Dead Double

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

“I think that was the point,” Logan said. He pushed his hair back.

  “Doesn’t the speed that we have to move pay off for us here?” Sahara asked. “I don’t know where Zaram is coming from but even if he’s right here in the city, we’re still going to be gone before he pins us down, right?”

  “That’s a huge gamble,” Jacqui said softly.

  “But it’s got good odds,” Sahara said. “Even if he knows where we started out from, he’s going to be just as cut-off from following us as anyone else will be. He’ll find it just as difficult to put together serious interference in seventeen minutes as we are.”

  “Nelson, I need you to think around the limitations, see if there’s anything at all you can set up in seventeen minutes,” Elias said. He turned to Logan. “It’s going to be you and Sahara out there alone. It’s all up to you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In the remaining few minutes, Jacqui finished dressing Sahara’s wound and she changed clothes and packed a small leather backpack with a couple of bottles of water. She swapped her sandals for flat espadrilles. There was nothing like sensible joggers in Micky’s wardrobe.

  That was all the preparation she could think to make. She sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the digital clock on the bedside table count down the minutes. As each minute passed the tension in her chest and stomach wound up another notch.

  Logan strode into the room and she realized that she had been bracing herself for this confrontation.

  He walked right over to the bed. Unexpectedly, he sank onto the silk coverlet beside her and picked up her hand. “I feel like I should say something inspiring. About getting out there and winning one for world peace, yadda, yadda, yadda.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Do you honestly understand what we’re facing, Sahara? The odds?”

  “I have a good idea. But it’s not just you out there. I’ll be there, too. I don’t carry weapons and never want to but I have a brain and I know what’s at stake and I can run like hell when I need to.”

  He gave a gruff laugh that sounded tight with tension.

  “I’m not Micky,” she added and the amusement in his expression faded. The blue eyes pinned her to the spot and she could see the hurt in them, hidden far in their depths. “I’m not Micky and the same thing won’t happen to me,” she finished.

  “You’re not Micky but I’m still me.” His hand holding hers tightened painfully. “Bad breaks happen to everyone, Sahara, even me.”

  She took a deep breath, knowing she had to skewer Logan yet again. This time, it was for good reasons that she understood but still, it was going hurt. Both of them.

  “Don’t you want to go home, Logan? Don’t you want to take Angel home?”

  She saw him swallow. “Yes,” he said, his voice thick again.

  “Then this has to be done. Like you said, we have to go through it to get out. If we don’t, then you know you’re going to be chasing Zaram until the next bad break kills you and Angel will end up like I was. She’ll be an orphan at twelve years of age, and it will be your fault.”

  * * * * *

  At two-thirty p.m. exactly, they stepped out of the Hotel Alfonso into the hot sunshine and set off for the Plaza de Torres. Once again, Logan was a wounded, silent stranger walking beside her, murmuring directions as they came to each intersection.

  Sahara hid behind her sunglasses, glad of the one-way design. She knew she should feel some sort of trepidation about this last lap of the strange path she had traveled in the last few days but all she could feel was a keening sense of loss. She knew that what she had done to Logan back in the hotel room had been necessary but that it had also murdered any hope she had of Logan staying in her life.

  She thought of Angel and tried to be content. She would give Angel back her father. It was a fair trade. She would have snatched at such an opportunity when she had been twelve but no one had given it to her.

  It was quite a distance to the Plaza but the streets were not as busy as they might have been. It was the lunch hour for most people and everyone was indoors for the siesta period, escaping the peak heat of the day. She could feel her shoulders burning and regretted wearing a sleeveless shirt. She glanced at the short sleeves of Logan’s light cotton shirt with a touch of envy.

  As they drew closer to the plaza, though, her foreboding about what lay ahead grew sharper, pushing aside all other concerns.

  “Why would he make us walk this far?” she asked Logan, reaching for the water in her backpack. “More time to let us build up a really good dose of terror?”

