Chapter 68

 

“How do I look?” Amber asked, twirling so the black garment flared slightly.

“Like a true Arab princess,” Gracie said with a laugh. “And moi? Was my choice of fabric a good one?”

“Perfect. And excellent that you came up with a seamstress to make them for us on short notice,” Pen said, fitting the second of her dark contact lenses in place. Blue-green eyes would not do for this assignment, so she and Sandy had to go a little further with their disguises.

The doorbell rang and Sandy rushed to answer, unclipping the face piece, the niqab, from her chador as she ran.

“Ah, you must be Marcel,” she said.

“I am.” The handsome forty-year-old man with an impeccable haircut and traditional tuxedo stepped forward. “But tonight, you may call me Farouk.”

“Ooh-la-la, Farouk,” Amber teased. She turned to the other ladies. “Told you I was lucky to find an actor on such short notice. How’s your Arabic?”

He waggled his hand. “Passable enough as long as the subject is a simple one. I know my accent is spot-on. I’ve done a number of Arab language commercials.”

“We’ll make it as easy as possible for you,” Pen said, stepping forward and introducing herself. “The subject will be jewelry and we may have you pose a question or two, depending on what we see at this party. You must be our voice, since none of us speaks a word of the language. Mainly, you can pretend to be an interpreter and escort. Four Arab women would never be allowed to attend such a gala unaccompanied by a male relative. You are my nephew.”

Marcel nodded and offered his arm to Pen. “Are we ready then?”

Outside the hotel, a stretch limo waited and the agency had added the elegant touch of placing small flags at the front.

Pen whispered through the cloth covering her face. “Remove those,” she told Marcel. “It would be rotten luck if a real Saudi prince is there and knows those flags do not belong to any country he’s ever heard of. We may be breezing through the place in very noticeable costume but we do need to play our roles and be as inconspicuous as possible.”

The four women climbed into the back of the limo and Marcel discreetly pulled off the small flags as he circled to get into the driver’s seat. On the way to the Nice Acropolis they reviewed their plan. If something should go awry, they could flee without fear that anyone had recognized them. All carried their cell phones and a meeting place had been chosen two blocks away, a coffee shop where everyone would report in case they became separated.

Fairy lights decorated the trees outside the convention hall and Marcel pulled to the curb to discharge his four princesses. He had to hand over the limo keys to a valet, something Pen had not anticipated and did not like. But from this point forward the women could not speak except very quietly, only when absolutely alone with each other.

She exchanged a glance with Gracie, then a slight nod toward Sandy and Amber. Inhaling deeply, she took Marcel’s arm and proceeded toward the front door where two uniformed security officers were checking invitations. It was show time.