Dead Double Page 15

  Logan grimaced. “But they don’t know that. They think you’re Micky…and their agent. They saw you in the papers and they’re going to come looking for you. As soon as they know where you are, they’ll come to visit you. And you—Sahara—don’t know anything about them. Not the inside stuff. We don’t have that to give you. They’ll know instantly that you’re not Micky.”

  Her mouth became dry as she figured out the rest of it. “They’re not going to be happy when they find out I’m not Micky, are they?”

  Logan’s smile was a thin, dry mockery. “They’ll kill you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “This operation is a bust,” Logan told Elias. “We send Sahara back to her beach and call it off.”

  Elias rubbed his chin, looking worried. “It’s not that simple—”

  But Sahara didn’t wait to hear any more. “Why on earth would you call it off?” she demanded.

  “You want to be killed?” Logan asked.

  “Of course I don’t, but—”

  “Then the operation has to stop. Right here. Now,” he said flatly.

  “But—”

  “No, there is no ‘but’,” he said, rounding on her. “If we go on, then they will find you and when they find you, they will know you’re not Micky and they will kill you. It’s not just a crazy gamble, Sahara. Not anymore. It’s a guarantee.”

  “Not if they don’t find me.”

  She actually saw Logan’s jaw sag a little. He threw his hands up into the air. “Jesus wept!” he declared and walked away a few paces, his back to her.

  Sahara’s pulse was thready and she could hear it booming in her head. She had never in her life had to juggle with such huge odds.

  Elias stood up. “Logan does have a point,” he said gently. “Before we knew this about Micky, we stood a chance. This does—”

  “No, it doesn’t,” she bit back. “God, you’re all so scared of this Zaram guy you’re overlooking the obvious point.”

  Logan turned back to look at her. “Really?”

  She spread her hands. “They’re not going to figure out I’m not Micky if they can’t reach me.”

  All three of the men standing around her just blinked.

  She blew out her breath in frustration. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You do your damn best to make sure that this Zaram and his friend Adam never get through your security.”

  “Adar,” Logan corrected absently, staring at her. No, he was staring through her. Thinking hard.

  “Whatever,” Sahara replied. “Even if they did manage to get through, you think I’m going to stand around and shake their hand? I can run, you know. I can hide. And if one of them does get through, I can pretend I’m Micky long enough for your security to come get the damn guy away from me. And wouldn’t that be a bonus, having Adam—Adar—in your grasp?”

  She could see that Elias was turning it over, still puzzling it through. She turned to Logan. “You have to give me some sort of panic button. Something that will bring everyone running the second it’s activated.”

  Logan slowly nodded. “She’s right,” he said to Elias. “And we’re overlooking the main objective here. If she has a panic button, then it doesn’t matter two bent bits if Zaram learns she isn’t Micky. Malik won’t know.”

  Sahara took a few seconds to recall the name. Malik was the scientist she was meeting. The man who would give her his notes on how to make cold fusion work. It reminded her of the reasons she had given Logan for doing this in the first place. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

  “I still want to do this. My reasons for doing it are still valid. More so, now.” She looked at Logan. “I don’t intend to repeat them here. But you can back me up.”

  He crossed his arms. “I never did believe your king and country excuse,” he said.

  For a second it felt as if she had taken a blow to the chest. She could barely draw breath, so large was the pain of his betrayal.

  She knew that Elias and Nelson were staring at them, their eyes wide with surprise and absolutely didn’t care. Logan had chosen to place this right out in the open in front of everyone. Fine. She crossed her arms to match his. “What do you care, Logan? You can’t stand the sight of me because I’m not your precious Micky.”

  Elias cleared his throat hard. “Well, er…we still…er…”

  She held up her hand. “It’s all right. I’m pretty much done here. Logan’s character is a short topic.”

