by Cindy Dees
Schmidt glared at the pair of them, and she became aware that Thorpe had moved up beside her, shoulder-to-shoulder with her. It took a few seconds, but Schmidt eventually gave in to the two commandos glaring him down. His belligerent posture wilted. “Okay. Fine. But keep her protection completely invisible. And I mean invisible. I don’t want the media picking up on this. Understood?”
Isabella and Thorpe nodded, and then together watched the security chairman storm out of the briefing room.
She looked over at her temporary boss. She’d never paid attention before, but he was a good-looking guy up close like this. His brown hair had red highlights, and his eyes were a dark gray-green that reminded her of moss on granite. His face ran to the lean side, but his features were classically handsome. “Thanks,” she muttered.
He nodded briefly. “What’s your handle?”
“Adder.”
“Ahh, I get it. Medusas. Snakes. You all go by snake names?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me know if you need help with your girl.”
“Right.” Like she’d ever go to him for help.
“My handle’s Dex.”
Not real original. But she was startled he’d even told it to her at all. Handles were shared among teammates and friends, not with outsiders.
Thorpe turned and strode out of the room. Well. That monosyllabic exchange was the most pleasant the guy’d been since she’d met him. Jerk. Time to go find Anya and the rest of the Medusas, who were babysitting the skater right now.
She was alarmed when nobody answered the door to Anya’s room. She pounded on it, and the next door down opened up. Liz Cartwright stuck her head into the hall. “Anya was hungry. Your friends took her down to the food court.”
Isabella nodded. “Have you got a minute?”
The coach stepped back, gesturing into her room. Isabella followed. Man, these digs were plush. The hotel chain, which was acting as a corporate sponsor that would buy this facility after the Games, had already decorated the place like a five-star hotel.
“Mrs. Cartwright—”
“Call me Liz. We Aussies don’t go for much formality.”
“Liz. My colleagues and I realize Anya needs to prepare for her competition, even with twenty-four hour security. I just want to assure you that we’ll do our best to cooperate with both of you and stay out of your way as much as possible.”
“Thanks. But I think your biggest challenge is going to be getting Anya to cooperate with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Despite growing up in Australia, she has lived a fairly sheltered life. And now she’s halfway around the world at one of the most exciting places on the planet. She may not take too kindly to you and your friends hovering over her and limiting her freedom.”
Lovely. Just what every bodyguard wanted to hear. That her protectee was a wild child who wasn’t going to help her do her job. “Thanks for the heads-up. We’ll do our best not to restrict her enjoyment of the Games.”
The Australian woman’s eyes twinkled. “Good luck.”
And on that ominous note, Isabella headed down to the twenty-four hour food court and its global array of cuisine. Food lines stretched the length of a giant ballroom and absolutely every food from all corners of the world was here. Moving through the serving area and between the tables where the athletes dined, she scanned the space and didn’t spot her teammates. Crud.
She moved on to the arcade beyond the dining room. Every conceivable video game was here—free, of course, along with tall stacks of limited edition gifts from all the major sports equipment and clothing vendors. There were two discos, and on the terrace outside, a stage was set up for private concerts by internationally renowned bands. Lights and colors flashed everywhere, giving the place a casino-like glitter.
And then, of course, there were the workout facilities. A health club to end all health clubs stretched away behind glass windows to her right. She could see why Anya was going to be difficult to corral with this wonderland available around the clock. And that didn’t even take into account the town of Lake Placid itself, and the nonstop party it would turn into when the Games started.
Over there, across the expanse of video games, she caught a glimpse of Misty Cordell, the tall, blond Medusa from California. Isabella started toward her teammate, but with her highly trained peripheral vision, she caught sight of something odd. Two men were moving across the room at the same time, probably fifty feet apart. That, in and of itself, wouldn’t have drawn her attention, but she’d seen the two men trade looks and slight nods. Were there more of these guys? The guy nearest her looked in her general direction. And nodded again! She glanced to her right and immediately spotted the third guy.
