The Medusa Game

by Cindy Dees

  Isabella wandered up and down the rows of games for several minutes. Bingo! She caught sight of the lean, dark-haired skater sitting in a car racing game. She strolled up to him just as he was finishing a race. “How’s it going?” she asked casually.

  He glanced eagerly over her shoulder. Looking for Anya was he? What in the bloody hell was with this on again, off again interest in the girl? His face fell as he realized Anya was not with her keeper. Isabella said dryly, “Sorry. She’s got her qualifying round of skating tomorrow and packed in early tonight.”

  “Is she upset over this morning?” Lazlo asked.

  “Yes, she is. She couldn’t figure out why you wouldn’t talk to her.”

  “Well, I, uh, didn’t want to distract her at her last practice.”

  He was a lousy liar. Aloud she replied, “For future reference, you distracted her more by ignoring her than you would’ve had you at least said good morning and wished her luck.”

  He frowned. Danged if he didn’t look upset that he’d hurt Anya’s feelings. Okay, so if he really did like the girl, why the cold shoulder this morning? “Are you embarrassed to be seen with her in public?”

  “No!” he exclaimed.

  “You don’t have to worry about your safety when you’re with her, you know. My colleagues and I are charged not only with Anya’s safety, but the safety of all the athletes here. We’d take care of you, too.”

  “That’s not it—” he started. But then he stopped tantalizingly.

  “Is everything okay?” Isabella asked quietly. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No, I’m fine,” he blurted angrily. “Just leave—” He broke off again.

  He’d been about to tell her to leave him alone. She’d probably pushed him hard enough. Any more and he’d get suspicious. But then one last brainstorm hit her. “Is there a message you’d like me to pass on to Anya?”

  The kid’s face lit up like the Olympic flame. “Would you do that for me?”

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Tell her I—” Another abrupt halt. “Wish her good luck for me. Tell her I’ll be watching and cheering for her.”

  Isabella nodded. “I will.”

  “And—” a hesitant pause “—if she has any message for me, I’d…like that.”

  Isabella held back a smile. God, she was good. She’d just been appointed official messenger for the two of them. That should prove very informative. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your race.”

  Lazlo glanced at his watch and a moment’s apprehension crossed his face. “I’ve got to go out in a few minutes anyway.”

  She nodded and drifted away.

  “Nicely done,” Vanessa murmured in her ear.

  “He’s really tense about wherever he’s going. How about we follow him? I’ll pick him up from here and tail him until we can all hook up.”

  “Done.”

  She loitered among the video games until Lazlo left, then she tailed the skater most of the way back to his room. She stopped just shy of the hall he was staying in. How to look like she had a good reason for standing here? She caught sight of a familiar male form heading her way. Beau Breckenridge. The man she’d bumped into the day she’d chased that guy out of the Olympic village.

  “Beau? How’ve you been?” she said in a pleased speaking voice. Under her breath she muttered, “You busy?”

  “I’ve got a couple minutes. Why?” he asked in a matching tone.

  “Give me a cover. I’m watching someone who just went into a room.”

  “Watching as in tailing? What’s up?”

  She smiled up at the big man. “Dunno. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  “You working on anything solid?” he asked, smiling back like they were talking about the weather.

  “Can’t answer that one.” Which was Special Forces speak for, “It’s classified and I can’t say any more so quit poking around.”

  “Got it. Did you hear they’re forecasting a big blizzard in a couple days?”

  That arrested her attention. “Really?”

  “Yup. Two feet or more of snow up in the mountains. The weathermen can’t decide how much the city’s going to get. Somewhere between six and thirty inches.”

  “Yikes. That’s a wide spread.” A big snowstorm right now could seriously impair the Medusas’ operations.

  “My target just left his room,” she murmured.

  “Do you need me to block you from his view?”

  “Nah. He knows I’m security. I just needed an excuse to be standing here.”

  Beau grinned down at her and drawled, “Happy to oblige, ma’am.”

  She glanced up at him. “Where are you from anyway?”

  “Mobile, Alabama.”