  She saw Logan’s eyes widen just a little before she turned back to face Elias. It should have felt satisfying but instead it made her feel hollow and achy. She looked at Elias. “Set up the extra security you were talking about,” she told him. “I intend to see this through. Just get me the panic button and make sure someone is on the other end of it twenty-four hours a day.”

  Elias glanced at Logan. Sahara looked over her shoulder far enough to see that Logan was back to staring out the window again.

  Elias rubbed his chin. “Okay,” he said finally. “Thanks, Sahara. Nelson, take care of the panic button. Make sure she gets it as soon as we clear customs at Heathrow.”

  “Right,” Nelson agreed.

  Sahara turned and walked back to the buffet table, which was clear now that everyone else had had time to get a meal and sit down to eat it. Her legs were wobbly and it didn’t help that she was wearing impossibly high heels. She had never felt less like eating in her life. But she loaded her plate because even though Logan had his back to the room, she knew he could see what she was doing via reflections on the glass. It was unlikely he would be watching her but even if he glanced her way, she wanted to make sure she looked as unconcerned as possible.

  She forced the food down and it took so long to swallow the tiny pieces that their flight was announced before she had finished. She was grateful to finally be able to move out of the room but her gratitude lasted only until she remembered that Logan would be sitting next to her on the plane. Because of security precautions, she couldn’t exchange seats with someone else.

  He was a still and silent figure next to her during the take-off. He didn’t look at her at all. Sahara wondered if he was angry or hurt by her comments. She had intended to wound him to pay him back for the little betrayal but Logan was made of such tough stuff….

  He spoke to the others around them easily enough, even joking with Nelson, who sat across the aisle.

  As soon as the seat belt sign blinked off, Sahara reclined her seat fully. She pulled out her pillow and blanket and rolled on her side, her back to Logan and tried to sleep.

  Somewhere over the Atlantic her sleep became genuine but it was plagued by dreams filled with lurid colors and the fear and hurt that followed her down into her slumber.

  * * * * *

  Logan woke when the captain announced the beginning of their descent into Heathrow and blinked hard and rubbed his neck. He saw that Nelson was watching him and grimaced. “Last I remember, we were just reaching cruising altitude.” He brought his seat upright. “I really passed out.”

  “We noticed.” Nelson grinned. “A lot.”

  “I was snoring?” Chagrined, he turned to Sahara in the window seat. She was awake and staring out the window. “Did I wake you?”

  “No.” Her voice was remote and she didn’t turn her head.

  She was still pissed at him, then.

  The plane banked and the lights of greater London spread out below the tip of the wing, a carpet of jewels on black velvet. Reflected in the glass, he saw Sahara’s hand lift to her cheek and wipe. Discreetly. Secretly.

  He leaned closer, so the others wouldn’t hear. “You’re crying.”

  She shook her head but her shoulders hitched, giving her away.

  “Why?”

  After a long moment, her fingers touched the glass of the window. “The last time I was here was with my father. I was twelve. Uncle Bruce, Dad’s best friend, had to fly out from San Francisco to bring me back to the States.”

  It took a minute for t
he full meaning of her whispered words to register. “That’s when your father died? It happened here, in England?”

  Again, the strained little silence and Logan guessed she was struggling to speak evenly. “At Fistral Beach, in Cornwall. The A.S.P. world tour.”

  Logan rested his head back, watching the lights rotate beneath them. The file he’d read had been spare on details. It had failed to convey the reality of Sahara’s early life. Now he’d just caught a glimpse of it. “I’m sorry we’re dragging you back here, then,” he said. “But the Seurat is headquartered in London.”

  She sat up, wiping her eyes quickly and looked at him. “I’m not upset,” she said. “Well, I’m not sad upset.” She grimaced. “Yes, I am a bit. But mostly, I’m happy to be back. I had such a great time touring around with my dad. Every time we flew into England, we used to play a game. The first to spot the Thames snaking through London. The first to spot the Big Eye…” She gave a big sniff and tightened her seat belt. Back to business.

  But her head rolled so that she could keep looking out the window.