They wore nondescript white polo shirts and dark slacks. Could be staff or athletes. And they were definitely converging on the wide ring of Medusas with Anya in its center. Isabella’s internal threat-warning system exploded. Now what? She needed to warn her teammates, but Schmidt’s orders rang in her head. They were to be invisible.
It didn’t look like the men had spotted her. She increased her speed enough to get in front of them. She wasn’t worried about her teammates’ ability to defend the skater, but that damned invisibility order would be blown to hell if they had to fight off a trio of assailants in a public place. If only the Medusas were wearing their usual throat microphones and earpieces! Schmidt had vetoed use of their full military equipment in the name of their blending in and not appearing threatening to the public. Whatever.
As she closed in on the Medusas, she willed one of them to spot her. Thankfully, Misty did. Isabella flashed her a hand signal for hostiles incoming. Her teammate turned and signaled to the others. Isabella ducked behind a video game, bending down like she’d dropped something. Time to stalk the stalkers.
As the Medusas collected Anya and moved swiftly toward Isabella, the three men scattered. Damn! She didn’t want to lose the men! Aleesha Gautier, the team’s doctor from Jamaica, peeled off to follow one guy, while Misty followed another one. Vanessa signaled Isabella to take the guy nearest to her, and Isabella signaled back an affirmative—not a tricky hand signal; it was an old-fashioned thumbs-up. They so needed their radios!
Her guy darted down a side hallway, and used a magnetic strip card to unlock and dive through a service entrance. Nice try, but she had one of those, too. She dug a master key card out of her pocket and let herself in after the guy. And looked around in dismay. A stainless steel jungle of counters, cooking equipment and chefs stretched in front of her. Dozens of men and women moved around the space, and she hadn’t gotten a good enough look at her target to pick him out of this sea of faces. Dang it!
She spied a male figure who might be her guy moving quickly down one of the rows. She took off after him and prayed he was the right one. He ducked out another door on the far side of the room. Isabella followed quickly.
The door led outside. A gust of icy wind showered her with powdered snow. Her arms prickled with goose bumps as she looked both ways. A male silhouette was just ducking around a corner up ahead. She broke into a run, slipping and sliding on the slick layer of snow dusting the sidewalk. The sun shone brilliantly, glaring off the blanket of white until it nearly blinded her. She turned into the alley’s relative darkness, and pinpricks of light danced in her eyes.
A dark form barreled at her. Aww, crap. Not the old bowl-over-the-tail stunt. She braced a shoulder to take the blow, but the guy dodged around her at the last second. She leaped out of the alley to give chase when a much bigger, faster form slammed into her. This time, she landed square on her behind, with a guy wearing a dark blue Olympic security jacket sprawled across her lap. She’d seen him before, on the military side of the house, but had never met him.
He swore copiously as he pulled out a radio. “Track the bastard on camera!” Scowling, he climbed to his feet and helped Isabella up. “You all right?” he growled.
“Yeah. I bump heads with rhinoceroses ev
ery day.”
The guy grinned briefly. “Most women would cry at a crash like that.”
He didn’t seem to be holding a grudge that they both lost their man. That was decent of him. She shrugged. “I’m not most women. Let’s get back to the ops center and see where that guy goes. And don’t offer me your coat,” she snapped as the guy started to unzip his jacket.
“Sorry. My mama raised me to be a gentleman. Name’s Beau Breckenridge.”
That rang a bell. “Is your handle Hobo?” she asked. “Delta Four?”
He flashed her a killer smile. “Yup. That’s me.”
Delta Four was Dex Thorpe’s team. Curious, she asked, “What kind of team leader is Major Thorpe?”
Beau didn’t hesitate. “He’s the best I’ve ever seen.”
Wow. The jerk earned the unswerving loyalty of his men, did he? Hard to picture. She trudged back up the slippery hill to the hotel entrance and stepped inside gratefully. She was an ice cube. Her teeth chattered as she made her way to the ops center.