  He made a sound that was suspiciously close to a laugh. “It gives him plenty of time to spot anyone following us,” he said shortly. His tone was disinterested. A polite stranger.

  She bit her lip and held her silence. Clearly, she had wounded him badly. Ah well, that was the price she must pay.

  But after a few more strides, he spoke with a slightly more friendly tone. “The route he’s laid out for us does a full circle, so at one point we actually cross our own tracks. Anyone else who is still behind us after that isn’t there by coincidence.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing for us too? We can check to see if someone is following us too. Zaram, I mean.”

  “That’s right,” he agreed.

  She held the second water bottle out to him. “Here.”

  He looked at it for three or four steps, then took it. “Thanks,” he said shortly.

  “Have you been checking behind us?” she asked diffidently. “I haven’t noticed you doing it but I know you’re good and I know the whole point of checking behind you is to not been seen doing it, right?”

  “You don’t want to tip off the follower,” he agreed.

  “So you are checking?”

  “Last time I looked was when you handed me the water bottle. Thanks, by the way.” He held up the nearly empty bottle. “Good idea.”

  “Not that good. I only packed the two of them. I didn’t think it would be this hot. So…no one behind us?”

  “Not that I’ve spotted, yet. But we’re about to start our circuit. That’s when it’ll get interesting.”

  Silence fell between them again but it didn’t carry the brooding hurt of before. Sahara watched the direction of the sun slowly moving around them as they did their big circuit covering a half dozen city blocks. She wondered if she would have noticed if Logan had not alerted her that they were walking in circles.

  When the sun finally settled back on her left shoulder, she glanced at Logan. “Anything?” she murmured.

  “Well done,” he said. “The sun tipped you off?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait a few minutes.”

  At the end of the block, as they were waiting for a languid car to round the corner, Logan glanced at her shoulders. “No sunscreen, huh?” he asked, pulling the edge of the shirt up to check the amount of damage.

  “You’d think I’d know better, huh?” She grimaced. “Mostly I’m in my shop when the sun’s highest.”

  She saw his gaze flicker to his left, even though his head didn’t move.

  “And?” she asked.

  “No one,” he concluded and turned to cross the road. “We’re quite alone, now.”

  Despite the sun, she shivered.

  * * * * *

  The Plaza de Torres was a huge amphitheatre-styled stadium that might have belonged to any city in the States, except that each arch was decorated with filigree stone edging and the main gate was a Moorish arch with balconies above.

  They slipped inside the cool stone building and Sahara sighed her relief. “Do you know where the exhibition hall is?” she asked Logan.

  “Probably the way that sign is saying,” he said, pointing toward a big placard with an arrow and “Pasillo de la exposición” in clear lettering, with “Exhibition Hall” beneath it.

  The entrance to the interior of the Plaza was manned by uniformed security guards with guns strapped to one of their hips and blackjacks on the o
ther.

  After Sahara put her backpack on the sliding conveyor belt, they had to pass through an electronic scanning arch. A man stood on the other side with a scanning wand, watching her carefully as she stepped through.

  She turned anxiously to watch Logan step through but he passed through the arch without incident. She collected her backpack, puzzled. When they were far enough away from the guards, she spoke quietly.

  “I’ve known you to carry at least two guns on most occasions and there’s that switchblade….”

  “Fits in my pocket and doesn’t catch when I need a fast draw.”

  “You’re a walking encyclopaedia of appalling information,” she told him dryly. “But why didn’t you set off any alarms when you went through? I know we can’t carry electronic stuff but those arches scan for big pieces of metal too.”

  “That’s because I’m not carrying any big pieces of metal,” he said.

  “None? No guns? Not even the switchblade?”

  “Malik wanted us clean and helpless and he’s set it up to make sure we’re exactly that.” He looked at her face. “Now you’re starting to understand why I didn’t like this. It’s just me and you, Sahara. Nothing else. If Zaram catches up with us while we’re out here, I don’t have so much as a bent bobby pin to fend him off with.”

