If it were me, I'd keep anything important right here, Sydney thought, whipping out her crowbar again. Under the bed might not be the most original hiding place, but Dr. Suler couldn't have predicted the events that had unfolded. He wouldn't have had much time. Forcing the bar down behind the first drawer front, Sydney jimmied it forward, destroying the corroded lock and breaking off a rusted slab of metal.
Shining her dive light into the hole she'd created, Sydney peered in behind it. Nothing.
Undeterred, she pried open the next drawer, and the next. Still nothing.
There were three more drawers on the downhill side of the pedestal. Sydney pulled them apart too, working faster and faster as each one yielded only sludge. Her heart sank as she peered into the last one.
Nothing.
She checked a wall locker with no success and was about to leave the room when a new idea seized her. Swimming back to the bed pedestal, she wedged her crowbar under a thick section of the metal springs on top and jimmied them with all her strength. The springs broke off and fell away, taking enough rusted metal with them to make a small hole near the center top of the platform. Muck billowed up from where the springs landed, but not enough to blind her. Working with the bar, Sydney pulled and pried and shoved, enlarging the opening until she had a good-sized hole. Shining her light into it, she caught her breath with joy. As she had guessed, the drawers on the sides of the pedestal didn't occupy the entire width of the bed. There was an empty space between their opposing backs, enough room for someone to pull a drawer completely out and hide something behind it. And there, dulled but not destroyed by sixty years in salt water, was a lunchbox-sized stainless-steel case.
She reached for it eagerly, full of hope. Wiping away the layer of scum near its handle, she found three initials on an inlaid gold plaque: BLS.
Got it! she thought triumphantly.
She quickly removed the hammer and bolt cutters from her dive bag and dropped them with the crowbar to make room for the prototype. She stowed the precious case with her SD-6 phone, made sure the mesh bag was securely closed, and reattached it to her waist. Then, anxious to get her find to dry land, she turned and swam for the exit.
Gliding back down the central passage, Sydney floated through the galley, then kicked her way along the ladder into the upper cabin. With her light held out in front of her, she headed directly for the tilted exit doorway. In her mind, she was already back on the scooter, on her way to the beach. She was totally unprepared when something slammed into her tank from behind.
The clanging blow knocked Sydney sideways, nearly forcing the regulator from her mouth. Spinning around, she caught only a glimpse of a gloved hand as it brought a metal bar down across her outstretched forearm. Pain seared up to her shoulder. Her dropped light spiraled to the floor as her attacker came at her again, grabbing for her dive bag.
Reacting instinctively, Sydney punched the heel of her hand at her attacker's head. She could see only a silhouette, and that just barely, but she felt her blow connect, snapping the other diver's head back. The impact pushed them away from each other. Sydney lunged for the knife on her calf, freeing it from its sheath and holding it in front of her as she backed out the doorway into open water.
Outside the cabin, she was plunged into darkness, forced to feel her way along the cabin roof toward her scooter. She was halfway there when the darkness suddenly lifted. The other diver had the light and was swimming up behind her. Squinting into the beam, Sydney lunged with her knife, slashing blindly. She connected with the barrel of the light just as the metal bar crashed into her arm again. The knife and light were dropped simultaneously, fluttering down through the water.
Sydney hesitated, then attacked, both hands groping for contact. Her fingers touched neoprene, then lost it again as an arm twisted out of her grip. She felt the swish of the bar as it grazed past her mask, barely missing her face. She grabbed automatically, this time capturing the arm with the weapon and twisting it hard. On land, the move would have dislocated her opponent's shoulder; now she simply spun the other diver around. Pushing the trapped arm up high, Sydney removed the bar from a weakened hand and pulled it back, ready to strike.
