the time to tell you. Mr. al-Aqrab is my father.”

  “What?” I would have erupted from the bed if he hadn’t held me back.

  “Come on.” He kissed me in the neck. “It’s not as if you’re in bed with the devil.”

  “I don’t know.” I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. It was hard to be upset with Nick for telling me the truth at last, and yet the idea of him surrounded by the inevitable playboy retinue of fast cars and bikini models made me sad. “Define ‘devil.’ “

  “I do have some redeeming qualities, don’t I?” Nick took my hand and guided it underneath the duvet. “Such as a very big … heart.”

  “How about a very big explanation?” I countered, reminding myself of all the excellent reasons why I had run away from him in Istanbul. “Your people were spying on my family! You actually had some … sleazy detective crawling through hedges and shrubberies to take photos of my parents in their home. And what about those guns under your bed? I’m assuming you use them to shoot people.” I stared at him to see if my words had any effect and was somewhat gratified to see his smile disappearing. “So, excuse me if I’m a little disgruntled to say the least. From day one, you have been lying to me, bullying me, manipulating me—I don’t even know your first name!”

  Nick sat back and folded his arms across his chest, the firelight casting ominous shadows over his face. “My name is Nick. I told you so. My dad named me Kamal, but my mother called me Niccolò.”

  “Your Brazilian mother?” I proposed, eager to help him along. I remembered well our conversation in Mycenae, over Mr. Telemakhos’s blackboard dinner table, when Nick had regaled us all with vignettes—all fake, I now realized—from his destitute childhood.

  “No.” Nick sighed and closed his eyes. “My biological mother.”

  As he sank into silence, my lingering confusion grew into complete bewilderment. I had been so sure we would be talking about the contents of the envelope I took from him, starting with the detective report on me and my family. The realization that I might, in fact, merely be a secondary character in Nick’s big explanation was strangely sobering.

  “My dad was born in Iran, in an old and wealthy family,” he began at last, his eyes still closed.

  “The al-Aqrab family, I assume?”

  “No, no, no.” He brushed the suggestion aside with a tired gesture. “Al-Aqrab is an Arab name. It means ‘scorpion.’ My dad changed his name when he was cast out of the family at twenty-two.”

  Perhaps sensing my surprise, Nick opened his eyes. He looked so miserable I felt a throb of pity. Only then did it occur to me that maybe the underlying reason for his protracted secrecy with regards to his real identity was not so much a desire to fool me as it was a need to maintain a mental buffer between himself and his father. All the different disguises and moods, all the different passports—could it be that he was hiding not just from looters and smugglers, but from himself as well? Leaning closer, I kissed him on the cheek, and he smiled in response.

  “Thirty-four years ago my dad made the Oxford rowing team,” Nick continued. “He and his mates went into London to celebrate. There, he met a woman, and they ended up spending the night together. But she was gone before sunrise, and he never saw her again.” With that, Nick got out of bed and disappeared into the small pantry, completely naked, leaving me to wonder how I could possibly have kept my hands off this gorgeous man for so long and, slightly more relevantly, whether that was the end of his story.

  Minutes later, he returned with a bottle of red wine, two glasses, and a box of crackers. Only when we were both equipped with a full glass did he touch his to mine and say, “One year later my father received a baby in the mail. That was me. With a note attached. The note said, ‘Dear Hassan, this is your son. His name is Niccolò. Please forgive him. He can’t help what his mother is.’ There was more, but nothing that matters now. The note was signed ‘Myrina.’ “

  I stared at him, speechless.

  “As you can imagine”—Nick took a swig of wine—”my dad has spent thirty-three years trying to find this Myrina again. He is convinced she was an Amazon. She was so beautiful and strong, and the circumstances of their meeting was bizarre. My dad was walking back from a nightclub with his friends when a beautiful Latin woman joined them and took him by the elbow. It wasn’t until later, when he was thinking the whole thing through, that it occurred to him there had been several police cars in the street just then, sirens going. Anyway, the woman walked into the hotel with them and followed my dad all the way up to his room. He was so mesmerized by her he didn’t object. As soon as they were alone, she excused herself and went to the bathroom. When she had been there for a while, my dad knocked on the door and asked if she was okay. No response. When he tested the door and found it locked he kicked it in, thinking maybe she was doing drugs or committing suicide…. All kinds of things went through his mind. He found her sitting in the shower, crying hysterically. At first, he thought she was hurt, because there was blood on the hand towel and in the sink, but he couldn’t see any wounds. Then he noticed the hunting knife in her pile of clothes.” Nick grimaced at me. “My dad, of course, was i
ntrigued. Who is this woman? What has she done? He tries to talk to her, but she pushes him away and sneers, ‘Do you know the punishment for defiling an Amazon?’ In the end, she gets up and dries off, and my dad persuades her to spend the night in his room. I don’t know the details, but seeing that I was conceived that night, I am deducing my dad did not sleep in the armchair. And yes”—Nick nodded at my arm—”she wore a bracelet just like yours. That’s why my dad went to Mycenae thirty years ago, to talk to Mr. Telemakhos.”