  Lazlo was almost even with them. “Can’t get much more Southern than that,” she remarked. She made eye contact with Lazlo as he moved past, nodding at the skater in a friendly fashion. He nodded back and then moved on.

  “So, is the accent working on you?”

  Isabella’s attention snapped back to her companion. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Didn’t you know a Southern drawl is irresistible to women?”

  She laughed aloud. “Sorry. I didn’t get that memo. I’ll remember to throw myself at you the next time I see you.”

  His eyes gleamed. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  She rolled her eyes. Thankfully, Lazlo had just disappeared into the main lobby. “Gotta go, Beau. Thanks for the help.”

  “Any time, Adder.”

  He’d used her handle. A tacit sign of acceptance in the Special Forces community. Nice to know they weren’t all chauvinist jerks. She flashed a quick smile at him as she turned to follow Lazlo, who was moving quickly, not looking around. She muttered into her collar, “The south exit onto Olympic Boulevard. Moving fast on foot. Black warm-up pants, black leather jacket. No hat.”

  She sped up as Lazlo exited the building. The night’s cold made her suck in her breath as she stepped outside and glanced both ways. There he was. “Moving east on foot, north side of the street.”

  The other Medusas would trail behind her in the van until she called them. It would be easier to follow him on foot as long as he was walking.

  “Looks to be heading for the bus stop. Stay back. I’ll call if he boards a bus.”

  She loitered well behind Lazlo. The crowds were heavy. It was party time in Ringtown—as Lake Placid had been nicknamed by the media in honor of the five Olympic rings.

  A white bus had just pulled up and he was heading straight for it. Probably shouldn’t try to board it with him. If she showed up behind Lazlo three times in under an hour, even the rankest of amateurs would get suspicious. She opted to hurry down the sidewalk and catch a glimpse of the bus’s destination on the electronic board mounted in its rear window. Main Street/Olympic Village.

  “Come and get me, girls,” she radioed.

  Within a matter of seconds, the navy minivan pulled up beside her. “There you are!” Karen called out through the window. “Get in. It’s freezing out there!”

  Isabella jumped in the van. “Man it’s cold tonight! I’m glad I didn’t have to walk the whole way….” The door closed behind her and she cut off the inane chatter. “It’s that bus just pulling out of the station.”

  Vanessa pulled out her cell phone. “Hey. I need to know how many stops the Number 4 bus makes and where.” There was an impressively brief pause and then she said briskly, “Got it. Thanks.”

  She turned to the others. “Four stops, all along Main Street, then it loops back to the Olympic village.”

  Piece of cake. Karen maneuvered the van until it was right behind the bus. They waited through the first two stops and there was no sign of Lazlo getting off the bus. At the third stop, he was the first guy out. Vanessa left the van to take over the close quarters surveillance as Lazlo entered a cafeteria-style restaurant. To their knowledge, Lazlo had never seen Vanessa up close and he wouldn’t recognize her now.<
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  Karen snagged an official parking spot because of their Olympic Committee license plates, and they sat in the vehicle listening to Vanessa’s murmured reports.

  “He’s in a booth by himself. Can’t sit still. Is he always this antsy?”

  “Negative,” Isabella replied. He’d never been fidgety around Anya.

  “He’s checking his watch about once a minute.”

  Isabella glanced at her own watch—7:26. She’d bet he was supposed to meet someone at 7:30. Except the half hour came and went, and nobody showed up. At 7:40, Vanessa reported that he was mopping sweat from his forehead.

  At 7:45, Vanessa said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s on the verge of having a panic attack.” And then on the heels of that, “His cell phone is ringing.” Seconds later, “He’s on the move. Fast. Get the car started.”

  Lazlo stayed on foot, as did Vanessa. Karen expertly moved the van, parking twice when traffic forced her to move well ahead of Vanessa’s position. Lazlo moved along the crowded sidewalks of the downtown area toward the large city square, which held several thousand people in front of a stage.

  “Crud. He’s stopping in the square. I’m gonna need backup out here.”

  Isabella and Aleesha piled out while Karen parked the minivan. With their radios, it wasn’t necessary for them to stay in visual contact. The square was a riot of color and movement—of fun. The crowd was so innocent. So unaware of what was going on its very midst. Isabella searched for her target, and felt like a total outsider to the festivities. How her life had changed in a year.

