The Medusa Game

by Cindy Dees

  She walked beside her charge back to the waiting area but stayed outside, out of the way, Anya parked in a corner, plastered a headset on her ears and, eyes closed, walked through her routine until Liz touched her arm to indicate it was time to go.

  For once, Anya was silent as she walked down the long tunnel. Her jaw was set, the look in her eye determined. It was the first time Isabella had seen this side of her. But then, she supposed nobody made it to the Olympics without being a hell of a competitor.

  Anya took off her jacket, and Isabella couldn’t help but wince. The costume was stunning…but man, oh man, was it going to tick off Al Abhoud and his ilk. Anya gazed straight at her, almost daring her to say something.

  “You look beautiful.” Isabella smiled. “Go get ’em.”

  Anya smiled back and nodded.

  Perhaps she’d underestimated the girl. Maybe Anya did, indeed, understand exactly what she was doing. If Anya Khalid wanted to make a statement to the world about the talent and guts of Muslim girls, who was Isabella—a woman of Muslim background herself, who’d broken every rule in the book as to the proper role of women in society—to tell the girl not to?

  Harlan Holt sat on the end of the bed, staring nervously at the television. Was this it? Was this the moment for whatever evil those men had planned? He prayed it wasn’t. But in a selfish corner of his mind, he prayed it was. The sooner this whole thing was over, the sooner Emma would be returned to him.

  What in the hell were those monsters up to?

  His preliminary lab tests showed the perplexing white powder to be a man-made substance. What he wouldn’t give to be able to talk it over with Emma. From her work with recombinant DNA, she knew a great deal about manipulating chemicals and molecular structures.

  The chemical had a complex structure. Under magnification, it looked like a thistle flower with a bulbous structure at one end and a cluster of rods with strange little hooks on the ends at the other. They almost looked designed to latch onto another molecule. But what?

  The television announcer’s voice caught his attention. That Bhoukari girl was the next skater.

  Harlan didn’t know for sure that the men who’d snatched Emma were Middle Eastern but they’d looked and sounded Arabic. He also didn’t know if their attack might be aimed at the Khalid girl, but it made sense. She was supposedly stirring up controversy in the Muslim world. And clearly the kidnappers wanted to do something to someone who was a figure skater. Why else would they have forced him to mix that powder into the ice?

  His heart raced as the commercial break ended and the skating coverage came back on the screen.

  Please let nothing happen…please just get it over with….

  The previous skater, Sara Dormonkova of the Ukraine stepped off the ice and made her way to the kiss-and-cry area—where the skaters awaited and received their scores on camera before the eyes of the world.

  Liz gave Anya one last set of instructions. “Breathe. Focus. You know what to do, just go out and do it.” The girl nodded and stepped onto the ice. A murmur went up from the crowd. It sounded mostly like approval for the gorgeous picture she made, but there was a note of consternation in the sound as well. The implications of her daring costume were not lost on anyone.

  “Holy shit.”

  Isabella jumped at the outburst in her earpiece. Well, she knew Dex had the TV on, at any rate.

  “Why didn’t she just skate naked and really make the point?” he growled.

  “The costume is beautiful and she’s radiant in it.”

  “Yeah, and the bloodstains when she’s shot full of holes will match it perfectly. What the hell were you thinking, letting her wear that?”

  “I was thinking that there’s nothing wrong with her wearing whatever she wants. That’s the sort of costume all the skaters wear.” Isabella’s indignation picked up a head of steam. “If she’s going to be put to death for lifting her leg in the air or showing the bottoms of her feet, who the hell cares if she wears a dress like that? She’s going to piss off those stiff-necked graybeards anyway, so why not go for the gusto?”

  “I thought you told me there’d be no conflict of interest. You sound awfully worked up about this.” Dex’s voice was quiet. Serious. And that made it sting all the more. He was right, dammit. She was personally involved in this girl’s political statement. How could she not be?

  Her gut churning, Isabella waited out the announcement of the Ukrainian skater’s scores. Then it was Anya’s turn.

