The Temporal by CJ Martin Read Free Book Online

cigarettes made this a doubly secret pleasure. He kept a pack hidden in the nightstand in the corner to his right, where the smoke and that light originated.
    He leaped off the bed and away from the smoke, rushing to the doorway with two objectives in mind: to turn on the light and to grab the SIG P226 hidden on a shelf above the door.
    As his left hand flipped the switch illuminating the room, his right flew to the shelf—an empty shelf.
    “ Had I been an assassin,” said a silky voice beyond the bed, “the six guards in the adjacent room would have been quite embarrassed tomorrow morning.”
    Fakhr al Din turned with his jaw dropped. The woman, his employer, was sitting on a chair in the corner, smoking one of his cigarettes. She blew out a stream of smoke that resembled a tornado on its side. The smoke hit the tiled wall beside her and quickly disappeared into the grouted edges.
    “You know, smoking is terribly bad for your health. And... Lucky Strike? A curious choice. An American brand. And did you know that it was heavily marketed to women in the thirties and forties.” She paused to let out a gruff laugh. “The great Imam of Bushehr smoking an American woman’s cigarette. Paints a pretty picture, doesn’t it?”
    The man stood near the doorframe wondering whether he should call for his guards or to pretend to be happy to see her.
    “ Of course, you have already proven your willingness to submit to a woman.”
    His hand fingered the doorknob.
    “ Keep the door closed and sit down.”
    “ How—?”
    “ The door. Move away from it and sit down.”
    He had seen the woman ’s power before and did not want a fresh demonstration. The imam complied, sitting on the right side of his bed about ten feet from the woman. She continued puffing on her cigarette, seeming to wait for him to begin.
    “ Who are you people?”
    “ Friends,” she said as she took the cigarette from her right hand and wedged it between two fingers of her left. Her free hand then went into the inside pocket of her jacket. “Or perhaps, enemy of your enemy is closer to the truth.”
    Using her right hand, she pulled an envelope from the pocket. With a flick of her wrist, the envelope went flying into the air and landed on the bed inches from the imam.
    Before turning to the envelope next to him, h e watched as she returned the cigarette to her right hand and took another nearly silent drag. He then picked up the envelope and examined it. It had a peculiar wax seal that was embossed with a skull and a sickle.
    He knew it had to be payment for his services, but he did not dare break the seal to count the money while in her presence. He gently placed it on a bed stand unopened and then nodded appreciatively.
    The woman smothered the cigarette, reshaping it into a deformed butt on a nearby dresser ; there had been no ashtray. 
    “ Are all the devices in place?”
    “ Yes.”
    “ Good. You will find half of your payment in that envelope. You’ll hear from me again soon,” she said, beginning to stand. 
    “ Wait. Answer one question.”
    She said nothing, but stood there impatiently waiting for him to continue.
    He collected his thoughts so his question would be laced with the most respect. The last thing he wanted to do was to provoke any nonverbal reaction from her.
    “ You have extraordinary strength. You have incredible speed and agility. I have dozens of men and dogs all around and yet here you are. Why use us? Why not plant the bombs yourself?”
    The woman smiled, but said nothing for over a minute. Her face remained unchanged and fixed on him.
    He quickly regretted asking. He was normally in charge and was skilled at dominating any person. But not her. He broke out into a sudden sweat. He felt as if he had made an unforgivable mistake; a mistake that could cost him his life. 
    She slowly lifted her right hand to the tip of her sunglasses.  
    “ Nev... Never mind. It is none of my business.”
    “ Good. I’m glad we see eye