Her instincts revolted at the thought of landing the blow from behind, like an executioner. She couldn't even see the person she'd be hitting, but based on size and physical strength, she felt certain her attacker was a woman. Sydney let the weapon drop; then, in almost the same motion, she reached forward and grabbed her opponent's air hose, yanking sharply. An eruption of bubbles rushed past her face as the hose broke free somewhere. The other diver struggled desperately. Curling her legs in front of her, Sydney put her fins on her opponent's back and pushed hard, forcing her away into darkness. Quickly, before her enemy could recover, Sydney found the cabin roof and felt her way back to where she'd left the scooter.
To her relief, the vehicle was still there, its guiding GPS unit still attached. Sydney switched on its propeller and pushed away from the Eagle, revving the scooter to full power. At just over two miles per hour, she wasn't setting any speed records, but no swimmer would be able to catch her.
Assuming anyone's still swimming.
Sydney wasn't sure how much damage she'd done to the other diver's air supply, but there was no doubt she'd caused a major problem. Whether it could be fixed, in total darkness, on one last breath of air, was something she didn't much want to think about.
It was self-defense, she reminded herself. Whoever that was obviously wanted the prototype at all costs.
But there was little real doubt in Sydney's mind as to the identity of the other diver.
Ashley. Who else?
Back at the beach, Sydney cut the power to her scooter and glided into a different part of the cove. There had been no sign of pursuit, but she couldn't rule out the possibility of backup lying in wait on the shore. Poking her head just above the water, Sydney scanned the deserted beach, looking for signs of surveillance. She'd gone through far too much to have the prototype taken from her now.
At last she decided she had to move. Kicking silently the rest of the way to shore, she quickly removed her fins, depositing them and the scooter just above the waterline. She shrugged off her tank there too, and dropped her mask beside it. Then she crept cautiously past the mangroves, ready to fight if necessary.
Nothing moved in the trees. Seeing no one, Sydney continued up the slope to the brushy turnoff. There was no sign her car had been touched, not a trace of a suspicious footstep on the dusty ground around it. Suddenly Sydney remembered there ought to be a second car somewhere—Ashley's car. Hurrying up to the roadside where Ashley had peeled out before, Sydney found nothing. No car, no fresh tire tracks. Barefoot and cold in her soaked wet suit, she circled the area, looking for clues. She found no indication that anyone else had been there recently.
Walking back to the shore, Sydney stood in the shadow of the mangroves and looked out over the harbor. Moonlight glinted off tiny ripples, but no diver appeared. Once again, Sydney wondered if Ashley had drowned.
I could have made it to the surface, she thought. Forty feet isn't that far.
On the other hand, she'd been practicing holding her breath ever since her Paris mission, whereas Ashley would have been kicked short of air, disoriented, and abandoned in total darkness.
Which is her own fault! Sydney thought, not liking how guilty she felt.
She carried her dive gear up to her car and stashed it in the trunk, then quickly stripped off her wet suit and pulled on some dry clothes. Removing the prototype and cell phone from her dive bag, Sydney shut the trunk and opened the driver's door, locking herself in the car.
Feeling slightly more secure, she flipped on a tiny flashlight, getting her first good look at the prototype case.
The case itself was in perfect condition, but the lock beneath the handle was corroded and would have to be broken. Not only that, but there was some sort of corrosion around the junction between the two halves, effectively welding the
m shut. Switching the light back off, Sydney dialed her boss.
“Wilson here.” The way he barked the words made her wonder if he ever slept.
“It's Sydney. I've got it,” she whispered back, still worried about being overheard.
“That's better!” His voice was so full of warmth again that she could almost hear him smiling. “How does it look?”
“Amazingly clean. Like he had it coated with some sort of miracle growth repellent.”
“Anything's possible. Is it intact?”
“And locked. Do you want me to break it open?”
“No,” he said quickly. “It's better to do that in the lab. Is there water inside it?”
Sydney shook the case next to her ear.
“I don't hear anything, and it's sealed all the way around. I think it's exactly the way he left it.”
“Fantastic!” said Wilson. “I knew you could do it!”