  Like some sort of magical swan, her arms outstretched as if to embrace everyone in the arena, Anya glided to the middle of the ice and onto the world stage. And damned if she didn’t own it in that moment.

  Pride swelled in Isabella’s breast. Even if Anya’s program crashed and burned, she’d done it. She’d stepped out in front of the entire world and dared it to look at her. Without a veil. And she was strong and beautiful and free.

  Anya’s music began, a smoky, mysterious melody from Bhoukar. Her arms moved bonelessly, like a swallow’s wings dipping and swaying in flight. A drum began, and Anya pushed off into motion. A strong glide, held for three seconds like she was supposed to. Good girl. Isabella caught herself counting out crossovers as Anya picked up speed…four…five…six…and now the backward glide and deep edge into the triple lutz. The music crescendoed just as Anya leaped into the air, as light and powerful as the swan she resembled. She landed softly on a deeply bent knee, with a good, long, running edge out of the jump. Yes!

  Isabella actually clenched her fists as the program unfolded, practically skating with the girl as Anya sailed around the ice. Isabella sucked in her breath as Anya bobbled her triple salchow, but managed to right herself and save the jump without touching a hand down to the ice. The music picked up speed, full orchestration kicked in, and Isabella felt almost as if she’d been lifted off her feet and was flying around the arena as Anya picked up momentum and got stronger and stronger as the program progressed.

  The audience clapped and cheered, urging her on as they, too, were sucked into the soaring beauty of Anya’s skating. There was a freedom—a joy—to it that was infectious. Everyone was on the ice with her, sharing the power of the moment.

  And then the last jump—a flawless triple flip. Isabella recited the end of the program in her head as Anya performed it…flying camel into a sit spin, count the revolutions, push up strong to vertical, and pull in hard with the arms into the scratch spin… Anya twirled like a dervish, the brilliantly colored costume flashing like a column of flame. A jab with a toe pick into the ice to stop the revolutions, and Anya flung her arms up into the air in a final, triumphant pose.

  It was over.

  The crowd went wild. They knew they’d witnessed a historic event. A glorious moment of human transcendence. Isabella looked around and saw tears on many cheeks, male and female. Surprised, she touched her own cheeks and found them wet.

  Focus. She was here to do a job. She mustn’t let herself get distracted. The applause continued and apprehension built in her gut. Anya had been out there a long time, standing still in the middle of the rink after her program. She needed to get moving. Now. But the ovation went on, and Anya continued to wave and throw kisses to the crowd.

  Get off the ice! Isabella shouted silently.

  Anya curtsied to the sides and ends of the arena. Waved to the screaming crowd some more. Skated over to where someone had thrown a large teddy bear onto the ice. Flowers rained down. Hundreds of them, wrapped in plastic sleeves to keep petals and leaves from falling onto the ice and making it dangerous for the next skater. Anya bent to scoop up a dozen of them.

  Come on!

  An army of little girls in white dresses skated out to do pickup patrol, and still Anya wasn’t off the ice. The crowd continued to scream, and Anya continued to smile and wave.

  Finally, finally, Anya turned to skate for the exit. It was all Isabella could do not to jump onto the ice and wrap her arms around her charge. But, after an eternity, Anya fin
ally stepped off the ice. Liz herded her over to the kiss-and-cry area. A tall wall behind the upholstered bench shielded it from the spectators, and a phalanx of television cameras acted like metal armor across the front. Anya and Liz sat down, and Isabella’s knees went weak. Anya was back under cover. Safe.

  Anya’s scores were posted and the crowd roared its approval. Fifth place with only seven more skaters to go. She could finish no lower than twelfth. She’d made it into the next round. Isabella didn’t know whether to pump her fist and shout for joy or swear. She was going to have to endure that agony of helplessness again and put Anya back on the ice at least one more time, standing by on the sidelines, praying that it wasn’t the girl’s day to die.

  “Congratulations,” Dex murmured in her ear. “She made the next round.”

