A large, beautiful fountain occupied the middle of the driveway circle. Students worked the huge flower beds that exploded with riotous color and greenery.
“Landscaping class?” Elle asked, joking.
Sam nodded. “As well as horticulture, botany and chemistry. Students who work on the flower beds not only learn how to lay them out, but also how to grow them, hybridize them and break them down for homeopathic remedies and poison. They also use them in forensic studies.”
“I wouldn’t have thought so many subjects could be covered in a flower bed,” Elle responded.
A jeep marked with the Athena Academy colors drove over to them. A young woman in shorts and a rugby shirt climbed out from behind the wheel.
She was pretty, possessing an angular face and dark tan that spoke of an Indian heritage, but blond-streaked hair the color of straw. Wraparound blue-tinted sunglasses hid her eyes, but not her warm smile. Tall and slender, she looked all of sixteen or seventeen. Her cross-trainer tennis shoes were blindingly white.
Stopping in front of them, she came to parade rest, her hands behind her. “Special Agents St. John and McLane, Agent Petrenko.”
They replied in the affirmative.
“On behalf of Athena Academy, I’d like to welcome you to our campus,” the young woman said. “Special Agent St. John, I was instructed to welcome you back home.”
“Thank you.” Sam smiled.
Watching her sister, Elle saw an ease in Sam that she’d never seen before. She is home, Elle realized. Home isn’t that apartment in Virginia. Home is here. That surprised Elle.
When she’d grown up in Moscow and gone off to university, she hadn’t liked leaving home. For her, home had been the Petrenko residence, in the middle of her brothers and sisters, buried in chores and arguments and noise. She’d never felt that way about any of the schools she’d gone to.
“I’m Teal Arnett,” the young woman said. “I’m a student here, but one of my duties today is to oversee the arrival of guests. Ms. Gracelyn has made one of the staff bungalows open to you. The professor is currently off with his class on a field trip to New Mexico on an archeological dig, so the house is available to you. You can stay in Athens, but Ms. Gracelyn thought perhaps you might want to stay on-site.”
Sam hesitated. “Special Agent McLane has an interest in our project. I know Ms. Gracelyn hadn’t planned on his presence—”
“Ms. Gracelyn said to assure you that the invitation extends to Special Agent McLane as well.” Teal smiled.
“The bungalow has two bedrooms. She said to use them as you see fit.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. Bright spots of color showed on her cheeks.
“No problem. You know the way to the bungalows?” Teal asked.
“Yes.”
“It’s number six. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Our bags will arrive later,” Riley said.
Teal nodded. “I’ll see that they find their way to you.”
“Did Ms. Gracelyn tell you when we’re supposed to meet with her?” Sam asked.
“At three forty-five,” Teal answered. “She wants you to make yourself comfortable.” She nodded to Elle. “She suggested perhaps giving Agent Petrenko a tour of the campus. Make use of any of the facilities you want. While you’re here, I’ll be your liaison.” She produced a card with a quick flip of her hand that looked like a magic trick. “My cell number is on that card. Please don’t hesitate to call for anything at all.”
Sam thanked her.
“I’ll need a secure line,” Riley said.
“All the lines in your bungalow are secure, Special Agent McLane. If you want them scrambled or coded so they don’t appear to come from the campus, you’ll find a code on the card Special Agent St. John has. Dial it before you dial your number.”
THE BUNGALOWS WERE LOCATED in the woods to the left of the dorm building. Each house had a private driveway off the circular road that lay like a hangman’s loop. The buildings were small and modest, under the heavy boughs of trees. The manicured lawns warred against encroaching brush. Gray squirrels and rabbits leaped through the trees and sprinted across the road, disappearing almost immediately. Colorful songbirds flitted everywhere.
It was, Elle had to admit, a lot different than the Moscow neighborhood where she grew up.
