Meredith Fletcher - Look-Alike

Elle made the decision. She pushed the iPAQ into Sam’s hands. “Let me borrow the pistol you commandeered.”

Without hesitation, Sam handed the weapon to her. “Be careful,” Sam added.

But Elle was already in motion, striding toward the houseboat.

Pulling Tuenis into motion, Sam walked to a position beside a forty-foot yacht moored at the side of the canal. She immediately attracted the attention of the boat’s security officer, but he remained at the railing twenty feet away.

For a moment, Sam saw Elle slinking through the shadows along the canal, then her sister was gone—vanished into the darkness provided by the boats tied to cleats. Party music—industrial, techno and old-fashioned rock and roll—thundered from the nearby boats and from clubs that dotted the area. Amsterdam was proving louder by night than by day.

“Who are you people?” Tuenis asked.

“Quiet,” Sam snapped. The thought of Elle encountering whoever was on the boat by herself didn’t rest easy. Maybe Elle had more experience with the city, but she wasn’t invincible.

“Are you guys criminals or government?” Tuenis asked.

Sam silenced the man with a sharp glance. “Another word,” she promised, “and I’ll tie you to an anchor and heave you into the canal.”

Tuenis nodded weakly.

Sam took her cell phone from her pocket. Chipped for international use, the phone also had a GPS locator. The global positioning satellite system accessed at least twelve of the twenty-four satellites in fixed orbit around Earth at any time.

She punched in Riley McLane’s number and waited.

Riley answered on the second ring. “Miss me?” he asked, and she could hear the mocking grin in his voice.

“Yes.”

“Look, I’ve been thinking,” Riley said, “I shouldn’t have gotten angry the way I did. I know that—”

“I need help,” Sam interrupted.

Riley paused.

“At least, I may need help.”

“What do you need me to do?” he asked.

That was one of the things Sam loved about Riley. He was more talkative and chatty than she was, and more willing to reveal his feelings—maybe even more certain about how he felt—but he knew when to listen.

“Can you access a satellite view of my position?”

“Yes. Give me a minute.”

Tensely, Sam waited in the shadows.

Elle crept close to Satyr Dreams, then put a hand on the houseboat. As a water taxi sped by, she ducked to avoid the splash of light that ran along the vessel’s gunwales.

Getting the rhythm of the houseboat, she leaned her body weight on the side and pulled herself over as it rocked on the wave. Lithely, she rolled to her feet and flattened beside the stern door. A quick glance at the security system told her it had been bypassed.

Holding the H&K .45 in her left hand, Elle eased the safety off and put her hand on the door to test it.

It was unlocked.

Readying herself, Elle raised the gun and swung into position just inside the door.

The soft blue-white glow of a computer monitor filled the bedroom. Data streamed across the screen.

And the illumination fell across the dead man lying in the middle of the floor. She knew exactly what the black dot in the center of the man’s forehead was.

Silently, a shadow separated itself from the darkness. Only motion gave her attacker away. She pulled the gun up and fired. The pistol kicked back against her palm as the weapon’s silenced “cough” wheezed into the houseboat cabin.

Inside the room, a man cursed in surprise.

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

Standing in the ops mission control room, Riley McLane stared at the images on the wall screens. He was a little over six feet tall and dressed in a brown turtleneck and tan slacks. Although he was currently riding a desk job, he wore his pistol in shoulder leather. His wavy black hair hung just above his eyebrows. His cheeks were smooth, freshly shaven.

Amsterdam. What the hell are you doing in Amsterdam, Sam? The question chafed at him.

The mission control room was quiet except for the hum of the computers and electronic equipment. Occasionally whispered conversations over the headset reached his ears.

“C’mon, Tolliver,” Riley coaxed. “This connect isn’t going to take all night, is it?”

“No.” Tolliver was young and intense. He kept his hair trimmed to baby-chick down that was golden yellow. Round-lensed glasses reflected the wallscreen. His fingers flew knowingly across the keyboard, then he hit a final sequence and leaned back. “We’re in.”

The view on the center four screens changed, opening up on a night view of a canal in a busy metropolitan area. Sam’s phone GPS showed up as a pulsing orange dot.

“Can you get closer to Special Agent St. John?” Riley struggled to keep the tension out of his voice.

“I’m on it.” Tolliver worked the keyboard again and brought up a closer image. “You are going to get permission for the use of this spy satellite, aren’t you, Special Agent McLane?”

“You bet.” Riley would, of course. But it wouldn’t be permission he was seeking. Rather, it would be forgiveness. In the spy trade, he’d learned that it was often more productive to everyone involved to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. Permission usually never came, and forgiveness was generally around the corner and most of the time no later than the next presidential election.

Sam stood in the shadows of a tree along the canal. Riley could tell from his lover’s posture that she was worried. He wished he could put his hand on the wallscreen and touch her.

“Start capturing images, Tolliver,” Riley said. Although he was more inclined to fieldwork, Riley was also being groomed as a handler. He didn’t want to come in from the violent world that he loved, and felt that he could do the most good in the trenches, but he knew that sooner or later he would be forced to do it.

Tonight, however, he was thankful he was in a position to help Sam. He clicked over to Sam’s phone connection. “I’m here.”

Tolliver worked quickly, downloading image after image and saving it off to a file.

“I’m here with Elle,” Sam said. “She’s in a houseboat about two hundred feet southeast of my position. Farther along the canal.”

Covering the mouthpiece with a hand, Riley said, “Back out. There’s a houseboat on the canal. A second agent is aboard.”

“What agent?” Tolliver clicked the keys and the view backed out. The houseboat came into focus.

“It’s a need-to-know, Tolliver. Just acquire the images.”

“Yes, sir.”

Riley didn’t want to have to explain how Sam happened to be in Amsterdam with her twin sister, who happened to be an excellent Russian spy. He had no clue himself.

“What am I looking for, Sam?” Riley asked.

“Someone broke into the houseboat,” Sam answered. “Elle went to find out who.”

“Is the person or persons still there?”

“I don’t know.”

Riley heard the irritation and frustration in Sam’s voice. As carefully guarded as she was with her emotions, he doubted many people would have noticed. “What are you working?”

“Private business.”

“For the school?” Riley knew from recent experience that Athena Academy graduates had a tendency to operate quietly in the background to deal with their own issues.

“There’s no time to talk about it now.”

Shelving his irritation, Riley studied the screen, finding Elle standing beside the houseboat’s stern door just as the woman moved out of the shadows. An instant later, a quick illumination flared into being, then just as quickly disappeared.

“That was a gunshot,” Tolliver said.

“I know.” Tension swirled inside Riley. He knew the flash indicated a weapon had been fired. He’d spent years out in the field. “Does Elle have a weapon, Sam?”