  She swallowed, her already dry throat clicking. “So let’s get this over with. What’s the next instructions?” She tried to make her tone light, confident.

  They walked into the exhibition hall and began touring the glass cases full of exquisite costumes, history panels and other displays as Logan read the email printout. “Walk the complete hall, making as many circuits as necessary to reach the appropriate time. Step outside and hail a taxi at the front entrance at exactly four p.m. Tell the taxi to take you to the Alcazar.”

  He folded the sheet and put it in his pocket. “At least we don’t have to walk the next leg. The Alcazar is nearly all the way back where we started.”

  They walked slowly around the long, curving hall, pretending to be interested in the display but Sahara could barely concentrate on the placards. She took little of it in. Instead, she wrestled with the need to constantly ask Logan for the time, as she wore no watch of her own.

  Finally, Logan stopped walking. “Time to go,” he announced and turned around.

  Her heart skittering, Sahara followed Logan from the Plaza, out onto the concrete apron in front of it. The touch of sun on her shoulders made her wince.

  There was a pull-in area for cars and a taxi bay with one taxi just pulling into it. Logan glanced at his watch, then lifted his arm to hail the taxi.

  A second taxi cut off the first before it could pull out of the standing area and came to a halt next to them.

  “What, is business so slow these days you have to kill each other off?” Logan asked, bending down see the driver.

  “¿Qué?” the driver said and waved them inside.

  “Logan, I don’t like this,” Sahara murmured, her neck prickling. “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “It isn’t,” he told her. “But Malik is directing this now. We have to play along.” He held the door open for her and slid in beside her. “Al Alcazar, gracias,” he called to the driver.

  The taxi took off and Sahara sought for Logan’s hand. He held it absently, looking out the window.

  “We’re not heading south,” she said. “Or anywhere close to it.”

  “I know.” He banged on the wire between them and the driver. “Hey! Where the hell are you taking us?”

  “¿Qué?” the driver repeated but this time, his tone was one of disinterest.

  “Logan, the river.” Sahara pointed to their left. “We’re heading north!”

  “¿Dónde usted nos está tomando?” Logan raged. He rattled the wire again. “God, I wish I knew enough Spanish to swear at the son of a bitch,” he snarled.

  The driver turned to look at them and give them a big smile that showed bad teeth. “Señor y señora Wilde,” he said. “Compliments Señor Malik. Enjoy t’ ride.”

  Logan froze, his chest rising and falling, staring at the driver. Finally, he sat back on the seat, a heavy frown bringing his brows together.

  “Logan?” Sahara whispered.

  “Malik is outmanoeuvring us again,” Logan said. “He’s making sure, twice over, that we’re cut off even from our own people. I’m guessing we’re going nowhere near the Alcazar, which was where Nelson was planning on picking up our trail again.”

  “Then where are we going?”

  “Now he has us cut off completely, there’s no need for all this treasure trail. It was all just a ruse to throw our people off the scent. I’m guessing we’re on our way to see Malik himself.”

  “But where?”

  Logan’s grin was almost feral. “Only Malik knows.” He scowled at the driver. “And this guy.”

  The car turned left and soon was crossing a bridge over the river. “Itasca?” Logan wondered aloud. “This road leads straight there.”

  “Malik doesn’t like to do things in straight lines,” Sahara warned him.

  “There’s no point in doing circuits now,” Logan objected. “He’s got us cut off.”

  But a few minutes later, the taxi turned left again, traveling down a busy thoroughfare.

  “Calle de Ascunsion,” Logan murmured. He glanced at her. “You may be right.”

  Progress was slow and became slower, as the taxi approached another major intersection. “Calle Virgen de Luján,” he said. “If we turn left here, then we’re heading back over the river.”

