A telephone number!
There was no guarantee it had anything to do with Roxy, but it was the only clue she had. Heart hammering, she took her SD-6 phone from her backpack and dialed.
“Oahu Helicopter Charters,” a woman chirped on the answering end.
“Yes . . . I, uh . . . What kind of business are you?” Sydney blurted out. “I mean, do you rent helicopters? For people to fly by themselves?”
“We charter to licensed pilots who meet our other criteria.” The woman's voice said plainly how unlikely she thought Sydney was to be in that group.
“Right.” Sydney scrambled for the pen. “Can you tell me how to get there?”
Sydney drove like a maniac through cane and pineapple fields, down the final stretch of dirt road to the helicopter charter business. Red dust spewed from her tires as she screeched into the parking lot in front of the low metal building, but her eyes were glued to the tarmac, where the main rotor blades of a two-seater aircraft had just begun to spin.
A pilot sat at the controls, her distinctive red hair visible through the helicopter's back window. Braking in a long, gravel-crunching slide, Sydney leaped out of her car and sprinted across the tarmac just as the craft's horizontal landing skids began to lift.
The copter was eight feet off the ground before Sydney was close enough to jump. She launched herself full tilt, praying she'd be able to hang on as her hands closed around the skid on the empty passenger side.
The aircraft rocked, upset by the sudden change of weight. Sydney dangled like a rag doll, nearly losing her grip. Somehow she kicked her feet up and managed to swing a leg over the skid of the rapidly ascending copter. Clinging desperately, she pulled herself into a crouching position against one of the upright skid supports.
Don't look down, she told herself, dizzy with fear. The horizon reeled. Her stomach lurched. She couldn't believe what she'd just done. From her new perspective, the copter seemed to hover in place while the green fields fell away from her, spinning as they went.
Stop looking!
Mustering her courage, she inched her hand toward the passenger door. She couldn't reach the handle. Easing herself up straighter, she pressed her torso tight against the slick metal body of the craft. For the first time, her head came up to the window, allowing her to see inside.
Roxy was looking right at her. The two of them locked eyes through the glass. Sydney had only a moment to think how completely changed her former friend looked. Then Roxy smiled and pushed a lever, sending the copter into a terrifying dive.
Sydney's legs buckled beneath her, resuming their desperate crouch. Roxy was climbing again, banking to the left. Sydney knew only enough about helicopters to be certain of two things: There were limits to how radically they could be maneuvered, and Roxy wanted her to fall to her death.
The copter banked right and gained speed. Far below, the fields gave way to buildings. Roxy was headed toward the shoreline. She dipped, then climbed, then dipped again, every sudden change of direction testing Sydney's grip. Sydney held on with all her strength, and after a few more rapid maneuvers, Roxy leveled out and accelerated straight toward the ocean. Sydney couldn't help looking down again as a coral sand beach flashed by beneath her. She didn't even want to guess how high up she was now—or how fast Roxy was flying.
The sand gave way to sea, its blue growing darker as the water got deeper. Sydney clung to her skid, any thought of reaching for the door again completely forgotten. The sun was dropping toward the ocean in a rapidly accelerating arc. If she fell off now, she could be swimming all night.
Assuming I survive the fall, she thought, glancing down again. That's probably assuming too much.
About a mile off Koko Head, Roxy turned left and began flying parallel to the coast, east around the southern tip of the island. Sydney held on tight, her fingers numb with cold and strain. Wind whipped loose strands of her ponytail across her face and forced horizontal tears from the corners of her eyes. As the sun continued sinking behind her, she blocked out her fear and pain by trying to guess where Roxy was heading.
Southeast of Oahu lay a cluster of other Hawaiian islands: Molokai, Lanai, Maui, and little Kahoolawe. Sydney didn't think she could hold on long enough to land on one of them, but every minute she became more certain that wasn't their destination anyway. Roxy had continued to follow the shoreline and was now flying almost due north.
A rendezvous with a ship of some sort seemed like a possibility. It would have to be a big ship, though, to have a helipad, and Sydney didn't relish her chances against the number of enemy agents likely to be aboard. Her SD-6 phone was in her backpack; for a moment she actually considered getting it out and calling Wilson for help.
