Athena Force 7-12

by Carla Cassidy, Evelyn Vaughn, Harper Allen, Ruth Wind, Cindy Dees

  “Wrong. Fiery red,” Dawn said promptly. She might have weakened to the point of having a shiver or two down her spine, she thought ruefully, but she hadn’t completely thrown all caution to the winds. She’d told him she was an assassin in such a way that she’d known he wouldn’t believe her; offering an important identifying detail like her true hair color went against all her professional instincts. But Asher was shaking his head.

  “You’re too cool and controlled to be a spitfire of a redhead. You’re definitely blond. Not as light as platinum, but not a dark blond, either.” He studied her. “I’ll go with the color of wild honey. Is this a money wager or not?”

  “Not.” Her reply came out more quickly than she’d intended. Dammit, the man had rattled her, Dawn thought in chagrin—her, Dawn O’Shaughnessy, who up until tonight hadn’t known the meaning of the word. “It’s not any kind of wager, for the simple reason that you’ll never get the chance to know if you were right or not. Sorry, big guy, but that’s the way it has to be.”

  “You sure about that, Swanson?” The velvet on concrete was back in his voice again, but she was ready for it.

  “Abso-freakin’-lutely, Ash,” she drawled. She glanced at her watch. “And now if you don’t mind, I have to turn back into a pumpkin. Dawn Swanson has to be at Sir William’s side again in two and a half hours, all bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to crack the whip over his tea-swilling staff, so although it’s been swell, I’d better haul—”

  “Understand one thing—he’s not part of your game, love.” The easy endearment did nothing to warm the sudden ice in his tone, and all Dawn’s senses immediately heightened. “My uncle may be a bloody-minded pain in the arse and being assigned to watch over him might be my idea of hell, but I have a certain affection for the old boy. He’s the genius everyone says he is, but he’s also childishly naive in many ways.”

  “A lot of geniuses are,” she agreed curtly. “What’s your point?”

  “My point is that within the space of a couple of days, you’ve duped him into thinking he can trust you.” Asher’s jaw tightened. “I’m going to make sure that whatever it is you’re planning, you won’t pull it off, Swanson.”

  He moved quickly for a big man, Dawn noted dispassionately, but not quickly enough to take her unawares. As his hand shot out, she knew he intended to grasp her arm and she had time to react, but instead she let his fingers close over her wrist.

  Maybe sometime in the future she would have to demonstrate her superhuman reflexes to DesAsher. To do so now would merely give him advance warning of what he could expect in a fight with her. But even if letting him trap her wrist was good strategy, there was no rule that said she had to be happy about it, she thought angrily.

  “You’ve got ten seconds to say your piece and get your hand off me.” She kept her voice even and her gaze steady as she met his eyes. “Ten. Nine. Eigh—”

  “Ten seconds is plenty,” Asher cut in. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m not averse to adding some interest to our personal war by bending the rules a little. We’re both professionals—we know how to handle ourselves. But Sir William’s a civilian. If any harm comes to him because of you, I’ll hunt you down, Swanson.” He released her wrist as swiftly as he’d grasped it. “And although I’ve got a fatal weakness for green-eyed blondes, don’t count on that stopping me from doing what I have to when I find you. Understood?”

  He stepped back, as if he suddenly needed to put some space between them. “It probably would be smarter to take you in right now, and the hell with our strategic little game.”

  “What game?” His right hand was by his side, Dawn saw. The movement could have been unconscious on his part, or it could have been calculated to put him within closer reach of his sidearm, the heavy Sig Sauer he’d drawn on her once before. It didn’t matter one way or another. This encounter was nearly at an end. “We never had this conversation, Ash. I was never here. Dawn Swanson’s been safely tucked up in bed for the past five hours, and if you try to say different, I’ll simply deny it.” She gave him a thin smile. “You’re already on shaky ground where I’m concerned. Keifer wasn’t too happy with the way you reacted at the gate when I arrived, and your dire warnings about me to Sir William got you nowhere. Maybe if your inquiries to Interpol and Washington had resulted in anything more than a big fat zero, your suspicions might be taken more seriously, but as it is…” She let her sentence trail off, but just as she was congratulating herself on having made her point, the crease she’d seen earlier reappeared in one tanned cheek.