  Isabella scowled. “Whoopee.”

  Dex chuckled. “Sucks turning ’em loose, doesn’t it?”

  Clearly, he’d pulled bodyguard duty before. “You said it,” she replied.

  “Look at it this way. You’ve got four more days before the short program to draw out the bad guys and figure out what’s going on around her. Take your girl home and celebrate with her. She deserves it. Gutsy kid.”

  “Thanks. I’ll tell her you said that.”

  When Isabella relayed his message, Anya was so delirious with excitement it was hard to tell if a word of it registered. In the midst of all the celebration, a woman came into the changing room carrying a large bag. Isabella leaped between her and Anya.

  “And you might be?” Isabella asked politely.

  “Judy Levinson. The seamstress.”

  “What seamstress?”

  The blond woman in her forties smiled. “The emergency seamstress. Every large international skating competition has a seamstress on call to mend last minutes rips, broken zippers, replace lost crystals. You name it. I even carry spare boot laces.”

  Isabella replied, “How are you at full costumes on no notice?”

  Judy smiled. “It takes me overnight, but no problem. That’s why I’m here. I understand Ms. Khalid needs a couple of costumes right away.”

  Anya stepped around Isabella, her eyes big. “You can do a whole costume overnight? With crystals and everything? It takes my mom months to make one of my competition costumes.”

  The woman unzipped her garment bag. “Well, I cheat a little. These costumes are already partially made. I just fit them and finish the seams. Most of the decorations are already complete. I glue on a few crystals at the seams, and voila! I’m done. Let’s see if we’ve got something in here that might work for you.”

  Anya oohed and ahhed over the array of costumes.

  Judy said, “Tell me about your short program.”

  “I skate to an interlude from Swan Lake. It’s light and airy, but it’s not the dying swan bit. I don’t want any feathers or tutus,” Anya declared.

  Judy laughed. “I may have just the thing. It’s an ice-dancing costume, but given the circumstances, it might be perfect.”

  “Won’t the skirt be too long?” Anya asked in alarm.

  “There are always scissors, dear.”

  The costume was, indeed, spectacular. It was all white, and more to the point, it had long sleeves and a high turtleneck collar. Narrow flowing strips of flesh-colored cloth were inset along the entire length of the white tricot bodice. Long, sinuous rows of clear crystals falling from the shoulder looked like water flowing over Anya’s body. The skirt was made up of many narrow strips of white silk so fine it was almost sheer. Even when Anya walked over to the mirror, the strips moved like a breeze caressing the girl’s legs. Although the costume covered a great deal more skin than the yellow-and-red one had, the overall effect was, if possible, even sexier. Anya’s slender curves were perfectly highlighted, and her skin glowed golden against the stark white. Kowabunga.

  Anya’s face lit up when she looked at her reflection. “It’s perfect,” she breathed.

  Judy cautioned, “When you skate, that skirt is going to plaster itself against your legs and outline them very clearly. It won’t leave anything to the imagination.” The woman sent a significant glance in Isabella’s direction.

  Anya nodded. “That’s fine. I’m supposed to be a swan flying anyway.”

  The seamstress peeled the costume off the girl gently. “You’ll look like a fairy princess. And this will be ready tomorrow.”

  Anya stepped into the dressing room to change into street clothes, and Isabella remarked quietly to the seamstress, “She doesn’t compete in the short program for four more days, so it’s okay if you sleep tonight. And a word of advice. Keep that costume locked up at all times, and don’t tell anyone which costume you’re preparing for her.”

  The seamstress absorbed all that then nodded. “How about if I work on a decoy costume?”

  “That might be an excellent idea.”

  Anya stepped out, dressed in a black turtleneck and a black velvet warm-up suit. She packed her skates, and Liz pulled the rolling gear bag as they left the locker room. Isabella would’ve offered to help, except she needed to keep her hands free to respond to any threat that might arise. Bodyguard she was, packhorse she was not. Next on the agenda: run the press gauntlet and then get the heck out of Dodge.