“Yeah, well . . . the problem is, what do I do with it now? Ashley and I fought on the wreck, and I don't know where she went.”
“I thought you were going to take care of Ashley.”
“I may have just taken care of her permanently. I haven't seen her come up.”
There was a pause while Wilson considered that information.
“You should know Ashley Evans is an alias,” he said. “We're still looking, but so far this girl doesn't exist before college. Deep cover—I doubt that surprises you.”
“Nothing about Ashley surprises me. Listen, Wilson. I can't keep the prototype at the hotel. My room's already been broken into once, and I don't trust the hotel safe, considering what I'm dealing with here. I know you planned for me to ship it to you, but that would be crazy now. I don't know who's watching me. I don't know who's listening. The only thing I know for sure is that someone will try to steal this thing the second it's out of my hands.”
“Agreed,” said Wilson. “You'll have to hang on to it.”
“But there's no way I can bring it back on the plane! If I check it in my luggage, we'll never see that suitcase again, and if I try to carry it aboard . . . We can't risk having it confiscated.”
“No.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Give me a couple of days,” he said. “I have a boat working a recovery mission northwest of you. I think I can get it to Honolulu for a handoff Wednesday night.”
“Wednesday? But this is only Monday! What am I supposed to do until then?”
“Three things. Keep the prototype with you at all times. Guard it with your life. And stay alive.”
11
“Man. That's a long way down,” said Francie, standing beside Sydney at the edge of the sheer cliff. “I wouldn't want to fall.”
“If you did, you'd probably be blown right back up,” Sydney said, shouting to be heard above the howling wind.
“It didn't work for those Hawaiian guys,” Francie pointed out.
Sydney laughed, but she was feeling anything but lighthearted. The entire sorority was taking a private limo-bus tour that Tuesday, and their current location was the Nuuanu Pali lookout, a spot high in the mountainous center of southern Oahu. Although only a short drive from Waikiki, the cliff the girls were standing on seemed incredibly wild and remote. The wind wailed eerily in Sydney's ears, recalling the tour guide's tale of the native warriors Kamehameha the Great had driven off the clifftop long ago in his bid to conquer the island. Far below the steep green hillsides, the towns on the distant windward shoreline looked like toys. The blue Pacific sparkled beyond them, its whitecaps a sprinkling of sugar. The beauty of the place was breathtaking, but there were only two things on Sydney's mind: the prototype in her backpack, and the fact that Ashley was standing at the edge of the cliff not fifty feet away.
She had been stunned to see Ashley climb aboard the bus earlier that morning, acting as if it were just another day. But despite everything that had happened between them, Sydney was glad she hadn't killed her.
Not that I wouldn't, if she forced me to. Her eyes drifted Ashley's way again.
As if reading her mind, Ashley looked up from the view, her gaze locking with Sydney's. Open hostility flashed between them, so intense that Sydney was surprised everyone didn't feel it. But the other girls continued chatting and pointing out landmarks, completely oblivious.
“I'm going back to the bus,” Francie announced. “I think I left my sunglasses on the seat.”
Sydney nodded distractedly, her attention still on Ashley. With one last hateful glare, her enemy turned and moved away to the very edge of the cliff, so close that Sydney imagined a sudden, shifting gust of wind blowing her right over.
Which might not be such a bad thing, she mused. So long as Ashley's death wasn't on her conscience, it was hard to deny its advantages.
My cover would be secure again. I wouldn't have to worry every second about someone sneaking up behind me trying to snag the prototype. I'd—
“Whoa!”
An unexpected hand on her shoulder made Sydney shout and wheel around, her pulse in overdrive.
But, to her embarrassment, the hand belonged to Roxy.
“What were you daydreaming about?” Roxy asked, laughing. “You act like I'm trying to push you off!”
“Agent Hicks isn't in,” a cold female voice informed Sydney, “and I'm not authorized to discuss his whereabouts.”
