Sister Spy

by Laura Peyton Roberts

  “Meet whoever you want,” Francie sniffed, grabbing her suitcase and dragging it toward an elevator.

  “Francie!” Sydney groaned, walking along behind her. “I want to room with you. We can meet more people later.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. A bunch of girls are hitting the beach now. Or we could join those sisters going shopping in Honolulu. Plus there's that luau here tonight. We'll have plenty of opportunities to meet other people.”

  “No. I meant, do you really want to room with me?”

  “That depends. Are you going to wait for me to go back and get my suitcase?”

  Francie shrugged, then smiled. “Okay,” she relented. “Deal.”

  “This really is paradise, isn't it?” Sydney sighed, stirring the pink juice in her coconut with an umbrella-topped swizzle stick. The too-sweet blend of exotic fruits was something she'd never drink at home, but out on the terraced decks of the Waikiki Princess, the molten orange sun just dipping into the Pacific, it seemed exactly right.

  “It doesn't suck,” Roxy replied with a grin. She was wearing a blue hibiscus-print dress that evening, her bright hair tumbling in perfect waves down her sunburned back. “Even the air feels different here. Did you notice when we got off the plane?”

  “Definitely.”

  Oahu was far more humid than Los Angeles, where even a hint of moisture sent the locals running for air-conditioned cover.

  “It's like stepping into a different world,” Roxy said, her eyes scanning the scene in front of them.

  The Waikiki Princess was new, but its Saturday-night luau already featured prominently in tourist guides everywhere. The chef spared no expense, serving up everything from an array of fresh local seafood to hand-pounded poi on banana leaves. Even now, elaborately decorated tables were being arranged in groups around the swimming pool, and a small stage had been erected beside the man-made waterfall at the deep end. Farther out, near the edge of the sandy beach, a wisp of smoke rose from the traditional underground pig-roasting pit, promising delicious things to come.

  “There you are!” Francie called. “We've been looking for you guys.”

  Francie and Keisha walked up with Gretchen and Emily, two sisters Sydney had met on the beach that afternoon. Like Sydney and Roxy—and everyone else in AKX—the four new arrivals were decked out in their best aloha wear, exuberantly flowered dresses styled to take advantage of the tropical climate. The orchid leis of that morning had also reappeared, reclaimed from the in-room mini refrigerators, where they'd been keeping fresh.

  “I can't wait to eat poi!” Gretchen offered. “I've never tried it before.”

  Keisha's smile spoke of personal experience. “If you're like most people, you'll never try it again.”

  “I had a bag of taro chips today, and they were good,” Francie put in. “Poi's just made of taro.”

  “Uh-huh. Would you say they were as good as potato chips?” Keisha asked.

  Francie looked crestfallen. “Well, no.”

  “Now imagine soaking them in water and beating them into a gluey purple paste.”

  Gretchen swallowed hard. “The pig's going to be good,” she ventured.

  “The pig's going to be very good,” Roxy reassured her. “And who knows? You might like the poi, too.”

  “Maybe with catsup?” Emily suggested.

  Sydney smiled to herself as she followed her new sisters down to the pool terrace. Maybe it was jet lag from the time difference, or the lingering effects of too much afternoon sun, but Sydney couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so relaxed—or so included. Being in a sorority wasn't awful at all. It was actually pretty cool.

  With the sun below the horizon, the sky slowly darkened to purple. Brass tiki torches bloomed in blue and orange flames against the dark green vegetation. Everything seemed softer than in California: the flower-scented air, the trade winds rustling the densely packed palms. Faces glowed in the torchlight, shapes blurring and running together as people moved through the darkness.

  Suddenly the stage came to life. A gentle spotlight, more like a moonbeam, lit its center as a drum began to beat, the ancient rhythm raising goose bumps on Sydney's bare arms. Male dancers ran out, their heads and ankles encircled by thick wreaths of green ferns. The large, milling crowd of hotel guests began to move, wandering to the grass in front of the stage.

  “This is so cool,” Francie whispered, taking a place beside Sydney.

  Sydney grinned happily. “It is. I'm glad we're here together.”

