Deception in Cairo: The Nikki Sinclair Spy Thriller Series, #6

By Jaye Rothman

If you enjoy lesbian thrillers, you'll love reading the Cold War spy novels featuring MI6 agent Nikki Sinclair.

 

1976, Spring. Cairo, Egypt

 

Nikki and her fake husband are undercover in Cairo and need to discover why a valued asset has stopped providing intel. Nikki struggles with her emotions when she meets the stunningly beautiful and older Countess Nadasdy. One question plagues Nikki. Is the Countess a KGB spy?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaye Rothman
• Release date: Feb 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393523901

Book preview

Chapter 1

Cairo, Egypt

March 1978

My dear, have you noticed that the Countess has our new arrival in her sights?

I wonder if someone should warn her? The second speaker had an upper-class British accent.

It’s probably not wise to become involved with that sort of thing.

Indeed. I’ve noticed the Countess has been quite bereft since the French Ambassador’s wife returned to France. Perhaps she hopes to find a replacement in Mrs Salisbury?

Someone needs to have a word with her. The woman’s tone sharpened when she said, The Countess is old enough to be her mother.

Mildred, it really isn’t our concern. A pause ensued, and then the other female spoke again. Did you see how the Ecuadorian Trade Attaché flaunted his mistress?

His poor wife. I heard she’s returned home.

The clip-clop of high heels faded, and then a door banged shut. Nikki stepped out of the cubicle, strolled over to the vanity and checked her ash blonde hair hadn’t fallen flat in the large ornate mirror hanging on the wall behind. She reapplied her lipstick and let out a long sigh. The gossipers had piqued her curiosity about the Countess. But no matter how much she wanted to she didn’t dare show the slightest interest. A last look at her reflection, and then she followed the women back into the sumptuous ballroom.

The Gezira Sporting Club was founded by the British in the 1880s as an elite establishment for polo-playing officers. The multinational oil and gas company Eni, based in Rome, had secured a contract with the Egyptian government and, to celebrate, the Italian government was hosting a glittering reception. The cream of Egyptian society had fought to secure an invitation. Conversations in over ten languages buzzed throughout the room, drowning out the valiant efforts of a quartet who were playing a selection of well-known classical pieces.

Nikki wandered across the room and took refuge next to a marble pillar. From there she could observe Amisi al-Karim, the wife of the Deputy Minister of Defence. For three years, this woman had provided valuable intel to the British government. Then, five months ago, the flow of information had ceased without warning. Tonight, at the reception, Nikki planned to confront Amisi and ascertain the reason why.

An annoying braying laugh came from the left, and Nikki turned to trace the source of the merriment. Her husband was lapping up the attention of two women. One, a willowy brunette several years younger than Nikki, chortled loudly at his joke. The other, an attractive blonde somewhere in her early thirties, laid a hand on the sleeve of his dinner jacket. Martin glanced in his wife’s direction, and a faint smile of triumph crossed his handsome features before he resumed his conversation.

He looks like a young version of Steve McQueen. The voice had an Eastern European intonation and suggested the owner was too fond of cigarettes.

The remark made Nikki’s blood boil. Martin was her husband but, since their arrival in Cairo, his behaviour had become a constant source of disagreement between them. He blamed Nikki for their lack of physical intimacy and used every gathering they attended to take his revenge.

Nikki swung around to confront the speaker, and her carefully worded retort died in her throat. She turned her unintentional gasp into a brief cough and hoped her outspread hand hid her heated cheeks.

The woman’s platinum blonde hair had been coiffured in a French pleat. Elaborate waves and soft curls framed her face. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows matched the rich brown of her long eyelashes. Her ocean green eyes appraised Nikki with interest and perhaps a hint of something else. Time had left a few lines around her mouth, but no blemishes marked her flawless skin. A slash of red velvet lipstick, the same colour as her fingernails, completed the iconic look of pre-war Europe. Eyes glinting with amusement, an ebony cigarette holder gripped in one hand, she offered the other to Nikki.