At number six, she took the smaller bedroom, leaving Riley and Sam the master bedroom without taking a vote. It was obvious they wanted to be together, though both of them seemed equally reluctant to tell Elle. Instead, Elle announced that, after being crowded in the safe house, the plane and the airport, she wanted to have some alone time and hoped that Riley and Sam could put up with each other.
That, apparently, was no problem. Their carry-on bags contained a change of clothing. Sam and Riley had a private bath in their bedroom and quickly availed themselves of it.
In fact, they availed themselves of the privacy in the bathroom so loudly and enthusiastically that Elle had to turn up the radio in the other bathroom to drown out the sounds of passion while she showered.
Obtrusive thoughts of Joachim Reiter bounced through Elle’s head, and she didn’t know where those came from. The shower turned out not to be so relaxing. Knowing what Sam and Riley were up to in the other bathroom increased Elle’s frustrations and irritability.
When Elle finished her shower and retreated to the bedroom, she used the television to mask any noise in the other room, giving Riley and Sam more privacy. She took the time to look around her temporary quarters.
Whoever the professor was, he obviously had two daughters. Elle gathered that from the twin beds and the obvious separation in the closet. Both of them were teens and took lots of pictures that they shoved up under the frame of the vanity mirror. Post-it notes in a rainbow of colors adorned the computer and the bulletin board.
With the realization of what Sam and Riley were doing, Elle suddenly couldn’t get Joachim out of her mind. How he’d looked in the train station and then—so menacing, so…sexy—in the darkness of Meijer’s boat. When she closed her eyes, she could feel his heat against her, in the water on the bridge….
She and Joachim had unfinished business. Against all good sense, she hoped they would meet again.
Gradually, thoughts of Joachim still teasing her mind, Elle managed to drop into a light sleep.
A LIGHT KNOCK ON THE DOOR woke Elle. Out of habit, she reached for the pistol and knife she often carried while on a mission. Neither was at hand. At the same time she grew aware of that, she realized where she was.
The door opened.
Sam stuck her head in. “Want to sleep? Or do you want to see the campus?”
It was obvious to Elle that Sam wanted to show off the academy.
“I’d love to see the campus,” Elle answered. “Are you certain you’re up to it?”
Sam’s brows knitted. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, this is a walking tour you’re suggesting, right?”
“Yes.”
“After all the…showering, I thought maybe you might not be able.”
“For your information,” Sam retorted, “I’m quite capable of a walking tour. Or of further…showering.”
Elle lifted a skeptical eyebrow.
“I’d be showering now if Riley didn’t have other obligations.”
Elle sat up. “You left him alive? He’s still able to move?”
“Yes,” Sam said smugly. “He’s more resilient than you might think.” She folded her arms over her breasts and leaned against the door frame. “Well?”
“Let’s go.”
HOURS LATER, nearing exhaustion but happy, Elle decided that out of everything she had seen, she loved the horses most of all. She had seen them in other countries, but had never gotten to spend time with the big animals. They were fascinating.
She and Sam stood inside the barn grooming the horses they had ridden for the last hour. It had become immediately evident that Sam knew every riding trail around
the school.
During the ride, Sam had shown Elle the campus from different spots throughout the White Tank Mountains. Elle had witnessed students at work in the rifle and archery ranges and the outdoor combat handgun simulation. Other students had been learning to fly fixed-wing aircraft from the small runway and helicopters from the landing pad. The obstacle courses stayed full, and Elle was certain the pool and gym remained busy as well.
“With all the training that goes on here,” Elle said as she ran a currycomb across the mare’s flanks the way Sam had demonstrated, “Athena Academy could field a small army.”
She spoke in English because she didn’t want to draw the attention of students in the barn who were caring for other horses.
“We’re not an army,” Sam said. “We’re just…everything we can be. As close to being everything we want to be that’s possible.”
“You wanted to be a CIA agent, Sam?”
Sam didn’t meet Elle’s gaze. “I don’t know. I’m good with languages. I’m good with computers.” She paused. “Some of my counselors suggested I think about intelligence work.”