  The girls linked arms, swaying to the beat. The men were soon joined by female dancers, who put on quite a show before a man in a suit bounded onto the stage, a microphone in his hand.

  “Alooooooooooh-ha!” he greeted the crowd.

  “Alooooooooooh-ha!” they echoed loudly, full of island spirit.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, wahines and kanes, welcome to our luau. Dinner is served!”

  The drumming resumed as four men in native dress trotted into the dining area, a beautifully roasted pig on a leaf-covered litter between them. The crowd applauded appreciatively, then began filling chairs at the waiting tables. Sydney and Francie found a table with a few sisters they knew and a few more they didn't, and when Roxy joined them as well, Sydney felt a rush of genuine pleasure.

  The food was served in course upon course, traditional Hawaiian dishes, such as roast pork, sweet potatoes, poi, and leaf-wrapped bundles of fish, mixed with mainland favorites like chewy sourdough rolls, grilled shrimp, and crème brûlée. Sydney tried not to overeat, in case she needed to be on her toes later, but everything was so delicious. By the time the meal was over, she thought she knew how muumuus had gotten so popular.

  “I'm stuffed!” she groaned, pushing back from the table. “And the scary thing is, that chocolate mousse is still calling my name.”

  “I hope you're not too full to dance,” Roxy said with a mischievous smile. “Because someone might have signed us up for hula lessons after this.”

  “Who would do such a heinous thing?” Keisha demanded. “Oh, wait. Let me guess.”

  “It was me!” Roxy cried, as if revealing a big secret. “They're going to teach us over at the stage.”

  “Oh, joy.”

  Keisha rolled her eyes, but Sydney already saw through her fake jadedness. None of the Alphas wanted to seem young, or inexperienced, or—worst of all—eager. Keisha's solution was to pretend everything either bored or disgusted her before she went ahead and did it anyway. She was actually pretty amusing, once a person figured her out.

  I wonder if I'd have caught on so fast if it weren't for SD-6, Sydney mused. She had always been a good judge of character, but the techniques she'd learned from the CIA had moved her light-years ahead in sizing up new people.

  The waiters came around and began clearing dishes.

  “When does all this dancing take place?” Francie asked.

  “Any second now,” Roxy replied.

  Rising from her chair, she began circulating among the tables, telling the sisters to go wait in front of the stage. Judging from their reactions, Sydney wasn't the only one who hadn't expected to hula when the dessert tray was going around, but soon all the Alphas were gathered on the designated patch of grass, awaiting Roxy's orders.

  Their president joined them shortly, with Kira and three female dancers in tow. The dancers took the stage, directing the girls to spread out on the grass and form rows. Sydney ended up in front, surrounded by Roxy, Kira, Alyssa, and Val. Soft slack-key guitar music floated out of hidden speakers, and the hula lesson got under way.

  “When we do the hula, we are not just dancing. We are telling a story with our bodies and our movements,” the lead dancer explained. “The hula is a very ancient tradition, and should be performed with respect.”

  “Somebody should have told me that before my second mai tai,” Katie quipped from a few rows back, but the resulting giggles were quickly squelched.

  The dancers demonstrated basic step
s, and soon Sydney had kicked off her sandals, her bare feet moving over the grass in an easy, relaxed rhythm. She was really starting to feel it when Roxy leaned over to whisper.

  “There goes Ashley,” she said, hiking a thumb back over her shoulder. “Off on another of her disappearing acts.”

  Sydney turned in time to see Ashley drift away from one end of the back row and blend into the darkness of the outer hotel grounds.

  “Disappearing act? She probably has to use the restroom or something.”

  Roxy shook her head. “She does this all the time. Takes off on her own, like she's too good for us, with no explanations, ever.”

  “Takes off to do what?”

  Roxy shrugged and resumed dancing. “Who knows? She tries to be so sly about it. I honestly think she believes I don't notice, but really I just don't care.”

  Sydney glanced behind her again. Ashley was nowhere to be seen. And suddenly all Sydney's senses were screaming a red alert.

