Double Down

by MB Austin

  “Hello?” Erlea called from the catwalk, shielding her eyes with one hand. “Who’s out there? Lights.”

  Celeste wanted to slide under her seat. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Or interrupt. Sorry.”

  “No problem. Dr. Guillot, right?”

  Now she was glad to have worn her white coat. “Yes. Celeste.”

  “Right.” Erlea looked up to the ceiling, nodded, and said, “Give me three minutes.”

  “Thank you. But really…”

  The house lights dropped again and Erlea resumed walking about in shifting levels and colors of light. Celeste stifled another sneeze.

  It would be rude to run off, so Celeste found her way to the third row and took a seat on the aisle, looking slightly up. From this angle Erlea looked taller. And even sexier than usual, so focused and professional. Sexier? Oh, dear. At least one of them was acting professional.

  The lights onstage clicked off. Erlea removed the sunglasses and Celeste caught the last of her words, spoken with a wave toward the ceiling. “Have some fun for me. And photos, please. God knows, I won’t see any sights in person.” She shrugged in response to the reply Celeste could not hear. “Okay. Until then. Thanks for today.”

  Erlea removed the headset and rolled her neck, scanning the seating until she spotted Celeste. “Doctor. I thought you didn’t make house calls.”

  “I never said that.” Stop flirting. “I mean, your supplies are on order. I just stopped by to look for Maji. Is she here?”

  Erlea blinked at that, looking disappointed. “I haven’t seen her today. But she could be back with Roger. You know, the makeup and wardrobe guy.”

  “No,” Celeste said. “I don’t know who’s who, I’m afraid. Except for Alejandro and Imane, and Nico of course.”

  “Yeah, sorry about him. He’s rude to everyone. But I think the coast is clear today.”

  Celeste stood, wanting to be closer despite having no good excuse. “About that. I wanted to tell you…” She paused, afraid of sounding like a fawning fan. But Erlea dropped to one knee and looked at her with such attentiveness, Celeste couldn’t backpedal. “I admired your restraint in dealing with him. Without backing down.”

  “Oh, that.” Erlea blushed and stood back up, looking across the seats as if searching for a response. “You know what it’s like, working in a male-dominated field. You’ve clearly put your share in their place, Doctor.”

  “Celeste.”

  “Okay, Celeste. Except when Nico is around.” Erlea looked over her shoulder. “Well, let’s go see if Maji’s with Roger. Come on up.”

  Maji, right. Her excuse. Thank goodness she had questions about the boat ready, in case they found her. Celeste looked for a set of stairs, but spotted none. “How?”

  “I’ll give you a hand.” Erlea smiled. “Are you wearing sensible shoes?” Another awkward pause, and there was that blush again. “I mean, you know, sturdy. Not…”

  “Lesbian? All my shoes are lesbian, even the heels. They cannot help it, and would not if they could. But today I have flat soles and am ready to scale tall stages.”

  Erlea seemed taken aback by Celeste’s attempt at humor. Or perhaps her Spanish wasn’t as good as she thought. But then a slow smile crept across the singer’s face and she tilted her head to one side. “If you got that from a song, I want to hear it.” She reached a hand out over the edge, crouching low.

  Celeste spotted a security guard walking quietly across the stage, almost in the shadows. “Señor! A moment, please.” With a hand from each of them, Celeste managed to reach the catwalk without tumbling over. The guard gave a little bow and hurried off. “Funny man.”

  Erlea shrugged. “A hazard of fame. People act weird around you. He’s probably perfectly nice.”

  “Or maybe he was offended by the idea of lesbian shoes.”

  Erlea laughed. “Could be. Lots of good Catholic boys around these parts.”

  Celeste followed her into the hallway beyond the wings. “I made it up.”

  “What? Oh. The shoes. Could be a good lyric, though.”

  “Well, use it if you want. I promise not to sue you.”

  “Whew.” They stopped outside the do shop and Erlea knocked on the door. “The crew are getting together tomorrow evening. Just drinks and tapas in the bar. If you wanted to meet them, you’d be welcome,” she said, then shifted from one foot to the other in that way Celeste now recognized meant she was uncomfortable. “And Maji, too, of course.”