“I wasn't asking for his whereabouts,” Sydney objected lamely. “I only wanted to know—”
“I'm not authorized to discuss anything regarding Agent Hicks,” the SD-6 operator interrupted. “You may leave a message, or not. That's all.”
I suppose asking for his cell phone number is out of the question. But Sydney couldn't find the nerve to say that. She was already dangerously close to sounding pathetic.
“No message,” she said, and hung up. The last thing she needed was to start a rumor flying around headquarters.
Dropping the phone into her lap, she looked out on a perfect Waikiki sunset and sighed. She had finally managed to separate herself and her backpack from the rest of the sorority, walking way down the beach in order to make her secret phone call. Maybe it was risky to let Ashley out of her sight, but she couldn't stop thinking about Noah.
If I'd accepted his help instead of acting like such a baby, there'd be two of us guarding this prototype now. Or I could have handed it off to him and just been done with it.
But that wasn't the reason she wanted to talk to him. Ever since he'd left, she hadn't been able to get him out of her mind.
I can't leave things the way they are, she thought, blind to the gorgeous scenery. I have to apologize, even if he never forgives me.
She wasn't even sure he should. After everything he'd said about the dangers of agents developing close relationships, it must have been nearly impossible for him to admit there might be anything between them. And instead of seizing the opportunity, she had stomped on his feelings like . . . like . . .
Like a spoiled sorority girl, she thought, depressed.
“There you are!” Francie's voice rang out across the beach, startling Sydney back to the present. “What are you doing way down here?”
“Just, uh . . . hanging out. Watching the sunset. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” Francie plopped down cross-legged in the sand. “I didn't know where—” She broke off in midsentence. “Whose phone is that?”
She reached for the SD-6 cell phone, but Sydney snatched it away, tucking it into her shorts pocket.
“Mine.”
“Your phone is blue. That one's black.”
Sydney forced a laugh. “Can't slip anything by you, Sherlock. Tell Scotland Yard I got a new one.”
“Is it the same number?”
“Yes.” Sydney still had her personal cell phone, and that was the only number she wanted Francie to have.
“Then it shouldn't work here. Right? I mean, what kind of calling plan is that?”
Sydney hoped her smile looked inc
redulous, because Francie's questions were making her nervous. “Nationwide. Roaming. I don't know, Francie. It just works.”
“I think it's kind of weird that you walked all the way down here just to make a phone call. Who were you calling, anyway?”
“Is there some point to this grilling?”
“I just don't know why you can't tell me where you're going, for once. Why do I have to play detective just to find out what you're doing?”
“You don't,” Sydney said sharply.
“Then how come every time I turn around, you've taken off again? Why can't we hang out together?”
“Francie, weren't we just together all day?”
Francie hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. At last she gave a reluctant nod. “I just . . . I don't know. The other girls are okay. But it's not the same when they're around. It's not like . . . you and me.” She sighed, her brown eyes beseeching. “Do I sound like the world's biggest loser?”
“No!” Sydney touched her friend's arm reassuringly.
“So . . . who were you calling?” Francie asked again.
“Just—I heard there was a cool dinner show downtown. And I was sitting here wondering what we were going to do tonight, so I thought I'd see how much tickets cost.”
“How much?”
Sydney named a figure she hoped was in the ballpark. Francie's eyes rolled.
“You've got to be kidding! That bus trip today left me down to my last hundred bucks. If Roxy comes up with one more ‘one last' thing we have to pay for, I'm going to be living on taro chips. And frankly, I'm getting kind of sick of those.”
Sydney laughed. “How about a hot dog and an early movie, then? My treat.”
“Just the two of us?” Francie asked hopefully.
Too late Sydney realized that if she was at a movie with Francie, she couldn't keep an eye on Ashley.
On the positive side, Ashley can't make a play for the prototype in a crowded theater, either.
Sister Spy Page 10