  “Oh!” she groaned, pressing both hands against her abdomen. “I wouldn't mind finding a bathroom. I shouldn't have eaten so much.”

  “Are you okay?” Roxy asked, concerned.

  “Yeah, I'll be back.”

  “I hope you feel better,” Roxy called after her.

  Sydney could hear Francie asking questions behind her as she beelined for the lobby. She hoped her friend wouldn't try to follow her to the bathroom, since she had no intention of actually going there. Reaching the upper terrace, she hurried into the hotel lobby on the ocean side, strode quickly across its plush carpeting, and emerged into the front parking loop off the street. If Ashley was planning to pull a disappearing act, she didn't have much of a head start—and Sydney planned to find out where she was going.

  Sure enough, she had barely stepped onto the pavement when Ashley materialized out of the landscaping along the right side of the hotel. She had put on a navy blue hat, her blond hair tucked tightly inside it. A long, dark windbreaker had also appeared out of nowhere, covering her Hawaiian-print dress. Sydney's heart slammed into her rib cage—hiding clothing in hotel bushes definitely qualified as suspicious behavior. Ducking quickly behind a column, determined to learn what the girl was up to, she watched as Ashley crossed the street and headed north. A bus rumbled up and stopped at the curb, temporarily blocking Sydney's view. When it rolled off again, Ashley was gone.

  In the bus! Sydney realized, sprinting after it.

  She had run only a block when a taxi stopped at the corner to let out two elderly tourists.

  “Are you free? Can I ride?” Sydney yelled at the driver, grabbing the open cab door. “I'm kind of in a hurry.”

  “Where are you going?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I . . . don't know,” she admitted.

  He tried to drive away, but she held on to the door.

  “My girlfriend just got into a bus, and I was supposed to meet her, but I was late, and it went that way.” She lied as fast as she could, pointing up the street. “She didn't tell me where we're going, but I really have to catch her. I'll pay you double,” she added, borrowing a trick she'd learned from Noah.

  As in Paris, the offer worked like magic.

  The cabbie shrugged. “Hop in.”

  By the time he pulled into traffic again, the bus had been lost in the distance. But it had to stop for passengers and the taxi didn't, and soon Sydney's car was just off its bumper. They had trailed it about three miles, Sydney praying the entire way that Ashley hadn't already exited somewhere, when the bus door opened again and a girl in a dark hat and windbreaker climbed out.

  “Yes!” Sydney breathed, relieved. “That's my friend,” she told the cabbie. “You can let me out here.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Here?”

  “Yes, here,” she said impatiently, fishing a twenty out of her bra. “What's wrong with here?”

  “Well . . . it's nighttime, this is Chinatown, and if you'll excuse me for saying so, your outfit is screaming tourist.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she assured him, handing over the money and stepping out onto the sidewalk.

  He hesitated. For a moment she was afraid he wouldn't leave her. Then he shrugged and drove away.

  Up ahead, Ashley turned a corner, heading inland. She seemed completely unaware of Sydney's presence as she walked briskly down the street. Sydney kept to the shadows, hanging back far enough to remain undetected. But when Ashley turned onto Hotel Street, Sydney knew something big was up. Even cursory research produced numerous mentions of crime and prostitution on that notorious street. And while it had supposedly been cleaned up in recent years, it still looked seamy to Sydney. It was inconceivable that Ashley could have personal business there.

  Unless she wants a tattoo, Sydney thought, scuttling quickly past the windows of a brightly lit parlor.

  Moments later Ashley turned again, taking a dark side street to a run-down metal warehouse. Sydney watched as she fished a slip of paper from her pocket, compared it to the street numbers over the door, then let herself into the unlocked building.

  Sloppy, thought Sydney, creeping closer. I'd have memorized that address.

  Deeming it too risky to enter through the door Ashley had used, Sydney stole along the side of the darkened building, looking for a window. The wall at street level was solid tin, but eight feet up, a row of windows beckoned. Sydney spotted an open one, then wasted precious seconds searching for something to stand on. By the time she'd found a metal trash can, overturned it, and climbed silently onto that shaky platform, Ashley was deep in conversation with two strange men around a puddle of candlelight near the center of the big, empty building.