  No luck spotting Lazlo. “Where is he, Viper?”

  “In front of the movie theater,” Vanessa answered. “About fifty feet due east of it.”

  There. Off to the west side of the square. “Got him.”

  Lazlo was looking around. Definitely meeting someone here. Why the double rendezvous? What could a figure skater be embroiled in that required such secretive—and professional—tactics?

  She could swear she felt the intensity of the night’s cold deepening. A bitter wind was blowing in off Lake Placid from the north, and it went straight to her bones. All of a sudden, a man appeared. He was speaking to Lazlo. The guy had materialized out of the crowd, just like a trained special operator would have. Lazlo’s shoulders went up around his ears as the man leaned close and said something. Oh, yeah, this was the meet. The man looked to be in his mid-forties. Dark hair and eyes. Bushy mustache that hid his upper lip. Husky in a street brawler sort of way. Not the sort of person she’d envision befriending an Olympic athlete. But clearly they had something to talk about.

  Strike that. They had somewhere to go together. The two men moved off side by side at a brisk pace. Crap! Headed straight at her! She turned away fast and ducked her face nose-deep into the folds of her sweater, then grabbed her dark ponytail and stuffed it up under her knit ski hat for good measure. She needed to shift over to the other side of the street and switch places with Vanessa. Viper could afford to be seen by these two men, but Isabella could not.

  “I’ll take the north sidewalk,” she muttered.

  Vanessa muttered back, “Roger, I’ve got the south.”

  They’d practiced team surveillance so many times they fell into its intricate patterns almost without thinking. She showed no reaction when the two men cut across the street and continued walking directly in front of her. Their backs retreated out of the brightly lit square. Even if they looked back now, all they’d see would be her dark silhouette. Whew. That had been close. She let the two men pull ahead of her a little farther just to be safe. Vanessa was ahead to the right, almost parallel to the pair.

  The men walked well away from the beaten tourist track and into what had to be the rough side of this hamlet. The area was all of a block long. Lazlo and his longshoreman look-alike buddy ducked into a dark pub. Isabella skidded to a stop beside the front door, while Karen disappeared down the alley beside the bar to cover any back exit.

  A couple minutes passed.

  Karen murmured, “No movement here. I think our boys are inside for a while.”

  Vanessa ordered, “Python, stay out back until we go in and get visual on them.”

  Karen acknowledged the instruction.

  Isabella started as Vanessa materialized right beside her elbow. “Go inside with me. You know this kid’s body language a lot better than I do.”

  Isabella nodded and walked inside.

  It was a rough joint, its act marginally cleaned up for the Olympics. A grimy Olympic flag was draped behind the bar, but that was this place’s only concession to the Games. It was crowded. She moved into the room, keeping a solid wall of bodies between her and her quarry.

  She bellied up to the bar and did her best to give off man-hater vibes. She didn’t need to get caught up in fending off passes from drunks while she was trying to work. A middle-aged woman slid out of a booth and smothered Lazlo in a bear hug any mother grizzly would be proud of. Two more women and a gray-haired man sat in the booth along with Lazlo’s burly contact.

  Vanessa’s voice vibrated quietly in her ear. “Get pictures.”

  “Move that group of guys in hockey jerseys away so I’ve got a clear shot,” Isabella replied.

  Vanessa groused, “Where’s Misty when you need her? Lemme see what I can do.” Isabella watched, amused, as her boss sashayed up to the group of men and engaged them in flirtatious banter. Viper took a step back. Another. And like good little lemmings, the drunks followed.

  “Way to go, you vixen,” she teased her boss.

  Kat chimed in. “Nice butt wiggle. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

  Vanessa, who was still talking to the drunks, couldn’t respond, but she did scowl.

  Grinning, Isabella pulled out a digital camera and held it chest high beneath a plastic covered menu. Looking down into the nifty—and sneaky—top-mounted viewfinder, she lined up and shot several pictures of Lazlo and the group with him. She looked up as two more tough-looking men joined the guy who’d met Lazlo in the square. They exchanged brief nods. They knew each other then. She got pictures of them, too.

