Merline Lovelace - Match Play

“You won’t need any of those aids.”

“Damn straight, I won’t.”

Jilly continued to make sympathetic noises until Dayna worked through her snit.

“Sorry,” the agent said with a wry smile. “I just needed to let off a little steam.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Actually, Gillian Ridgeway was there to fill in for Elizabeth Wells, longtime executive assistant to several of OMEGA’s directors. Elizabeth had undergone hip-replacement surgery the week after Jilly returned from a State Department assignment in Beijing. On leave from State and unsure whether she wanted to become a career bureaucrat, Jilly had offered to fill in for Elizabeth.

Black-haired, blue-eyed and as stunning as she was vivacious, she soon wrapped OMEGA’s male agents around her little finger. The female agents liked her, too, which said even more for her sparkling personality.

She and Dayna had grown especially close. The two women were almost the same age and both enjoyed sports. They teamed up for golf or tennis whenever Rogue was in D.C. and routinely skunked their opponents. They’d also shared a few locker-room secrets. So Dayna wasn’t surprised when Gillian made a too-casual observation.

“I understand Hawkeye is working this op with you.”

“That’s right. He’s flying in from Algiers. We meet up in Scotland.”

“Say hi for me, will you?”

“I will, but only if you promise to stop torturing the poor man.”

“Torturing him?” Gillian assumed an expression of wide-eyed innocence. “Moi?”

“Come off it, Jilly. You know you lay on a double dose of sultry whenever Hawk’s around. Despite that, he still thinks of you as the gawky teenager he taught to shoot.”

“Maybe,” she replied with a small smirk, “and maybe not. Just tell him hello for me.”

When Dayna hooked up with Hawk in her suite at one of St. Andrews’ venerable old hotels, she dutifully relayed the message.

“Gillian said to say hi. And you look like hell.”

Hawk shot her a surprised look from sunken, redrimmed eyes. “Jilly said that?”

“The last bit came from me. What happened in Algiers?”

“Sand, sand and more sand.” A smile slipped through the bristly beard sprouting on his cheeks and chin. “But we got Mustafa.”

Whooping, Dayna leaned across the coffee table to punch her fellow agent in the shoulder.

“Score one for our side!”

His smile took over the rest of his face. No one would classify Hawk as handsome. His features were too rugged and his tough, don’t-mess-with-me demeanor too intimidating. But when he relaxed and let the real Mike Callahan show through, Dayna could understand why Gillian was so determined to make the man see her as something other than a gangly teen.

“It took a little longer than expected,” he admitted ruefully. “I had to leave the bastard hanging across the saddle of a camel to get here in time for this tournament. Speaking of which…”

Scraping a palm across his bristly chin, he made the abrupt mental shift so necessary for survival in their business.

“Any more definitive word on whether the Wus really intend to defect?”

“None. All we have to go on is that cryptic message from Kim Li.” Dayna shuffled through the folder of material she’d prepared for him. “Here’s your registration packet and a detailed agenda.”

The International Pro-Am Charity Tournament had grown into one of the biggest events in women’s golf. Spread over an entire week, the schedule was crammed with money-raising activities. The public could watch the practice round, first two preliminary rounds and final championship rounds—all for a fee, of course. Fans and participants alike could also take part in the slew of silent auctions, continental breakfasts, autographing sessions, high teas and photo ops salted into the schedule.

“Our first official function is the kickoff banquet tonight,” Dayna informed Mike. “That’s when they’ll draw for the initial pairings and course assignments.”

She’d registered him as her personal guest, which would give him access to VIP seating at all events and, subsequently, to Dr. Wu. Along with the banquet ticket and laminated pass, she’d also prepared a thick binder.

“Mackenzie digitized the layouts for all five St. Andrews’courses. You can call up a three-dimensional topography of any hole, anytime, on your cell phone.”

“Yeah, I took a look at the layouts during the flight from Algiers. They’re pretty slick.”

“They are, but I thought you might also want hard copies to study. They’re easier on the eyes.”

Particularly eyes showing a whole lot more red than white. Hawk accepted the thick binder with heartfelt relief.

“Bless you, my child. I’ll go through the schematics this afternoon. What’s on your agenda until the banquet?”

“Wu Kim Li reserved a bay at the driving range at three o’clock. I snagged the one next to her at three-thirty. I figure it’s as good a place as any to make the initial contact.”

“Sounds like a plan. Do we need to do a comm check?”

“We should be good to go. Mac synchronized our emergency signals.”

To demonstrate, Dayna pushed one of the knobs on the stainless steel chronometer banding her lift wrist and sent a silent jolt through the identical watch on Hawk’s tanned wrist. Other knobs allowed the sophisticated devices to provide two-way communications or send data transmissions.

Assured their signals were in sync, Hawk hefted the binder and shoved out of his chair.

“I’ll see you later. Good luck with Wu.”

She’d need it, Dayna thought as she pulled on a butterscotch-colored windbreaker. Although late-May sunshine illuminated the wavy glass windows of her suite, she knew from previous experience that the breeze off St. Andrews Bay could slice like a barnacle. It could also wreak havoc with an otherwise perfect golf shot.

Zipping up the jacket, she collected her accessories. Field Dress had designed the slim, ultrachic fanny pack studded with Austrian crystals that clipped snuggly around her hip. One compartment holstered the sleek little Kahr PM40 micro-compact double-action pistol she’d cleared through British security. Others housed a spare ammo clip, her ID and credit cards and a tube of lip-gloss. A matching ball cap also studded with crystals shaded her face and contained her hair in a loose ponytail.

With her golf bag slung over her shoulder, Dayna left her two-room suite and walked to the elevators. After today she’d leave her equipment at the clubhouse storage facility for cleaning and repair. For now, its weight settled over her shoulder like an old familiar harness.

Although the hotel was a local landmark and one of the oldest in St. Andrews, it had been well maintained and modernized over the years. The elevator that ferried Dayna down four floors did so with quiet efficiency.

The lobby was a masterpiece of Victorian grandeur. High ceilings and dark paneling provided the perfect backdrop for red-tufted settees and antique sporting prints. A smoking room, book-lined library and glassed-in conservatory allowed guests to mix and mingle in the public rooms.

And mingle they did. Women dominated the milling crowd. Female corporate execs, commercial airline pilots, TV personalities, even a member of the Danish parliament—all had jumped at the chance to play with the great women golfers from around the world.

A good number of sportscasters and TV crews were also present, conducting impromptu interviews prior to tomorrow’s official media day. They’d come armed with the printed list of participants and pounced on the Olympic gold medalist the moment she appeared.

“Dayna! Dayna! Over here!”

She gave two interviews, greeted a number of friends and acquaintances and autographed a program for one of the bellmen before finally making it to the hotel entrance.