Someone walks into your world and takes your breath away. This is what they meant. Nikki stared into the woman’s eyes, and the room faded into insignificance. She tried to pull her gaze away, but she was trapped at the bottom of the sea. Then, Nikki blinked, and the moment was over. She dropped her eyes and appraised the woman’s body. A black cocktail dress hugged curves in all the right places, and the low neckline emphasised a cleavage that would be the envy of many females.

Do I meet with your approval? A throaty chuckle followed the words.

Another rush of heat consumed Nikki’s face and neck. She swallowed audibly, took the woman’s outstretched hand and risked a brief glance at her mesmerising eyes. Nikki released the soft, warm hand reluctantly. A waiter passed by carrying glasses of champagne on a tray. The woman removed two glasses and handed one to her.

Nikki mumbled her thanks. She downed a large gulp, hoping to steady her nerves.

The woman was watching Martin’s flirtatious exchange. She lowered her voice. During these events, a wife’s natural reaction is to keep an eye on their husband. As you can see, the predators are already circling. Soon they will pounce and snatch up their quarry.

We’re fairly new to Cairo, so I wouldn’t know about these things, Nikki said. Perhaps this woman too had her eye on Martin? She turned and eyeballed the stranger. I don’t believe we’ve met.

We haven’t, but I know who you are. The woman’s gaze dropped to her lips.

Nikki sucked in a breath at the flirtatious signal.

You’re Natasha Salisbury, and that’s your husband, Martin. The woman’s gaze tracked across to James Cavendish and his new acquaintance. The blonde had dispatched her rival, and now she leaned into him, smoothing the silk on his lapel with her hand.

You’re well informed. Nikki’s gaze roved over the stranger’s beautiful face. Their eyes met again. Her heart missed a beat and then hammered uncomfortably against her ribs.

My name’s Elza, the Countess Nadasdy. She placed a hand on Nikki’s bare shoulder.

Nikki didn’t quite manage to repress a shiver at the unexpected touch.

The Countess, seemingly oblivious to Nikki’s reaction, leaned closer; so close Nikki could inhale her perfume. I’m sure you hear this constantly, but your resemblance to the Charlie Angel’s actress Farah Fawcett is quite remarkable. She paused. Do you mind if I call you Natasha?

Nikki stammered. No, of course not.

The experts at Broadway had spent days discussing her disguise and whether the look would appeal to Amisi. Eventually, they’d decided on the American clean-cut, glowing with health and vitality image that Farah Fawcett epitomised. Nikki had spent hours in the hairdresser’s every two weeks to acquire her new appearance. The hard work it took to pull off the pretence, drove her to distraction. Before this reception, she’d spent another two frustrating hours in front of the mirror.

The Countess lowered her voice. You didn’t answer my question. She waited a moment and then said, Do I meet with your approval?

Nikki hesitated. How should she respond? If she denied it, she might offend the Countess, but if she acknowledged it... After all, she was supposed to be a newly married woman. She cleared her throat. How could you not?

The Countess’s hand dropped from her shoulder and, instantly, Nikki missed the warmth and intimacy.

Elza’s mouth curved into a seductive smile. That’s welcome news. Because I find you enchanting, simply enchanting.

Nikki took a steadying breath. Men have a tendency to pay me compliments, but not women.

The Countess quirked an eyebrow. Really? I find that hard to believe.

This time, heat rushed up Nikki’s neck and warmed the roots of her hair. Her spot of eavesdropping suggested the Countess had quite a reputation in Egyptian society. Had she been studying Nikki? Did the woman know her carefully concealed secret?

Nikki endeavoured to keep her voice neutral. It’s true. Women seem to see me as a threat. They believe I’ll steal their husbands. She dropped her gaze.

The Countess’s finger and thumb were caressing the stem of the champagne flute. I don’t think husband stealing is in your repertoire.  She gave another throaty chuckle, raised her glass to her lips and took a tiny sip.

Nikki tried not to stare as Elza ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip. Why would you say that?