  Celeste hesitated. “Thank you. I think she’ll be out of town, and I—”

  “Just walk in, already,” a man’s voice called through the door.

  “Join us if you like,” Erlea said, giving Celeste’s arm the briefest of touches. “Take care.”

  Erlea hurried down the corridor. Feeling almost giddy, Celeste watched her go. She wants to be my friend. Santxo would be delighted to hear how nice Erlea was, especially considering Celeste wasn’t even one of her people.

  Celeste pushed the door of the do shop open, her questions for Maji forgotten. Perhaps the wardrobe guy would have advice about what to wear tomorrow evening. Not to try and wow Erlea, even if that were possible. Just to fit in. Although if Celeste happened to make Erlea smile, or laugh, or even blush again, that wouldn’t hurt.

  * * *

  Maji cruised past the blackjack tables, amused by the close call with Celeste but disappointed to not find Reimi on duty. Locating her at last, alone in the floor staff’s break room, Maji dropped her voice to the lowest register she could manage. “Bona tarda.”

  “Bona,” Reimi replied, not looking up from her phone’s screen.

  Maji pulled out a chair but didn’t sit. In her own voice she asked, “Mind if I join you?”

  Reimi laid her phone down and looked Maji over warily. “What are you playing at?”

  “I can’t play here anymore—I’m working now. I shouldn’t have bothered you. But I promised you’d be the first to know if I quit the tables.” Maji stepped back, worrying she’d blown both her professionalism and her chance to get lucky. Even if lucky was just making out without triggering a panic attack. “I really didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Reimi placed a hand over Maji’s, on the table top. “Not so fast, sir.” The wariness remained, but her eyes had a dancing quality now. “How are you working like that? Are you stripping for guests?”

  Maji grinned. “No, never for the guests. You like?” The way Reimi bit her full lower lip said yes. “This is a secret. Just between you and me, yes?”

  “Definitely yes.” Reimi motioned for Maji to turn around. “Let me see you properly.”

  Maji rotated slowly, absorbing the heat of Reimi’s scrutiny like summer sun. This was absolutely the right outfit.

  “And you are really not a player here any longer?” Reimi’s eyes lingered on Maji’s crotch, then rose to observe her response. “For good?”

  “Officially. I informed the management. And I have a room here, just for a day or two.”

  Reimi bit her lip again, her eyes dropping. “You have anything…extra…in there?”

  “Just me under the uniform. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. If you wear this for me in private, we will certainly play.”

  Maji grinned, feeling the mustache tickle as it lifted. “Can you stop by my room after your shift?”

  “Tonight, no. Tomorrow? But I cannot stay the night with you. You understand?”

  “Maybe. Please tell me you’re not married.”

  Reimi crossed herself. “No. I am the youngest. Caring for my mother falls to me. I will make arrangements for her dinner tomorrow, but I must be home when she wakes—too early.”

  Maji smiled. “Whatever you need.” She fingered the mustache. “Leave this on? Or off?”

  “Whatever pleases you. Either way, I suspect you are just what I need.”

  Chapter Eight

  Celeste pulled her robe snug and took a good look through the porthole at the men on the dock pounding on the hull
. Irritation turned to alarm. During her residency in the trauma ward she had seen plenty of plainclothes police, always asking questions whether her patients wanted them to or not. Had Maji hurt someone?

  “One moment. If you please.” She stepped up through the open hatchway into the cockpit. That put her a foot or so taller than them, a comforting vantage point.

  The man in the suit looked at Celeste, then at the photo in his hand, then at Celeste again. “You are not Maji Rios.”

  “How very astute. And you would be?”

  He held his credentials toward her. “José Luis Romero, Interpol Spain, Madrid bureau office.”

  Celeste squinted at the pale blue card bearing the globe and sword. She did not ask who the casually dressed, heavily muscled man by Romero’s side was. “What do you want with Maji?”

  “So you do know her?” the unidentified man asked in Spanish with an American accent. Could Maji be in trouble with her own government? If so, Interpol would be helping him navigate Spanish legalities.