  “Who said my inquiries resulted in a big zero, love?” he asked softly. “I told you that up until this evening I hadn’t found anything on you. As of about two hours ago, that situation changed.”

  “Changed?” Without glancing sideways, she let her peripheral vision widen to include the shadowy expanses of grounds to either side, but her reaction was mere reflex. Escape wasn’t an option. What she’d told Asher was true: she needed to be back in the persona of Dawn Swanson. As dreary as her alter ego was, being her for the next little while was the only way of remaining close enough to Sir William to find the notes she and Lab 33 needed.

  “Remember having to submit to being fingerprinted before you were given your lab pass the night you arrived?” Asher’s grin was tight. “Dawn Swanson made her indignation bloody clear, as I recall.”

  “I remember,” Dawn said shortly. “Indignant or not, I wasn’t worried about being printed. I’m not on file anywhere.”

  “Dawn Swanson isn’t. But two years ago the Swiss police obtained a partial thumbprint of a certain Donna Schmidt. Seems Fräulein Schmidt was the personal secretary of a murdered Zurich banker who was later learned to have been into cartel money laundering in a big way. That’s probably why the Swiss weren’t as zealous in finding his murderer as they might have been…and why they didn’t pursue their inquiries into Fräulein Schmidt when they found she’d dropped out of sight immediately after her boss bought a bullet.” His focus on her suddenly sharpened. “But you know what I found most interesting about Donna Schmidt? The minute portion of her thumbprint that Interpol has on file is a dead match for yours.”

  “Which doesn’t mean squat or we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” she answered with a shrug. “A partial print? Minute portion? Depending on how small it is, it could match up with half a million other prints in the world. You’re fishing, sweetie, but you won’t catch anything with bait as puny as that.”

  “And it’s just a coincidence that Donna Schmidt and Dawn Swanson both sound like aliases for the same woman?” At her nod, frustration crossed his features. Then he gave a reluctantly brief smile. “Like I said, cool and controlled. For what it’s worth, I sent a reply to Interpol saying you couldn’t be Schmidt, that I had solid confirmation you’d been in the U.S. during the relevant time period.”

  Although she’d kept her composure during all his other revelations, this latest one caught Dawn totally off balance. “But you don’t—not if you think my whole résumé’s a clever fabrication. Why didn’t you simply drop a dime on me to the Swiss authorities?” She saw his confusion and realized with irritation that she’d used a Lee Craig-ism. “Rat me out,” she elaborated. “Turn me in to them.”

  The aqua eyes holding hers showed momentary amusement before they hardened again. “Because I don’t give a tinker’s damn that a money launderer for the cartels was executed or that you might have been the inside contact for his killer. I just give a damn about what you’re doing on my turf…which is why you’re coming with me now to the guard’s office where Keifer can witness my official interrogation of you. You still haven’t told me what you were doing out here, Swanson, and—”

  The quiet of the night was suddenly shattered by the raucous sound of a motorcycle’s engine. Asher glanced with a frown in the direction of the main gate as the cycle’s throaty rumble was abruptly cut off, to be replaced by raised and furious voices.

  Lover Boy had just arrived and was ca
tching hell for coming in so late, Dawn realized swiftly. But as far as she was concerned, his timing was perfect.

  “That bloody Reese and his motorbike. This is the second night this week he’s broken curfew and whatever his excuse is this time, he’s going on report,” Asher muttered as he began to turn back to her. “This place is supposed to be run along military lines, dammit, not—”

  Already moving at top speed through the shadows, Dawn allowed herself a small smile. From the darkness behind her came an angry explosion of swearing. Mr. SAS certainly had an impressive command of basic Anglo-Saxon curse words, she thought as she heard his reaction to her disappearance. Any moment now he would realize he was wasting time and turn his efforts to something more productive, like making straight for her room, but by the time he arrived she would be in bed and feigning sleep.