  At that, the long row of dominoes finally began falling in my head. “Of course!” I exclaimed. “That was your father! Mr. al-Aqrab! He was Chris Hauser from Baltimore, wasn’t he? That’s why you were so strange that day.”

  “I was?” Nick looked a little bemused. “Well, can you blame me? I had no idea my dad had been there before, under a false name. Even now, I still don’t understand how Mr. Telemakhos made the connection. I don’t look like my dad at all. Do I?”

  “He is the Oracle after all,” I said, diplomatically dodging the issue. “He said my handbag would turn up again, and it did.”

  Nick glanced at me as if he wasn’t entirely sure to what extent I had forgiven him yet. Then, touching a hopeful hand to my cheek, he whispered, “He told me you were my soul mate. But I already knew that.”

  I kissed the palm of his hand. “I wish we had had this conversation before we went to Istanbul. Or at least before we left Istanbul.”

  Nick shook his head. “Diana. I didn’t know all this until last night. After you disappeared, I flew to Dubai to have a word with my dad in private, which is always a challenge—”

  “You flew to Dubai? But I just saw your father at the Çira?an Palace Hotel with Mr. Ludwig—”

  “He’s a slippery one,” said Nick, pouring us more wine. “I had asked him to explain everything to me—what the hell we were doing, what role you were playing, why Reznik was after your grandmother’s notebook—and that’s why he gave me that envelope, which you then appropriately stole from me.” Nick gave me a sideways glance. “He also, by the way, gave me the guns in case Reznik came knocking. It’s his way of showing his love.”

  Struck by sympathy, I leaned my head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry—”

  “Don’t be. If you hadn’t run away like that, I’d never have gotten the truth out of him. I always knew my mother wasn’t the woman who gave birth to me, but as you said yourself, before I met you I could barely spell ‘Amazon.’ It wasn’t really until that night on the boat, when you told me about your grandmother and said something about Amazons giving up their baby boys that I began to suspect our trip had something to do with me. My dad had sent me on this strange mission—basically to stick close to you and see who came out of the woodwork—but hadn’t explained what it was he wanted.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “Why all the hugger-mugger?”

  Nick sighed deeply. “My dad is like that. He always says that those who control the present can rewrite the past. I just never realized he was talking about himself. I suppose once you start lying to people, and constructing an alternative reality, you can’t just suddenly pull it all apart.” He shook his head again, looking just about as glum as I remembered him from Algeria. “I know it looks like I’ve been lying to you from the start, but the fact is I was just passing on the lies my dad told me. I had no idea he had been looking for the Amazons for thirty-three years, and that his foray into archaeology was just an excuse to dig up every anthill in the Mediterranean—”

  “Maybe he thought he was protecting you?” I suggested, thinking of my own parents. “But then … why did he want you to track down the Amazons? I’m assuming that’s what he was hoping I would help you do.”

  “He claims he wanted to give my biological mother a chance to meet me.” Nick frowned. “Personally, I think it’s a power game. He wants to prove he was right after all, and that the Amazons do exist. He told me to keep an eye on you … follow you around … see where you wanted to go.”

  I felt a stab of suspicion. “But you fired me. On day one. Why would you fire me if you were supposed to—as you say—follow me around?”

  Nick nodded, acknowledging my point. “When you and I first met, my priority was the temple. I thought you were a liability because of your connection with Oxford and the Moselanes.” He smiled, perhaps in recognition of how dramatically things had changed since then. “I’ll admit it: I couldn’t wait to get rid of you. But when I talked to my dad, he made it clear that you were more important than the temple.” Nick put an arm around me and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “He had no idea how right he was.”

  “Even though I’m a liability?”

  “A liability with an Amazon bracelet.” Nick flicked a finger at the jackal. “That really heated things up. My dad was convinced that, sooner or later, you would lead me to the big Amazon mother ship. And when that was slow in coming, he figured we could somehow provoke the Amazons into action. That’s why he wanted me to give you back your phone that night in Algeria; he wanted to see who you would call, and what would happen. He already suspected that your connection at Oxford, Katherine Kent, was involved with the Amazons; he just didn’t know what role she plays.”