“Whatchya got?” Beau called as Thorpe motioned the two of them over to a cluster of men around a bank of cameras.
“Lost him. He ducked out of the village before we could close the gates.”
How had that happened? She glared at the major. “How hard is it to call the guard shacks and tell them to stop traffic?”
“Schmidt has to give the order.”
“That’s bull—”
Thorpe cut her off. “I’m with you, Torres. With this incident to back me up, I’ll argue against the policy again at the IOC staff meeting in the morning.”
“While you’re at it, get us our radios, will you? It’s damned hard to coordinate anything with my teammates if I can’t talk to them.”
Dex raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Didn’t they teach you hand signals in Special Forces school?”
She replied sweetly, “Gee, they only taught us this one.” She flipped him her middle finger.
While the guys around her developed a sudden case of the coughs, she asked, “Did Sidewinder and Mamba catch their runners?”
“Nope. Their guys ducked into a men’s locker room, and by the time your friends worked up the nerve to go in, the men had slipped out another way.”
She gritted her teeth. No way had it been a lack of nerve that caused her teammates not to give chase. There must’ve been a bunch of athletes in the locker room who would’ve been freaked out if the Medusas had barged in.
Damn! Round One to the bad guys. Except it wasn’t a total loss. At least the Medusas knew three of them had credentials to get into the Olympic village, probably as employees. That list was finite, and the people in this room had access to it. Knowing Thorpe, they’d examine it under a microscope until they found the runners.
Thorpe’s jaw flexed. “We got a couple facial shots of them. The computer boys are enhancing the images now. We’ll ID these guys before too long. I’ll call you when we get something.”
Hey, that was an improvement! Thorpe had spoken to her like a human being. Would wonders never cease. With a terse nod in his direction, she turned and headed for Anya’s room.
“That old man is going to ruin everything!” Abdul, griped, exasperated. If only he could afford to tell his father about the plan. But he dared not. Ahmed might be inexorably conservative, but he also was totally opposed to…direct action. In a word, to terrorism. “The fatwa has drawn the attention of the security forces right to the figure skating event. It didn’t help that you three hotheads took it upon yourselves to tail the Khalid girl. In the future, you will not take such initiatives by yourselves. Understood?”
The three cousins nodded glumly.
He sighed. “We must be careful and execute the plan properly. Our countrymen are depending on us. We must send the message strongly to the Americans to keep their hands off Bhoukar. No more foolish stunts out of you. Do only what I tell you to do.”
More extreme elements within the Red Jihad would have cut these overeager boys’ heads off and fed their entrails to dogs to teach the other members of the cell to follow orders. But these three were his nephews. He wasn’t going to kill family members for being too zealous in their patriotism. He wasn’t a fanatic, after all. He was a reasonable man.
One of his nephews shifted his weight from foot to foot and asked nervously, “Have we ruined the plan? Should we scrap it?”
The mere thought made him ill. “After all this planning? After all our hard work and sacrifices? When will there be another chance like these Olympics to strike such a blow against the United States? Oh, no. We proceed as scheduled. Tonight, we grab the woman.”
Anya was not a happy camper. Her coach had declared a mandatory nap to help the skater adjust to the time zone change. Isabella watched the girl pace her room, as restless as a caged tiger. In big sister fashion, she said soothingly, “After dinner you can go out and play to your heart’s content.”
Anya made a face. “After dinner, I’ve got a flag bearer rehearsal for the opening ceremonies. Since I’m the only athlete from Bhoukar, I have to carry my country’s flag.”
Great. Like that wouldn’t be a total security nightmare! A giant stadium, thousands of people milling around on the infield, and, if she didn’t miss her guess, spectator seating open to the public. “Why don’t you watch a little TV? I hear it has on-demand programming in twenty languages.”
Isabella left Anya fooling with her television remote control. Karen was posted outside the door while Isabella headed for the ops center to set up what security measures she could for tonight’s rehearsal.
Thorpe was there when she walked into the bustling control room. He glanced up from a computer terminal and waved her over. “Your girl’s caused quite a stir. Look at this.”