The Countess raised her eyebrows. Because your eyes haven’t left the Deputy Minister of Defence’s wife since you arrived.

Nikki’s neck and face warmed once again. She’d become sloppy and careless. Probably due to the frustrating situation and her longing for the operation to end. She studied her fingernails. If the Countess had observed her interest, who else might have noticed? Did the Countess know she worked for MI6? Quickly changing the subject, she said, Is your husband here?

The Countess’s languid gaze rested on Nikki’s mouth. Just when our conversation was heading in an interesting direction, you mention my husband. She sipped her champagne. Sandor’s standing over there by the window.  The Countess leaned closer. The one smoking.

A tubby man was engaged in an animated conversation with an elegant, tallish man puffing at a cigarette, whose head of unnaturally black hair touched his collar. He wore a black velvet dinner jacket with a white floppy bow tie. She put his age at a decade older than the Countess.

The Countess smiled, displaying perfect white teeth. "Tell me, do you find her beautiful?’

Nikki didn’t need to ask who she was referring to but she stalled. Whom do you mean?

The Minister’s wife, of course.?" The Countess smiled.

Nikki gave a tight smile. Yes. Anyone would.

Then I must introduce you.

You’re very kind.

The Countess smiled. Believe me when I say the pleasure is all mine.  Her eyes lingered on Nikki’s breasts a fraction too long.

She linked her arm through Nikki’s and escorted her across the ballroom to where Amisi was holding court, with several male admirers hanging on her every word. Nikki saw a way in. If Elza knew the Deputy Minister of Defence’s wife well, and Nikki befriended the Countess, then she might have found a way to gain Amisi’s confidence.  

The Countess’s sultry voice broke into her thoughts. Tell me, how do you amuse yourself?

The phrasing of the question sounded provocative, but Nikki made allowances. After all, English wasn’t the Countess’s first language. Her accent pointed to Czech or Hungarian ethnicity.

I’m not sure what you mean.

When your husband’s working, how do you pass the time?

The Countess’s fingers trailed down the inside of Nikki’s arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, and Nikki revised her earlier opinion. Elza had an excellent understanding of English. Nikki inhaled a deep breath. I read, I walk and ...

The Countess quirked an eyebrow. Perhaps you’d like to join me for afternoon tea at Shepheard's?

I don’t think so. I mean, we hardly know each other.

That’s a shame. We could become friends. Elza paused. And we might discover our interests are compatible.

Nikki gasped at Elza’s blatant proposition. I’m sorry, Countess, but I think you’re very much mistaken.

Elza released Nikki’s arm an instant before Amisi turned to them. Then she leaned over and whispered in Nikki’s ear. I don’t believe I am.

Another surge of heat warmed Nikki’s face.

Amisi, this is Natasha Salisbury. She’s recently arrived from England.

Nikki shook Amisi’s outstretched hand. The Countess’s roving eyes leapt from Nikki’s body to focus on her face.

Welcome to Egypt, Mrs Salisbury. I hope you’re settling into ex-pat life. Amisi wore her raven hair in a chignon. Her olive skin was smooth and unlined. Like Elza’s, her dress fitted her to perfection but, unlike the Countess, she had selected a high-neck purple gown with long sleeves. Her brown eyes radiated energy and a passion for life. As if she’d taken a lover. Had he changed her allegiance? An intelligence officer from the Soviet Union or East Germany sprang to mind.

Thank you, Nikki said. Cairo is such a fascinating city.

Amisi smiled and spoke in Arabic. Next Wednesday, I’m having a dinner party at my house. I’d be delighted if you could attend.

I’m awfully sorry, but I didn’t understand.

Amisi repeated the invitation in English and added, You never know who speaks our language these days. She glanced in the Countess’s direction as she spoke.  Elza raised her eyebrows.

I’d love to come. Thank you so much. Damn, she should have used the plural. Nikki glanced towards her husband. Maintaining vigilance was vital. The tiniest of slips had the potential to blow her cover.