  As she’d told him, he wouldn’t be able to prove she hadn’t been there all along. She didn’t have to worry about any repercussions from tonight’s escapade.

  All she had to worry about now was the fact that her partial fingerprint was apparently on file with Interpol. Which was odd, she told herself grimly…because four days ago her prints hadn’t been on file at all.

  Chapter 7

  Status: fourteen days and counting

  Time: 1607 hours

  “Marmite sandwich, Miss Swanson? They’re awfully good.”

  Drop that last adjective and your assessment’s probably more accurate, Rog, Dawn thought with a mental shudder as Roger Poole eagerly thrust a dried-out triangle of two layers of bread encompassing a thin and gluey brown filling practically under her nose. Unwillingly she plucked it out of his hand, gingerly holding it between her thumb and middle finger.

  “I’m a vegetarian,” she lied. “Sorry and all that, but—”

  “How simply wizard, so am I!” Behind his taped-up glasses, Roger’s brown eyes goggled in kinship at her. “Then you’ll love the taste of this. It’s a yeast product. Very popular back home, you know.”

  With a Dawn Swanson frown, Dawn handed the sandwich back to him. “Yeast is a living organism. I’m not the kind of woman who bends her principles just because they’re inconvenient.” Her own sandwich was on the cafeteria tray in front of her. As she picked it up and sank her teeth into the ham and cheese on rye she saw him look dubiously at her. “All soy,” she explained inelegantly, her mouth full. “Tastes just like the real thing.”

  His dubiousness vanished, to be replaced once more with the puppy-dog adoration that Dawn Swanson apparently engendered in him. In fact, Dawn mused, most of the scientists and technicians sitting in the cafeteria right now were throwing similarly besotted glances her way. For some reason, the Swanson chick’s abrasive personality and determined dowdiness had the male contingent of Sir William’s lab vying for her attention.

  They’re probably all picturing me in leather with a whip, she thought, washing her mouthful of sandwich down with a swallow of milk. Or maybe as a stern schoolmarm, with them as the bad little boys who haven’t done their homework. Oh, well, whatever floats their boats. She took another bite of her ham on rye and pointed the crust at Roger.

  “The shipment of beakers that came in this morning—who authorized them?”

  Hastily he choked down the minuscule piece of his own sandwich that he’d just bitten off, and went into one of his by-now-familiar coughing fits. “I imagine I did,” he said apologetically when he could talk. “Why, is there something wrong with them? I ordered from the same supplier we’ve always—”

  “They’re fine.” She popped the crust into her mouth and looked longingly at the dessert lineup on the nearby serving counter before firmly forcing her attention back to him. “Just checking, is all. I like to keep tabs on everything, as you know.”

  “Of course.” Roger set his sandwich aside. The cup in front of him held lukewarm water with a tea bag floating listlessly on top. With every appearance of enthusiasm, he jerked the string of the tea bag up and down while he spoke, not noticing that the water was barely changing color. “I must say, Miss Swanson, I’m terribly glad you’ve taken over the reins, so to speak. The supervisory position only fell to me because no one else wanted it, but I’d much rather be behind a microscope. I’m afraid I not only lack your head for detail, but I can’t seem to control the staff with as firm a hand as you do. Why, just yesterday Sir William demanded to know why he hadn’t been consulted about the extra personnel that had been hired. He hardly believed me when I told him we had the same number as always, but that you’d lowered the boom on the break times the technicians had been taking.”

  “I went out the back door the first morning and saw every last man jack of the British staff sucking away on cigarettes,” Dawn said acidly. “I told them if they wanted to smoke themselves into early graves that was fine by me, but they could do it on their time, not Sir William’s. Plus I made sure they cleaned up the mountain of old butts they’d dropped. As I told Sir William from the start, I’m not here to win a popularity contest. I’m here to smooth out any problems that might hinder his work.”

  She reached briskly over and took the tea bag from the bespectacled Englishman. “That’s as good as it’s ever going to get, Rog,” she said, not unkindly. “Now tell me, do you think Sir William’s pleased with me?”