  Using a break in the traffic, the taxi shot around the corner and the road opened up to show the river again, which sparkled brightly in the lowering afternoon sun. Sahara was glad of her sunglasses. They traveled over the elegant stone bridge and into an area that looked gracious and formal, with wide streets and official-looking buildings.

  Logan looked around, orienting himself, as the taxi finally turned right, then made quick turns right and left.

  “The university,” Logan said, sounding both relieved and surprised. “It’s so obvious, we’ve all overlooked it.”

  “What do you mean?” Sahara asked, as the taxi came to a stop in front of one of the larger buildings.

  Logan opened the door and the driver immediately began yelling at them.

  “¿Qué?” Logan snapped at him.

  The driver rattled off a long stream of Spanish but Sahara caught the word “pesetas”. He wanted payment for the journey. Logan pulled notes from his breast pocket and pushed them through the slot.

  They climbed out.

  “Busque la biografía de Avenzoar!” the driver called and pulled away.

  Sahara looked up at him. “¿Qué?” she asked, imitating the driver’s accent.

  Logan laughed. “He said to find the biography on Avenzoar. Which means, I guess, we’re supposed to go to the library. Come on.” He led her across the grass, angling away from the main door of the building. “I think it’s somewhere over here.”

  “Who’s Aivinsore?” she asked.

  “I have no idea. Guess that’s part of the process. Malik has a mind like a pretzel. I’m starting to appreciate why he’s the one man in the world who figured out how to work a fusion reactor.”

  “And why is the university a surprise?”

  “Where’s the one place in a city where a physicist with a heavy accent wouldn’t stand out like a neon sign on Everest?” Logan shook his head admiringly. “Last place any of us would have bothered to look. No one thought he’d be trying to continue his work while he was in hiding. Even if he did, no one even dreamed he’d come anywhere near the university to do it.”

  The library was part of the main building but was accessed via a well-worn side door. It was a huge room that soared right up to the top of the three storey building, with stacks on every level running off into deep wings. All the referencing and cataloguing equipment sat in the middle of the room. There were big, well-polished tables
all around the edges. It was marvellously cool and airy and a relief from the throbbing heat outside.

  There were quite a few people dotted around the tables and standing at the stacks, which was surprising even for late on a Monday afternoon. Three or four janitors were sweeping the gleaming floorboards and emptying garbage cans.

  “It’s late,” she observed. “How long does the library stay open for?”

  “I don’t think Malik would have overlooked something as basic as opening hours,” he assured her. “Let’s find Avenzoar.”

  But the university’s cataloguing system defeated even Logan’s grasp of Spanish. Finally, he called over a library assistant and explained as well as he could what he wanted. The young assistant was happy to help and ended up going through the electronic catalogue for them.

  “He’s looking for variations on the spelling,” Logan explained to Sahara, for she was frowning as she tried to make sense of the computer screens as they flashed up.

  “Pienso que lo tengo,” the assistant said, sounding pleased.

  “¿Usted ha encontrado algo?” Logan returned quickly.

  “Avenzoar. Un físico musulmán famoso que trabajó aquí en Sevilla. Su biografía está en el estante. ¿Le demuestro donde?”

  Logan gave a short laugh, then nodded. “Sí, por favour.”

  The assistant made an unmistakable follow-me gesture with his hand and headed toward one of the sets of elegant iron-railed staircases heading for the upper floors of stacks.

  “What’s the joke?” Sahara whispered as they followed the dark-haired man up the stairs.

  “Avenzoar was a famous Muslim physicist who worked here in Seville,” Logan murmured back to her. “Malik has a sense of humour.”

  The assistant led them up to the third floor and along the full length of the balcony, right to the far end of the library. He turned into the very last stack.

  “Bet it’s right down the end,” Sahara whispered.

  “I’m not picking up that bet,” Logan returned.

  The stacks were well apart, leaving room for rolling ladders to move up and down the corridor. The ladders reached up to the top of the stacks, which were a good fifteen feet high. They skirted around the base of them and headed for the end.