She relaxed a little when Amisi didn’t appear to notice her gaffe and only said, Please excuse me, but I have other guests I must meet. I look forward to seeing you again.

Nikki murmured her thanks and watched Amisi cross the room. Now, thanks to the Countess’s intervention, she had the means and opportunity to get close to the woman. She turned around to express her gratitude, but Elza had vanished.

Scanning the room revealed no Countess nor her husband. They had disappeared. Surely, she couldn’t have misread Elza’s interest? Perhaps the woman only enjoyed flirting with new arrivals and never followed through? But Elza’s eyes hadn’t left her since they met, so that seemed unlikely. Strange then, that the Countess hadn’t bidden her goodnight.

Chapter 2

Nikki stalked into the living area and threw her wrap onto one of the uncomfortable couches situated around the room. She switched on the nearest lamp, which stood on an elegant side table, marched over to the drinks cabinet and picked up a bottle of Bell’s whisky. A moment later, she tossed back the equivalent of three double shots.

You’re becoming an alcoholic. Incensed at the remark, Nikki wheeled around to face her husband. How dare you comment on my drinking when you’re three sheets to the wind every night!

James Cavendish, who had played the role of her husband for the last two months, merely shrugged. I drink socially, but you don’t. You need it.

The words hit home. Over the last week, she’d caught herself pouring a drink before midday. Alone. Nikki blamed her dull, isolated existence, increasing boredom and the constant stress that comes with undercover work. After Vienna and Istanbul, she’d managed to conquer her escalating alcohol consumption. This time, she wasn’t so sure she could win.

Nikki rounded on Cavendish. It’s alright for you. She gestured around the room. You can leave this bloody prison and go to work. Me, I’m stuck here day after day with only the servants for company. And I can’t even converse with them because I have to pretend I can’t speak Arabic.

Not that the villa wasn’t luxurious: rich brocade for the matching couches and curtains; priceless Persian rugs scattered artlessly across the highly polished marble floor; reproductions of famous Egyptian artist Gazbia Sirry hanging in gilt frames on the magenta painted walls.

But, just like her life, the room was a complete façade. The backroom team at Broadway had created a living space to fit the aspirations of an ex-pat couple who liked to socialise. The only party they’d hosted had ended when Cavendish’s flirtation with the German Ambassador’s wife became public. Nikki glanced at the photograph hanging in pride of place above the mantelpiece. Natasha and Martin Salisbury dressed in their wedding finery beamed at the camera as if they’d known each other for years. In reality, they’d only met five minutes earlier.

Have you any idea how frustrating this is for me? Nikki paused. Everything is fake. Nothing is genuine. Nothing at all.

James Cavendish didn’t bother to mask a yawn. Listen to yourself. I’m sick and tired of listening to you moaning.

Nikki licked her lips and eyed the bottle of Bells. She debated whether to have another one but, if she did, Cavendish was sure to make some scathing comment. I hate living like this, especially when there’s no ending in sight.

Cavendish flopped down in an armchair. Pour me a brandy.

Nikki shot him a look of contempt. Pour it yourself. I’m going to bed. An internal debate raged, and she contemplated tipping the contents of the bottle over his head. Then, common sense prevailing, she stormed from the room, ran up the stairs and slammed the bedroom door with as much force as she could muster.

Chapter 3

You’re supposed to be a dutiful wife. James Cavendish said, shutting the door to their bedroom. Nikki didn’t say a word. She sat at the dressing table, clutching a pot of cold cream, in the throes of removing her makeup. He strolled over and stood behind her. Your behaviour tonight was reckless.

And yours wasn’t?

He leant on the wall and lit a cigarette, all the time staring at her in the mirror.

Nikki’s heart thudded against her ribs. She’d hoped one of the women he’d been flirting with might have diverted his attention, so her preoccupation with the Countess went unnoticed. She concentrated on removing her makeup.

I defended you when I heard the gossip. He tapped his cigarette on the edge of a marble ashtray. But tonight, you confirmed the rumours. He tore off his bow tie, screwed it into a ball and flung it on the bed. "You made me look like a