  “Pleased? Dear Lord, he’s ecstatic!” He blew unnecessarily on his cold tea. “When you discovered that the reason his mutation experiment had been compromised was because the cleaning staff had been wiping down the petri dishes with glass cleaner every night, he was beside himself. The experiment’s going well now, by the way.”

  “Yeah, great,” she said distractedly. “But listen—how do I get close to him? I mean, there are things I need to discuss, but whenever I try to set a time for a meeting he simply tells me he can’t be disturbed and that I’m to do whatever I think best for the running of the lab. I suppose that’s a compliment, but there really are a couple of decisions I need his input on.”

  “I had that very problem myself,” Roger commiserated. “But never fear—I finally found out that the one time of day you can be sure of pinning him down is just around teatime. He always retires to his rooms and has a proper British tea, with paste sandwiches and anchovy toast and on special occasions, baked beans and egg.” He glanced down at his unfinished meal and weak tea with a noticeable diminution of his earlier gusto and then looked up at her, his expression brightening. “I say—why don’t we drop in on him now? He’ll probably ask us to join him, but since it’s to help you I don’t mind fibbing and telling him I haven’t eaten yet.”

  “Four o’clock is teatime? I thought this was a late lunch,” Dawn said, pushing away her chair and waving him back into his seat as he began to stand. “No, Rog, I wouldn’t dream of dragging you away from your marmot sandwich.” He coughed in quick consternation, but she rushed on, “I’ll find Sir William myself and talk with him. Thanks for the advice.”

  She made her way to the lunchroom exit, not forgetting to glower meaningfully at a table of technicians who by her watch should have finished their meal break and been back in the lab a few seconds ago. Five pairs of thick lenses magnified five suddenly guilty gazes as they jumped to their feet, gathered up their trays and practically fell into one another as they deposited their litter in a nearby bin before hastily heading back to work.

  Their reaction went unnoticed by Dawn. She’d been in place for over four days, she thought grimly, and except for her first night here when she and Sir William had had their nocturnal conversation, she’d barely laid eyes on him. And as for getting any closer to finding out where he keeps his notes, forget it, she told herself in disgust. If I don’t make some serious progress soon, I’m going to have to change my tactics. Time’s running out and I can’t count on my symptoms remaining in remission like they have for the past few days.

  The possibility of her headaches returning was never far from her thoughts. Equally dangerous, though, was the likelihood that Asher might dig up another fr
agment of her Lab 33 past more damning than the partial print he’d already discovered, and make the decision to turn her in to the authorities.

  She’d expected him to show up in person the night she’d escaped from him and made it back to her room, but instead he’d sent Keifer. The young lieutenant had obviously been uncomfortable with his mission; even more so when Dawn had answered his tentative knock at her door dressed in brown flannel pyjamas and with a drab robe firmly cinched around her waist. She’d squinted disgruntledly at him, as if he’d awoken her from a sound sleep, and at his halfhearted query as to whether she’d been out and about on the grounds during the past hour, she’d given him a full dose of Dawn Swanson indignation.

  “Are you accusing me of conducting some kind of clandestine rendezvous with a man, Lieutenant?” she’d demanded, snatching her glasses from her robe pocket and angrily jamming them onto her face. “Because if you are, my opinion of you just sank as low as my opinion of Captain Asher. I might have expected this kind of harassing accusation from him, but not from—” She’d stopped and glared at him. “He sent you, didn’t he?” she’d asked furiously.

  “The captain said he’d seen someone who might have been you roaming the restricted area a few minutes ago, yes,” Keifer had said awkwardly. “It was an honest mistake, I’m sure.”

  “Are you?” Dawn had leveled a disbelieving look at him. “I’m not. I think your commander made a fool of himself the day I arrived, and since then he’s tried his best to make his ridiculous suspicions seem justified. From the first it struck me as odd that a senior SAS officer should be assigned to a lower-level posting like this, but now I’m beginning to realize there’s a reason he’s been shunted out of more active duty.”