  This is no good, Sydney thought nervously.

  She was taking a big chance by spying where someone might see her, and she was still too far away to hear a single word. She couldn't even see faces with the lousy angle she had. Ashley's dark hat covered hers, and both of her male contacts had cinched the hoods of their sweatshirts until only their eyes peeked out. Sydney suspected that the bulges in their waistbands were guns; she knew for sure that Ashley's buddies weren't frat boys. In fact, they were exactly the sort of characters she would have expected stuck-up Ashley to run from, shrieking in terror.

  Unless she knows them. Unless they're undercover agents!

  Sydney watched, her mind sorting through the possibilities, until one of the men shook Ashley's hand, indicating the meeting was over. Sydney climbed down abruptly, her risk of exposure becoming too great. Two minutes later, spying from a doorway across the street, she saw the men slink out the front of the warehouse.

  There was no sign of Ashley.

  Should I go in there? she wondered, shifting anxiously in her hiding place.

  Is there a back exit?

  Did they kill her?

  She was still trying to decide on a plan when Ashley appeared in the doorway, unharmed. In fact, she seemed to be smiling, her teeth flashing white in the darkness. She looked carefully up and down the street, then pulled off her hat and shook out her hair, no longer worried about being seen.

  So, that's it, then, Sydney thought, stunned. I've found my sister spy.

  5

  Early the next morning, Sydney stood among the mangroves in a deserted cove deep at the inland edge of Pearl Harbor, totally absorbed with planning that night's mission.

  It hadn't been hard sneaking out of the hotel, leaving everyone else sleeping in. After the luau the night before, most of the girls had gone on to look for more fun, and by the time Sydney had returned from Chinatown, everyone had scattered. No one had even seemed to realize she'd been missing.

  No one except Francie, who had been half frantic thinking Sydney was sick, or lost, or both. Sydney had had to make up a lie about using the bathroom in the hotel lounge—closer than their sixteenth-floor room—then lying down on the ladies' room sofa and unexpectedly nodding off. Since she had only been gone for ninety minutes, Francie had bought it, although not very happily.

  “I d
idn't know what happened to you,” she'd complained. “You could have been attacked by bears.”

  “In Hawaii?” Sydney had replied skeptically.

  “Sharks, then. I don't know. Are you avoiding me?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Because ever since we started hanging out with these girls, you've been acting really weird.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Like you'd rather be with them than with me. Like you're changing your whole personality!”

  “Francie, I got a little food poisoning or something. That's all.”

  She had smoothed things over by promising to go sightseeing the next day, but instead, she had risen at dawn, pulled on some running clothes, and slipped out of their room.

  Hopefully Francie's still sleeping, she thought now, taking out a pair of miniature, nonreflective binoculars. If she got back at a reasonable hour, looking sweaty enough, Francie would assume she'd been jogging. It would never occur to her that she'd actually picked up a rental car, switched on her GPS unit, and taken a ten-mile drive up the coast.

  Sydney trained her lenses out over the enormous three-lobed harbor. She couldn't begin to see all of it from where she stood. She couldn't even see her dive site with certainty, just an expanse of wind-whipped water a long way out from shore. Her goal that morning was simply to get a feel for what she'd be up against later, when she would dive in total darkness.

  Far off in the distance, navy ships floated at their moorings on Ford Island, the large landmass near the center of the harbor where the battleship Arizona had been resting when the Japanese attacked. For a moment, Sydney envisioned the panic of that day superimposed over the calm of the present. Smoke billowed from bombed and torpedoed ships, strafing aircraft screamed low overhead, hundreds of terrified young Americans did their best to rally, fighting for their lives. . . .

  She dropped her binoculars, more resolved than ever to find Dr. Suler's prototype. The world had changed since 1941, but war was just as ugly. She would do anything in her power to prevent another Pearl Harbor. Anything at all.

  The water here is so murky, she thought, staring into the shallows next to shore. Unlike the crystalline open ocean, the water in the harbor was a dark, soupy green. No wonder nobody knows what's down there—visibility's going to stink. And that's a long swim out.