  “Lovely,” I said. “Running scientific experiments with his own son. Boom! He certainly got some bang for his buck with that one. I gather this is also why he wanted you to spread the word about the Amazon Hoard? To make the Amazons feel some pressure?”

  Nick hung his head, looking just about as penitent as he ought to, on behalf of his father. “To think I kept playing his hand, getting you into trouble. I simply didn’t realize what we were up against. And nor did he. Apparently, he was convinced that, at some point, my mother would realize who I was and make herself known to me. And if she didn’t … no harm done, since I knew nothing about her anyway. He certainly never imagined we would get caught up in the war between the Amazons and Reznik.”

  We were silent for a while. It was odd to sit and watch the flames dancing in the fireplace knowing that while those logs had been burning, my entire universe had tilted on its axis. In the end I snuggled up to Nick and said, “You told me your father was a street musician. I liked it that way.”

  Nick sighed. “Well, he was. And I really was the little monkey passing his hat around. When his family back in Iran heard about the baby—that is, me—they were furious. They wanted him to give me away and continue his studies at Oxford as if nothing had happened; when he refused to do that, they cut him off completely. And when he talked to his college, offering to work for his board and tuition, they told him no, he couldn’t stay there with a baby—it wasn’t ‘the Oxford way.’ He had no money, couldn’t go back home … and so he put me in a backpack and joined a group of traveling musicians. That’s how he ended up in Rio, where he started his first business and met the woman who became my adoptive mother. He’s a self-made man through and through. Very exhausting to be around. Needs to control everything.”

  “Even you?”

  “Especially me.”

  I tried to smile. “He’s not exactly a favorite among people in Oxford. I get the impression he is quite … ruthless?”

  Nick squeezed my thigh. “He’s not as bad as people like to think, just goal oriented. Have you ever heard of a successful capitalist who was not considered ruthless? It’s the unthinking herd’s favorite prejudice.”

  “Even so, I’m guessing he won’t be too pleased if he discovers you’re dallying with an Oxford academic.”

  Nick turned to look at me with a crooked smile. “He would understand my need to conquer the ice princess who wouldn’t even shake my hand.” His smile fading, he ran his fingers down the length of my body as if to demonstrate the liberty with which that once-scorned hand could now travel.

  “Is that what you’ve done?” I asked, when he leaned in for a kiss. “Conquered my glacial sovereignty?”

  “Haven’t I?” Nick rolled on top of me. “Do I sense a rebellion?” He smiled when I softened beneath hi
m. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

  “Careful,” I warned him. “It could be an ambush. Any moment now, my Amazon sisters may kick down the door—”

  “You’re right.” He pinned my arms to the bed. “I’d better hurry.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  So far (and here rumor speaks the truth), and so far only, does the world reach.

  —TACITUS, Germania

  I WOKE UP SUDDENLY, MY HEART RACING, FEARING IT HAD ALL BEEN A dream. But when I saw Nick right next to me, sound asleep, I felt a relief as great as had I woken from a nightmare. Snuggling up to his savory warmth, I looked at him as he lay there bathed in the soft light of a dawning day. How was it possible that this glorious man who hadn’t even known me for a month had nonetheless discovered sides of me—if not an entire continent—I never knew existed? “Just give me a moment, Goddess,” he muttered. “I’m a mortal, remember?”

  Despite his bruised nose, Nick looked statuesque even in his sleep, and it occurred to me that, for all his secrets, his body bore no marks of its unusual history. No scars, no jewelry, no tattoos gave any clues to his origins or the hands he had passed through before he fell into mine. Kamal al-Aqrab lived with a forged provenance and had by his own admission spent his adult life running away from preying sycophants who couldn’t see beyond the ritzy label to the man underneath.

  In this, we were more alike than I had first acknowledged. Yes, we had grown up around very different campfires—if not in different sets of caves altogether—but we also had so much in common, most of all the running and the searching. While Nick had trekked across the farthest edges of the earth looking for an exit from his father’s imperial ambitions, I had galloped into the past to do battle with those who claimed the Amazons were nothing but fading names on brittle parchment. How odd—how wonderful—that our paths had come together like this.

  Too agitated to go back to sleep, I crawled out of bed and went over to the fireplace to see if I could coax the embers back to life. Then I turned to my grubby handbag at last, bracing myself for the devastation I might find inside. It was the third bag I had been using within the space of two weeks; would that the evil handbag fairy tire of me soon.