  Celeste tilted her head noncommittally. “She has loaned me her boat.”

  “Do you know where we can find her?” If the non-answer displeased him, he did not show it.

  Celeste shrugged. “Not on her boat.”

  “For how long is this loan?” Romero asked.

  Celeste decided to practice her English. “Until I am done or she wants it back.”

  The American looked almost amused. “So you can get in touch with her then, ma’am?” His tone was polite, almost earnest. “A phone number would be most helpful.”

  “But I don’t suppose you want to tell me why?”

  Romero raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, in that very Spanish manner.

  The American shook his head. “She’s not in trouble, but we do need her help. Scout’s honor.” He held his hand in an odd sort of salute.

  “Hold on,” Celeste instructed them. Below deck, she reached Maji on the first ring and found her both cheerful in general and curious about the unexpected visitors. At Maji’s request, Celeste emerged with her cell phone and handed it to the American.

  He gave her a polite nod and took the phone, turning away and walking down the dock.

  As Celeste watched him go, she mused aloud, “So this is what international cooperation looks like.”

  “Adventure and glamor beyond imagination,” Romero replied with a dry wit that took her by surprise. “Just like on TV.”

  * * *

  Maji waited at an outdoor table of a café, casually dipping a churro into her cup of molten chocolate and watching the tourists pass by. Both men when they approached stood out, Romero by his conservative business suit and Dave Barnett by his buzz cut and rugby player build. Although she hadn’t seen Dave in years, he was right that she would recognize him.

  Dave was a seasoned operator, the kind who worked in the field and also helped weed out the wannabes. He had played an interrogator in the realistically brutal Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape course. Maji still remembered his taunts when he caught her breaking into the makeshift prison to liberate her teammates. Right before she knocked him out. Back then, both aspects made her think twice about how well she could integrate into the coveted unit. Now she just hoped he wasn’t the type to hold a grudge.

  Maji stood and grasped both of Dave’s hands in hers, touching cheeks as if he was a friend. Romero she gave a handshake and polite smile.

  “Say,” Dave said, touching Romero’s elbow lightly, “why don’t you take a table over there, keep an eye out for eavesdroppers for us?”

  Romero nodded, appearing unoffended. “Take your time.” He turned and headed to the far corner, scooping up the morning paper from an empty table on his way.

  As Dave seated himself at her table, Maji turned to the waiter clearing the table next to them. “A cortado, please,” she said in Catalan.

  The waiter nodded and replied in Catalan.

  “Not for me,” Dave said. “I’ll have a macchiato.”

  “Very good, sir,” the waiter replied in English. “And un cortado for the lady.”

  Dave shook his head. “Why can’t they just speak Spanish here? Catalan breaks my brain.”

  “They will if you do,” Maji replied, refraining from telling him they had ordered the exact same drink. “But you’ve got that American look going. Why not just roll with it?”

  “People do tend to say more around you when they think you don’t understand,” he conceded.

  This version of Dave Maji liked right away. Realizing she’d held on to his role-playing persona in her mind all this time, she tried to let it go and find out what kind of a teammate he really was. “So, what are you going by here?”

  “Dave Brown. I’m big on the Keep It Simple, Stupid approach.”

  She broke a smile, feeling the tension leave her shoulders. After Mr. Green and Mr. White, Mr. Brown was the most frequent pseudonym for operators. And a no-brainer for Barnett. “What’s Romero think you are? CIA?”

  “Nah. He knows I’m like him.”

  Maji looked across the tables and studied Romero with new interest. She’d bought the Interpol cover, with no suspicion that he was really in Spain’s Grupo Especial de Operaciones, GEO. She’d love to talk with him operator-to-operator, but the US Army had yet to tell its counterparts about the women in her pilot program. “And my cover?”

  “An asset. An insider planted within Erlea’s crew to act as our informant.”

  “I’m not on her crew.”

  “But they wanted to hire you to be her body double.”

  “I said no to that and traded up to a security review.” Plus, I’m supposed to be on leave. “Erlea’s people know me as a consultant not interested in playing dress up.”

  Dave didn’t even blink at that. “We’ll find a workaround. Which firm?”