She leaned over his shoulder gingerly and scanned the deluge of press reaction to Al Abhoud’s fatwa from around the world.
“The media is having a field day with that tackle you laid on Anya. You made all the major news networks.”
She flinched. “So much for being invisible.”
Thorpe shrugged. “Schmidt was smoking dope if he thought you were going to be able to remain invisible for long. Just stay out of the limelight as much as you can. But, first and foremost, do the job. Keep the kid alive.”
Isabella nodded. “We’ll do our best.”
“I got you your radios. I’m assigning you a discrete channel. That way the guys here can contact you directly. Cell phone capacity for the city isn’t going to be sufficient once the Games get rolling and Lake Placid fills up.” A muscle ticked in his jaw briefly. “But I lost the fight to get more cell towers installed.”
“Careful, sir,” she replied lightly, “you’re almost starting to sound human.”
One corner of his mouth turned up, but it hardly qualified as a smile. “For the duration of the Olympics, we’ve been asked to suspend use of military titles. We wouldn’t want to appear like a police state, after all.”
She heard the echo of Schmidt’s words and grinned. “Perish the thought.”
“Just use my handle if you need me. I’ll keep your frequency on my list of critical channels.”
“How many do you have piped into your ear?” she asked.
“Ten so far.”
Yikes. Talk about multitasking. She didn’t like to listen to more than four channels at once. Aloud, she said, “We shouldn’t be hard to pick out. We’ll be the only girls talking to you.”
“Right,” he growled, abruptly surly.
Didn’t like the reminder that he had to work with women, huh? Tough. Abruptly feeling surly herself, she turned to leave. Kat and Vanessa were meeting her at the Olympic stadium in fifteen minutes.
After a dismayed survey of the giant Torch Stadium, they concluded there wasn’t a damned thing they could do to protect Anya out here. The security people screening the crowd would be the only real line of defense.
The good news was they knew that anyone who wanted to kill the girl would do so a
s a political and religious statement. They’d make the attempt while Anya was on the center of the world stage. And tonight’s rehearsal wasn’t televised. The assassin would wait until the actual opening ceremonies or some other moment with similar media coverage.
Nonetheless, Isabella insisted Anya wear a bulletproof vest under her parka for the walk-through of the parade of nations. It was better than nothing, but not much. Any sniper worth his salt would see the suspicious bulk of her coat, shift his aim to her head and kill her anyway.
The rehearsal went off without a hitch and Anya was safely tucked into bed before 10:00 p.m. She had ice time the next morning at nine, and despite her desire to sample all the fun at her fingertips, she was still a disciplined athlete with the biggest competition of her life only days away. Thank God.
During the first night shift, sitting in the dark watching Anya sleep peacefully, Isabella eyed the girl. Was Anya truly unaware of the turmoil brewing around her, or just totally disinterested in it? She seemed like a bright kid.
Isabella sighed. Sometimes she forgot how naive she’d been at nineteen. Even though she was only half-Iranian, it had been her mother’s copious relatives who dropped in for coffee and generally meddled in each other’s lives. It had been her Iranian aunts who tsked at her mother’s decision to raise the girls as Americans, her Iranian grandfather who bellowed over Isabella and her sisters not being raised as Muslims.
Thank goodness her father had stood his ground on that one. He’d insisted his children be free to choose their own faiths. He’d probably expected them to choose between Catholicism and Islam, but for her part, she’d chosen neither. She’d lived trapped between the two worlds with neither church to act as a buffer against the other.
Anya was in the same boat. She lived in a Western society, but she had been raised, at least partially, according to the traditional Bhoukari culture. Her parents were fairly liberal, after all they’d let their daughter figure skate in the first place. But her extended family was from ultraconservative Bhoukar. Did Anya know what she was doing by being here? Surely, it had been explained to her. Maybe when she found herself alone in the middle of this mess, she would learn to handle the conflict between the two halves of her identity.