  Logan watched her gaze out the window, recalling the young Sahara he’d seen in the file. For a moment he could almost see the twelve year old sitting gazing out the window the same way, straining to see the black snake of the Thames below.

  He touched her wrist and pointed. “There,” he said softly, pointing out the window.

  “There it is,” she said with a sigh. She didn’t speak again and Logan let her be. When the plane rolled to a stop, he tucked Kleenex into her hand and kept his back turned as she got out of her seat.

  It was time for her to be Micky again.

  And for him to be Micky’s devoted ex.

  * * * * *

  Just after they had passed through customs, Nelson came up to Sahara’s side and touched her shoulder to get her attention. She looked at him with what she hoped was a haughty expression. “What do you want?” she demanded.

  Nelson’s mouth opened a bit, then he looked around at their public place and nodded. “Right. Forgot,” he said. “Sorry to bother you, Ms. Wilde but there’s someone I’d like you to meet, just over here.”

  “Will this take long?” she asked wearily.

  “Just a second or two,” he promised. He pushed through the crowd and waved at someone she could not pick out of the fast moving crowds.

  She followed him over to one of the big support beams covered in advertisements. Standing at the foot of it was a woman with blonde hair in dreadlocks, a ring through her nose, another through her belly-button, which was on conspicuous display between the hem of her tee shirt several inches above and the top of her jeans, a few inches below. There was a tattoo on her bare arm of a dragon curling its way around her upper biceps.

  “This is Celia,” Nelson announced. “She does what I do, only over here.”

  Celia pulled out one ear bud and grinned at Sahara, showing very white, even teeth. “As well as lots of other things,” she added.

  “You’d better hug her,” Sahara told Nelson. “Pretend you’re introducing me to your girlfriend.”

  Nelson threaded an arm around Celia’s waist. “No pretence,” he said warmly.

  “But we’re on the job, like,” Celia said. “So now you ’ave to shake my ‘and. You can look down yer nose as you do it. Nelson’s clued me in.”

  Celia stuck out her hand. Sahara pretended to look surprised and then reluctantly took it. There was something inside Celia’s hand, nestled up against the palm.

  “It’s your panic button,” Celia said calmly. “Slide yer fingers along my ‘and as you let go and take it with you. Keep it in yer ‘and until you get to the Rolls. You can put it in your pocket, or pin it inside your shirt. Whatever yer want. I’ll be on t’other end of that every hour yer awake.”

  Sahara did as she was told and curled her fingers around the object as she stared at the odd-looking woman. “You have security experience?” she asked.

  “She’s ex-Special Forces,” Nelson said proudly.

  “S.A.S.,” she added. “Well, it’s not official, because they don’t allow women. But I’ve trained wiv ’em for five years.”

  Sahara could feel her eyes trying to widen with surprise and controlled it. “You don’t look old enough.”

  Celia smiled. “Thanks.”

  “If you’re on the end of this when I’m awake, who’s on the end of it when I sleep?”

  Celia looked startled and glanced at Nelson. He rubbed the back of his head.

  “Micky, is everything okay?” Logan asked from behind her.

  “I think so,” Sahara said slowly, the awful truth dawning on her. She looked at Celia. “I don’t need it when I’m asleep because Logan will be right there. Isn’t that it?”

  Celia considered her for a moment, as if she was weighing up Sahara’s capacity to cope with the truth. Then she nodded. “Right in one,” she said in her musical accent.

  Sahara looked up at Logan. “Tighter security,” she said bitterly. “I should have seen it coming.”

  Logan’s expression flickered. “We need to keep moving,” he said in a low voice and took her elbow.

  Sahara shook off his hand and gave him what she had begun to think of as “Micky’s look”. She glanced at Celia. “We’re done?” she asked.

  “Like a roast dinner,” Celia assured her.

  “Make sure you kiss him properly when I turn my back,” Sahara told her.

  Celia smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Gotcha,” she said and gave her the thumbs up.

