Meredith Fletcher - Look-Alike

His cell phone rang.

Taking it out, he opened it and said, “Yes.”

“Hey, kiddo,” Günter said in his deep voice. He was a large, broad man with a nose that had been broken many times and a thick shock of black hair only now going to gray. He liked American movies, particularly the crime dramas known as noir.

“Hey,” Joachim said. Neither of them used names. It was a practice of many years because they both knew their phone lines could be tapped at any time.

“How’s it going?” Günter asked.

“I’m still looking for our package.”

Günter sighed, and the sound was filled with all the sadness old Germany could muster. “I’m counting on you to pull this out, kiddo.”

“I will.” Quelling the unease that talking to Günter created, Joachim made a quick circuit of the galley. The clutter continued there. How can Meijer live like this?

Intrigued by the closet, Joachim tried to open the door. It was locked. He set the pen-flash on the galley table so the beam played over the door and he could free his hands. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he took out two lock-picks, shouldered the cell to his ear and knelt to work on the lock.

“I just want to warn you to stay on your toes,” Günter said.

“I am. I always do.”

“Don’t trust anybody over there.”

“I never do.” The lock clicked open.

“And you’ll let me know the instant you find the package?”

“Of course.” Joachim put the lock-picks away and pulled the closet door open. Once the lock was released, the door opened quickly, forced into frantic motion by the weight on the other side. Stepping back, Joachim reached for a long knife in the cutlery block on the galley table. The cell phone tumbled from his shoulder to the floor.

A man sprawled at Joachim’s feet, barely illuminated by the pen-flash’s wide beam.

Joachim brought the knife up smoothly, the blade positioned along his forearm so it wouldn’t easily be knocked from his grasp. The technique didn’t allow him to immediately stab an opponent, but he could slash an opponent’s face, hands, arms or stomach. Once an enemy started to bleed, it was only a matter of time till he succumbed.

The man at Joachim’s feet didn’t move.

Picking up his pen-flash, Joachim surveyed the man. A neat round bullet hole between the man’s eyes showed blue-black. A tiny streamer of blood zigzagged down his face.

“Hey, kiddo,” Günter called from the phone. “Hey.”

Senses flaring wildly, sensitive now to the rocking motion the houseboat made on the water, Joachim waited in the darkness. He fully expected to hear police sirens and helicopter rotors overhead.

“Hey,” Günter called out a little more strongly. “Can you hear me now?”

Moving slowly, making himself breathe and not bolt off the houseboat, Joachim scooped up the phone. “Yes.”

“What happened?”

Joachim shined the pen-flash down on the man’s face. His head rocked slowly back and forth with the houseboat’s motion.

“We have a problem,” Joachim said, struggling to keep himself calm. But he knew the problem was his. With everything so delicately balanced in his life, with all the lies he’d told, he felt certain that something had fallen through the cracks. He didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d just been set up. He could already feel the jaws of the trap springing closed on him.

Elle’s mind buzzed as she rounded the corner of the alley and stepped onto the sidewalk. She automatically swept the street, looking for suspicious pedestrians, parked vehicles and passing cars. Nothing pinged the personal warning system she’d developed since becoming an intelligence agent.

Sam remained behind her, alert and ready. Remembering how they’d met in Berzhaan, how Sam had beaten her in an unarmed fight, Elle knew her twin could take care of herself. But the situation Elle was leading them into was doubtlessly going to turn ugly fast. She had a history with the man they were going to see.

“The place we’re going,” Elle said, “is going to be dangerous.”

“All right.” Sam never missed a beat or showed any sign of hesitation.

“The men we’re going to see are killers,” Elle continued. “Jan, the man we want to talk to, will have at least two bodyguards. The store he runs is a cover for his other business. He traffics in drugs and weapons, but he has a lot of contacts and knows a lot of things. Tuenis Meijer is someone he’ll know.”

“Good.”

“He may also try to kill me on sight.”

“Why?”

“A couple years ago, I cost him a major portion of his business and almost got him killed. I also put him in the hospital because I nearly burned his face off.”

“That would do it,” Sam said lightly.

Elle glanced at her sister. Sam looked a little tense. Then Elle focused on the street in front of her. She was feeling nervous herself. Jan wasn’t a good man to meet under any circumstance. The history they had made it worse.

For just a moment, Elle wondered why Sam wanted Meijer and what her twin wasn’t telling her. Elle didn’t like walking into operations without knowing everything that was going on. If it had been anyone else, she wouldn’t have been involved. But this was her sister. Family meant everything to Elle. Her parents, the people who had raised her and loved her, had taught her that.

She just hoped there would be no regrets and both of them would live through the experience.

They passed a small group of street hookers complaining in English, German and French about the slow business of the night, the weather and assorted personal problems. Pedestrian traffic flowed around them, barely slowed by even the most aggressive sales tactics.

The front of the shop that was the sisters’ destination held a large picture window garishly outfitted with provocatively attired mannequins sporting black leather, masks, whips, chains and furry handcuffs. Two of the kneeling mannequins had red ball gags in their mouths. Monitors played movies featuring paddling, restraints and degradation. Neon tubing advertised Sex Videos, Sex Aids and Fantasy Sex.

Elle went through the door without hesitation. The bell overhead rang to announce her arrival. Five people were inside. Jan stood behind the counter while his two bodyguards sat at a small table beside a rack of DVDs with covers that left nothing to the imagination. A young couple peered at a swing contraption made of leather and wood that Jan was showing them.

Jan was a thick-bodied man with a bored air. His dark hair was neatly clipped and gold chains hung around his neck. He wore a New York Yankees baseball jersey. As he looked up to greet them, recognition flared in his gray eyes.

“Hella,” Jan called in English, scrambling to reach under the counter. “Kill her.” Then he did a double take, seeing Sam behind Elle. “Kill them both.”

The scarlet neon from the tubing played over the burn scars on Hella’s face. He moved smoothly, showing years of practice. He was at least fifty, his hair white with age, smooth shaven like someone’s kindly grandfather. The coat slid away from the cut-down double-barrel 12-gauge shotgun hanging from a whipit sling on his right arm.

Elle ignored the bodyguards, trusting Sam to handle them. With the men spread out inside the sex shop, the danger was spread across two fronts.

Sam stepped toward Hella, got in close and blocked the man’s attempt to bring the weapon to bear on Elle, who was closing the distance on Jan. The shotgun erupted in a deafening blast. Neon light shimmered on the picture window as the concussive wave hammered the plate glass. The swarm of double ought buckshot cut a mannequin in half, blowing the top part off the bottom in a popcorn spray of hardened plastic.