“Because you’re bright and capable, or because you like being alone?”
“Maybe a little of all those things. Being alone is…was…easy.”
“Not so easy now?”
“With Riley?”
“Yes.”
Sam worked at brushing out the horse’s coat for a while.
Elle couldn’t stand thinking that Sam was uncomfortable. “Hey, forget I asked. I was just making—”
“Riley…complicates things,” Sam said.
“Men you want to hang on to have a tendency to do that.” For a moment, Elle flashed on the men she’d been involved with. Some had been boys she’d grown up with, some were agents in the SVR, and some were men she’d met while out in the field in a dozen different countries.
Like Joachim Reiter.
Get him out of your head, she told herself. This is stupid. But she couldn’t.
“When I was growing up in those foster homes,” Sam said, “I didn’t have anybody. For a while there, I didn’t even have myself.” She kept brushing, but her voice was quiet and cold. “I didn’t know how to be me. I didn’t even know I was supposed to be me. I didn’t even know who I was.”
Elle didn’t know what to say.
“Then I came here,” Sam said. “I met my friends. It was hard. Learning to trust them was hard. In the end, I did. I missed them when they were gone.”
“When were they gone?”
“We have trimester classes. Three months at school, a month away.”
“Only you didn’t have anywhere to go,” Elle said softly, understanding. “You stayed here.”
Sam glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Yes. I liked it, though. The horses never went anywhere, either.” She resumed brushing her mount. “After a while, I learned to trust my friends. Sometimes I got to go with them for visits. Then, after graduation, we all went our separate ways.”
“So you were on your own again,” Elle said.
“For a time.” Sam combed out the horse’s mane, concentrating on the task. “I got through it. Then I found out we still shared a lot. Rainy’s death last year brought us all back together in ways we hadn’t expected. We’d always been there for each other. We’re just more so now.”
“After you’ve had your own mortality thrown in your face.”
“I suppose.”
Elle left the mare and walked over to Sam. She turned her sister around, holding her by the shoulders and looking her in the eye. “You’ve got great friends, Sam. I don’t know them, but I can see what they mean to you. It’s good to have friends like that. But you’ve got me now, too. I’m family. Nothing is ever going to pull me out of your life.”
Fiercely then, Elle hugged her sister, pulling her as close as she could. Tentatively, Sam wrapped her arms around her and held her back.
“I’m not going anywhere, Sam,” Elle said. “I swear that I’m not.”
ELLE WATCHED CNN on a plasma screen television in one of the main building’s offices. A glance at her watch told her it was 2:57 p.m. Alex Forsythe and Allison Gracelyn still had three minutes to put in an appearance.
Elle and Sam’s luggage had caught up to them, courtesy of Riley’s agents. Elle wore business attire—slacks, blouse and a jacket—as well as a pair of Italian shoes she liked. The only thing missing was her pistol.
Seated in another chair, Sam waited patiently.
Then footsteps sounded out in the hall. A moment later, Allison Gracelyn entered through the door.
In her mid-thirties, Allison stood five feet six inches tall and was solidly built. Her dark brown hair was long enough to sweep her shoulders. She peered at Elle, then at Sam with her dark brown eyes. She wore a dark blue business suit with a skirt.
“Sam?” Allison asked finally.
“Here,” Sam said.
Despite the tension radiating from her, Allison smiled a little. “I’ve seen pictures of the two of you together and I knew you were identical twins, but seeing you here together in the flesh, I don’t think I could tell you apart without talking to you.”
Sam made the introductions.
Elle shook hands with Allison, who continued to look a little ill at ease.
“Isn’t Alex coming?” Sam asked. “I thought she would be here, too.”
“Actually,” Allison said, “we’re having the meeting in one of the conference rooms.”
“Why didn’t you just have us meet there?” Sam asked.