  Logan was glaring at her when Sahara turned back to face him. She smiled coolly at him. “Shall we go?” She moved off ahead of him, shouldering her way through the crowds.

  Logan caught up with her. “You don’t have to play it quite so bitchy, you know.” His voice was low again, meant just for her.

  “Who says I’m playing it?”

  She heard the low hiss as he drew in his breath between clenched teeth and felt the same dull ache spread through her again.

  “What more do you expect?” she asked him, her voice low but not as low as his. “We were separated for six years and have been divorced for two more. Now I am forced to travel with you. You thought I’d want to smile at you, Logan? Especially when you try to tell me what to do?”

  He was silent for another few steps. Then, “If this job doesn’t kill me, I’ll be a certified nutcase at the end of it.”

  She smiled at him—a full, clear, sunny expression. “That would be nice, dear,” she said and put on her sunglasses as they stepped outside, even though it was ten p.m.

  * * * * *

  “And how long are we in Britain for?” Sahara asked Jacqui. She looked past Jacqui’s shoulder, to where Logan was pacing the length of the hotel room and back again. He was glaring as he walked and his expression was as rigid as his posture.

  “It’s uncertain. Micky has to send a message to Malik in the prearranged format, to let him know she’s—you’re—here in London and ready to meet. He will send back a message with an acknowledgement. Then we move to wherever he wants us next and behave like tourists so that Malik can see you from a distance to assure himself you are you. Then he will send another message to you with a time and place.”

  “All very 007, isn’t it?” Sahara asked, using her Micky voice.

  “That’s because people died getting Malik out of Iran,” Logan growled. “More people died getting him to his safe house. He shouldn’t be making this meeting at all but he’s the only one who knows Micky and can verify he’s handing the information over to the west.”

  Sahara held up her hand, palm out. “I know, Logan,” she said softly. “I know. I was being Micky.”

  He threw his head back and swore at the ceiling. Then he turned and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Sahara automatically reached for the panic button clipped to the inside of her jacket pocket, reassuring herself that it was there and looked up to see Jacqui staring at her. “What?” she demande
d.

  “You’re driving him too hard,” Jacqui said gently.

  “Isn’t that what Micky did? Aren’t I supposed to be Micky?”

  Jacqui’s lips thinned as she pressed them together. She held her silence for a moment, then she appeared to change her mind. She put her hands flat on the notebook in front of her. “You’re using Micky as a weapon against him,” she said gently. “Why do you want to punish him, Sahara?” Her gaze did not waiver from Sahara’s face, giving her no chance to hide her reaction.

  Sahara bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she said.

  Jacqui smiled. “I see,” she said in her best diplomatic assistant’s voice.

  “I don’t!” Sahara protested.

  “Of course not,” Jacqui assured smoothly, opening her notebook again. “While we’re here, you should do more shopping. Some excellent designers are located here. I’m afraid we will not be stopping off in Paris this time around, alas…”

  Sahara tried to concentrate on what Jacqui was saying but most of it slipped by in a buzz of disjointed words.

  Was she trying to punish Logan? She would never have thought herself capable of such petty one-upmanship. Just because he had wounded her deeply with his rejection was no reason to hit back. It was childish. Worse, she suspected it was close to the sort of behaviour Micky would have indulged in.

  What sort of a person did that make her?

  “Sahara,” Jacqui said firmly, making her jump.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t…I guess I got lost in my thoughts.”

  “I noticed,” Jacqui said gently. “But I do need to make you aware of this point. About night-time security.”

  “I already know,” Sahara assured her. “I’m stuck with Logan. I had no idea when Elias said extra security that he had this in mind.”

  “I believe it was Logan’s idea,” Jacqui said, putting her notebook away in the slim briefcase she carried everywhere. She looked up at Sahara, to check her reaction.

  Sahara took a breath to quell the jump in her nerves. “You let that slip deliberately,” she accused Jacqui. “Why?”