  “Paragon.”

  To his credit, he only blinked a little. “Wow, okay. You got cleared for that, right?”

  “Course.” Hannah would have cleared it with JSOC. Wouldn’t she?

  “Well, good on you. If I got to go Reserves, I think I’d play golf or something with my downtime. But I guess it figures, considering.”

  Don’t be that guy, Dave. “Considering what?”

  “You’re a born operator,” he said as if it was obvious. “I could tell that even before you coldcocked me. When you’re not working, you’re training, right? Working out, picking up Catalan, keeping sharp.”

  “Not so much recently,” she admitted. “I’m barely recertified. Sure you want me on your team?”

  He scrunched up his face, an apology written in the features. “God knows you deserve the leave time. But yeah, we need you specifically. And this should be a cakewalk, compared to the ops you’re used to. Plus, you need anything, I got your back.” He handed her a token, a little plastic-encased toggle the size of a thumb drive with a window displaying a six-digit number that changed every sixty seconds. “Access to the I-24/7.”

  Interpol’s web-based, encrypted communications portal held a wealth of information. But not the specifics of her role in this mission. Even the I-24/7 could be hacked, and as Hannah had reminded her, her identity was priceless. “So you going to read me in already?”

  Dave grinned and motioned Romero to join them, then ordered another round of drinks and some ensaimadas. He even called them those spiral pastries with the sugar on top, as a tourist would. Working with Dave was going to be just fine.

  When they were settled with food and drink, Romero began, “Ms. Rios, how much do you know about the upcoming peace talks between the ETA—Euskadi Ta Askatasuna—and the Spanish government?”

  “Not a lot, I’m afraid,” Maji told him, mindful of her cover as an American security consultant. “Isn’t the ETA some kind of Basque separatist group, kind of like the IRA in Northern Ireland?”

  He pursed his lips. “Yes and no. True, they have taken credit for bombings and other acts of terrorism. Some are in prison, some killed. And the group�
�s political party was banned.”

  “Cease-fires don’t hold without real disarmament. And for that you need concessions on both sides,” Dave pitched in.

  “The government is ready to do its part. Less certain is the will of the ETA.”

  Maji looked at Romero. “A dissident group, pushed underground, with no single, unified agenda?”

  “Precisely. They had a leader of sorts once, who renounced violence shortly before he disappeared. We believe he is alive and in contact with the factions who support a peace accord.”

  “And what’s this got to do with some idiot with a paint gun yelling slogans at a pop star?” Maji asked.

  Dave smiled at Romero. “Told you she was quick. The company she’s with only hires the best.”

  When Romero researched Paragon, he’d understand why his American counterpart considered her an asset, Maji thought. Points to Dave. “So?”

  “Someone is trying to draw Arturo Echeverra out of hiding. To help him or stop him, we do not know.”

  “By targeting Beatriz Echeverra, AKA Erlea?” Maji asked.

  Romero nodded somberly. “She is his only daughter.”

  And he’s her only father, Maji thought with a stab of pity. “How long’s this guy been missing, presumed dead?”

  “Nearly twenty years.” Romero registered Maji’s skeptical reaction. “We have good reason to believe he is alive. Which is tricky for Spain, since he could be vital to the peace accord but also is still wanted for murder.”

  “Murder,” Maji echoed. “I think you left that part out. Was that before or after he renounced violence?”

  “After,” Dave said. “Chances are he was set up. He had plenty of enemies back in the day. If Erlea is in touch with Daddy, she may be helping him hide.”

  “No offense, Brown, but this sounds like Spain’s business. What’s the US want with him?”

  “That’s on a strictly need to know basis, Ms. Rios,” he deadpanned.

  Maji fingered the token he’d given her. She’d know soon.

  * * *

  Maji cleared the resort blueprints from her hotel room desk. Her review wasn’t complete yet. And Erlea really had gotten threats. But were they about her or drawing out her father? In some ways, it didn’t matter. The security review focused on vulnerabilities that might facilitate a kidnapping or murder. Doors without locks, staff with no photo IDs displayed, power and telecomm panels too easy to physically hack.