Primordial
By
Denise A. Agnew

Prologue

Cairo, Egypt

    Zane Spinella watched the bustling market square, taking in the sights and sounds like a predator stalking his next meal. A woman's beautiful singing voice undulated on the stifling air, lulling the senses with sensual promise. But he couldn't afford to relax, to take pleasure in the haunting sound as it drifted around him with seductive allure.
    Sequestered near an alcove, he observed the comings and goings with anticipation. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck and into the collar of his desert khaki camp shirt. A shiver passed over his body despite the stifling heat. He knew what the sensation meant. The telltale quiver forewarned of trouble.
    His sixth sense never lied. Yeah, trouble in spades and then some.
    He squinted in the hot sun. Even his wrap around sunglasses couldn't cut this burning light. Nothing like being baked alive. He took two deep swallows of his bottled water and returned it to the loop on his belt. At the very least he should be prepared, because if Aloysius Makepeace showed up this time, he would act fast.
    Zane had prowled Cairo for two days and not a sign of his quarry. Maybe the intelligence he'd received from his contacts in Egypt and the message traffic from SIA didn't jive. As he raised the digital camera and adjusted the telescopic lens, he sucked in a deep breath and regretted it. The alcove stunk to high heaven of dog feces and urine. He could handle it, and it didn't distract him from his primary focus; capturing damaging photographs of old man Makepeace with international artifact thief and terrorist Darren Hollister was more important.
    There he is.
    Aloysius moved into position in the square, the noonday sun glaring down on his tall body. Like clockwork a shorter, well-built blond man stepped up to him. Dressed in a short-sleeved green polo shirt and brown dress pants, Hollister looked so out of place it should be laughable. Sunburned and Nordic as hell with his thick, straight long blond hair, Hollister drew attention to himself in this country.
    Makepeace moved forward, smiling and shaking Hollister's hand. Prove me wrong, old man. Don't do it.
    Zane snapped a few shots, pausing between each frame. The sophisticated device, which Zane once heard described as the secret squirrel camera, zeroed in on the two men, ready to capture damning evidence.
    With his sun-weathered, wrinkled face and prominent features, Aloysius blended with the locals. Zane knew the robe hid the skinny body of an eighty-year-old. No one would ever suspect him of being a criminal. A linguistics scholar like old man Makepeace, with a genius IQ, should have more brains than this, but Zane had seen it happen before. Greed could drive a man to do horrible things.
    Zane's heartbeat quickened, his breathing coming fast as the thought of bringing down the enemy sent adrenaline surging into his body. He'd done surveillance like    more >>