  “Want me to get a picture of you with your boyfriends to send to Jack?” she asked Vanessa.

  Kat and Karen clicked their mikes to indicate their amusement.

  “Say cheese,” Isabella crooned.

  Vanessa broke away from the drunks. “You better not have taken a picture of me with those goons.”

  “Too late,” Isabella said breezily. “Jack’s gonna love it.”

  Vanessa laughed. “Go ahead. Send it. It’d be good for him.”

  Isabella eased further down the bar toward the party comprised of three women, four men and Lazlo. A waitress plunked down beers in front of the last two men and spoke to the others as if she was taking a drink order. They planned to sit and talk, then.

  “We need to hear them,” Isabella mumbled.

  “Say what?” a guy beside her yelled in her ear over the racket.

  “I said I need a beer,” she yelled back. She moved away from the guy lest he try to engage her in any more brilliant repartee. She had to get closer to that table! She glided to the far end of the bar, nearest the booth, her back to the rendezvous. Not a word of what they were saying reached her. Drat. She sipped her way through a soda, and then the booth beside Lazlo and company’s was opening up. Hallelujah!

  “I need a couple warm bodies back here, ASAP,” she muttered.

  She moved to the table fast lest someone else claim it, and she slid into the sticky vinyl seat. To the waitress who was still cleaning up, she said, “I’d like three sodas, and I’ll tip you like my friends and I are drinking.”

  The woman smiled and left with an armload of bottles from the previous patrons.

  Vanessa slid into the booth moments later. “Can you hear them from here?”

  Isabella shrugged. “Haven’t tried yet.”

  Vanessa leaned back against the tall wooden chair back for a few seconds, then murmured,
“Sounds like Russian. Too bad Misty’s not here. Any ideas?”

  Misty was the only member of the Medusas who spoke Russian. Isabella suggested, “If one of us goes back to the van and parks it nearby, we could use a throat mike to pick up the conversation and transmit it to the tape recorder in the van.”

  “How’re we gonna get the mike close enough to pick up their voices with all this background noise?”

  Isabella glanced around then leaned over sideways to peer under the table. “These seats don’t go all the way to the floor in the middle. I can crawl under the gap and attach the wire to the underside of their table.”

  Vanessa blinked. “That’s insane.”

  Isabella grinned. “And that’s why you’re going to let me try it, aren’t you?”

  Vanessa frowned. “What will you need to pull it off?”

  “A broom handle and some tape.”

  Aleesha, who’d just joined them, piped up. “I’ve got some duct tape.”

  Kat added, “Ten to one there’s a mop in the bathroom for cleaning up after the drunks who miss the toilet.”

  Vanessa nodded slowly. “Okay, let’s give it a try.”

  Isabella tucked her chin on her right shoulder as she moved quickly past Lazlo’s table. The bathroom was dark and disgusting. Her feet peeled nastily off the floor with every step as she had a look inside the stalls for a mop. Nada. There wasn’t one by the sink, either. But then she spotted a door behind the entrance. She tugged at the storage closet door. Locked. Damn! She pulled out her lock picks—a simple straight pick would do—crouched in front of the lock, and popped it in a matter of seconds.

  Someone banged into her with the bathroom door, knocking her over on her butt. She stared up blearily at the offender and slurred, “Wha’ choo do tha’ for?”

  The woman, a peroxide blonde on the backside of fifty, sneered at her and called her a filthy name. Isabella crawled around on her knees, trying unsuccessfully to hoist herself to her feet until the woman reemerged from a stall, gave her hands a cursory rinse and departed. Isabella stood up and opened the closet door and found a mop and bucket smack-dab in front. She propped the mop handle against the counter at an angle. A couple powerful stomps on the middle of the broom and the wooden handle splintered and broke in half. The piece without the gnarly grey mop strings was about two feet long. She’d been hoping for a longer piece, but this would have to do. Gritting her teeth, she ripped off the radio transmitter still taped to her stomach and attached it to the mop handle.