“Because that conference room is now in a restricted area,” Allison said. “Only people who need to go there can go there. Neither of you is on the list without a chaperone.”
Sam walked out into the hallway after Allison.
Elle followed.
“Agent Petrenko,” Allison said, “I would like to ask that you wait here.”
Caught off guard, Elle paused. She had to check an immediate impulse to demand explanation. You’re in someone else’s house, she told herself. You’ll play by their rules.
Sam wasn’t inhibited, though. “Why?” she asked.
Allison was forthright. Elle grudgingly gave the woman points for that.
“Because the information we have to share with you is hard, Sam,” Allison answered. “Alex and I would prefer if we only dealt with one of you at a time.”
And how much of that has to do with the fact that I’m an agent for the SVR? Elle wondered.
“Sam,” Elle said quietly. “It’s all right. I don’t mind waiting for you. I’ll meet you back at the bungalow when you’re finished.” She wasn’t going to cool her heels in the office under the scrutiny of security.
“All right,” Sam said. She looked troubled.
But she still went with her friends.
Chapter 11
Krieger’s Creations
Leipzig, Germany
Joachim sat in one of the overstuffed chairs in the waiting room outside Paul Krieger’s office. Soundproofing protected the room from the roar of the sewing machines out on the factory floor, where seamstresses labored to produce Krieger’s line for the upcoming season.
The receptionist was a young woman with punk-cut red hair who took care of the phones via an earpiece she kept on. She also kept track of Krieger’s e-mail, dealing with each piece as soon as it came in on the computer monitor in front of her. When she wasn’t busy dealing with those things, she divided her time between watching a television soap opera she had open in a window on the monitor and imagining Joachim naked.
At least, that’s what Joachim’s sister had told him women were doing when they looked at him like that. Long ago, Joachim had decided that sisters gave their brothers far too much information about the opposite sex. Personally, he liked a little bit of mystery to cling to a woman. Just as he preferred to undress them himself, layer by layer.
That thought struck him and he immediately thought of the blonde he’d met in Amsterdam. All he h
ad to do was close his eyes and he could imagine her wrapped in silk scarves that only partially revealed tantalizing shapes and curves through the thin material. He had yet to pick a favorite color for her, though he had tried several hues. At the moment, pale electric blue—like that of her eyes—was his favorite.
His mind had been preoccupied with those images since Amsterdam. Suddenly uncomfortable sitting there, Joachim checked his watch. He’d been kept waiting for eight minutes. Dressed in black and without a briefcase or PDA or wireless cell phone earpiece, he definitely didn’t look like someone who fit in at Krieger’s Creations.
He stood, drawing the receptionist’s attention from the soap opera. Hands in his pockets, he walked to Krieger’s ornate door. A simple bronze nameplate announced Paul Kreiger, CEO.
“Hey,” the receptionist called, “you can’t go in there.” She twisted in her chair but didn’t leave it.
However, Joachim could go into the office. The door wasn’t locked. He twisted the knob and followed the door inside.
Krieger lounged in a massive chair behind a huge glass-and-steel kidney-shaped desk. The surface gleamed as if it had been freshly shined.
Krieger wore a phone headset that plugged into the desk. His hands were steepled in front of him. Although in his sixties, Krieger was a big man—broad shouldered and lean. His hair was light ginger and carefully cut, matching the daring goatee. He wore a shirt and tie with diamond cuff links and a large Rolex.
His dark brown eyes roved restlessly over a bank of at least twenty monitors built into the wall on the other side of the room. Built-in shelves held hundreds of fabric books like the one lying on the gleaming desktop.
A thick-necked man in his early thirties sat on a long couch at the end of the room near the picture window that looked out over Leipzig’s downtown. He cradled a PlayStation video game in his huge hands. Someone might as well have stamped “hired muscle” on his low forehead. Maybe he wore one of Krieger’s suits, but his history in the streets was engraved in scars and calluses, and the cold hard stare in his narrow gray eyes.
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