  They entered the press briefing area, a large room split down the middle by a waist-high railing—athletes on one side and journalists on the other. The space in front of Anya was instantly mobbed with reporters shouting for her attention. Thankfully, the vast majority hailed from everywhere but the Middle East, and very few of them asked any questions of substance. Anya was her usual perky, cheerful, nineteen-year-old self, and smiled her way through it all, basking innocently in the spotlight.

  Isabella hovered just off camera, her gaze roving across the crowd. She wasn’t worried about this bunch. They had to go through nearly as much security rigamarole as the athletes did to get into this special press pit. Nonetheless, she kept a sharp eye on the men and women hanging over the rail, shoving microphones at her charge.

  After about a half hour, Isabella leaned over to Liz and muttered, “Time to call it. They’re starting to repeat their questions, and that’s enough exposure for one night. My nerves can’t take any more of this.”

  Liz grinned and fetched their instant star. They left the press area and headed for the back of the complex where the garage directly under the stadium allowed for protected loading and unloading.

  Karen had an SUV waiting for them. It was one of the armored vehicles used for VIP transport. It had blacked out, bulletproof windows, full body armor, and license plates that wouldn’t draw attention, as opposed to the Olympic plates on official vehicles.

  The ride back to the Olympic village was uneventful. They waited patiently at the vehicle checkpoint while guards ran mirrors under their car and popped the hood for a look at the engine block. Then they were waved through.

  Anya bounced into her room and flopped on the bed. “I did it!” she crowed. “I nailed my program!”

  She’d done a whole lot more than that, but there would be time later to reflect on it. A lifetime. Isabella asked casually, “So, are you hungry? I noticed you didn’t eat much this morning, and it’s almost suppertime.”

  “I’m starving!”

  Typical teenager. Isabella grinned. “What’s your pleasure?”

  “I want to celebrate,” Anya announced.

  “Pizza? Hot-fudge sundae? Banana split, maybe?”

  Anya laughed. “I still have to skate in four days. I can’t go too crazy. But I know what I want.”

  “Name it.”

  “I want New York pizzeria-style pizza.” A pause. “In New York.”

  “You are in New York,” Isabella answered cautiously.

  “No, I mean outside of the Olympic village. I want to go downtown.”

  “Now, Anya—”

  “Don’t you ‘Now, Anya’ me! I’ve been cooped up inside this hotel for a week and I haven’t been out once. Tonight I want to
party! I’m an adult, you know. You can’t treat me like a child.”

  “Then act like an adult and don’t do something foolish and dangerous.”

  “Sorry. My mind’s made up. I’m going out. Are you coming with me or not?”

  Isabella knew a losing battle when she saw one. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said desperately. “You can go downtown, but you’ve got to let me call in some backup. I can’t protect you out there alone.”

  “You’ve got a deal, mate! Put the shrimp on the barby, boys!” she sang as she disappeared into her bathroom to put on party clothes.

  Oh, Lord. And Dex thought the bold costume was stupid. Wait until he got a load of this. She cringed to even think about how the gang back at the ops center was going to react to this radio call.

  “Ops, this is Adder. I’ve got a strange request. I, uh, need a couple men. To go out on a date.”

  Chapter 11

  Isabella opened the door to Anya’s room and stared in shock. Dex and Beau wore slacks and sweaters, both cleanly shaven and for all the world looking like they were going out on dates.

  Oh, God. Not Don Juan and the Grinch. Not both of them at the same time. “Where are the Medusas?” Maybe her teammates would bail her out.

  “Captain Cordell is in the ops center working on the translation of last night’s tapes of Lazlo and friends, and the rest of your team is staking out that bunch again, trying to get more conversation on tape,” Dex replied.

  “I gather, then, the first tapes are proving interesting?”

  “You could say that. Ever heard of a group called the Red Jihad?”

  “No. But with a name like that, they don’t sound like cookie salesmen.”

  “Good guess. I’ll fill you in later. Until then, you’re stuck with me and Hobo.”