Except that he won't be able to do anything.
And she didn't dare loosen even one finger from her hold on the copter.
All of a sudden, the aircraft banked left, losing altitude. And there, up ahead, a forbidding little island pushed its rocky peak above the waves, nearly a mile offshore of Oahu.
She's going to land there!
The thought made Sydney's heart race. If getting onto a moving helicopter had been tricky, getting off one was sure to be worse. Roxy was coming down sharply and much too fast. If Sydney didn't bail out at just the right instant, she stood a good chance of being squashed like a bug. The bare soil of the tiny island rushed up to meet her, red and desolate. There were no trees, no flowers, no grass.
No matter when she jumped, it was going to be a hard landing.
Steeling herself for the worst, Sydney prepared to leap. Her survival instinct told her to do it at the first opportunity, even if it meant breaking a leg, but her training cautioned her to wait. If she jumped too early, Roxy could simply take off again, leaving her stranded with no way to follow. She had to be certain the aircraft was really going to land.
Her conflicting impulses in chaos, Sydney waited. The helicopter seemed to stop moving while the ground rushed up, up, up. She didn't dare try to turn around, which meant she was going to have to jump down between the skids, underneath the copter. If Roxy kept descending at her current crash velocity, there was no guarantee Sydney would be able to roll out of the area without being crushed. She balanced her weight on her toes, choosing her spot on the approaching ground. Breathing, breathing . . .
Now!
Six feet above the ground, Sydney sprang off the skid. Her running shoes twisted in the uneven lava, the impact jarring her legs. She fell forward onto her hands and knees as the copter slammed down above her, its skids crunching into the rocky soil on both sides. The whirring rotor blades overhead stirred up a choking, stinging storm of dust. Cramped and dizzy from her ride on the skid, Sydney forced her legs to move, to carry her out from under the copter to the door on its left-hand side. She was reaching for the handle when the door flew open.
Sydney staggered backward as Roxy jumped from the cockpit, landing in a fighting stance under the spinning rotor. She was wearing a tight blue tank and black jeans, a backpack over her shoulders. The gust from the blades whipped her loose hair into a cloud, but Roxy's eyes never wavered as she waited for Sydney to make the first move.
“I don't want to fight you, Roxy,” Sydney yelled, her words ripped away on the wind. “Just give me back what you took.”
“The nuclear prototype?” Roxy laughed. “I don't think so. Sister.”
The word was a sneer, something dirty in Roxy's mouth. Sydney was facing a total stranger. Which made what she had to do a little easier.
Attacking in a rush, she threw a flurry of punches and kicks, but nothing found its target. Her punches were blocked; her kicks met air.
And then it was Roxy's turn.
Charging while Sydney was still off balance, she delivered a searing chop to the back of the neck. Sydney wheeled around only to catch Roxy's foot in her gut. The blow bent Sydney double. She was gasping for breath as Roxy charged again, grabbing her under the arms. With amazing strength, she lifted Sydney off her feet, up
toward the dangerously spinning blades.
She's trying to kill me! Sydney realized. To fight for the prototype was one thing, but she'd never expected to fight for her life.
Ducking, Sydney jabbed Roxy's eyes. The girl released her so abruptly that Sydney fell into the dirt. Before she could get to her feet again, Roxy took off running.
Sydney scrambled up and gave chase, her shoes slipping wildly as she pursued Roxy down a slope of loose volcanic rock. Far below, she could see the ocean, gray in the failing light. Roxy was picking up speed, jumping from rock to rock on her way down to the shore. A long, curving finger of basalt stretched out into the ocean, creating a natural breakwater. Roxy flung herself down the last bit of hill onto its landward end, running seaward along its spine. And that was when Sydney spotted the empty gray Zodiac bobbing in the shadow of the rocky ledge. The boat was moored and waiting, and Roxy was headed straight for it.
Sydney made the punishing jump behind Roxy, forcing her wobbly legs into a sprint despite the uncertain surface beneath her feet. Roxy reached the boat first and grabbed its mooring line, pulling it close enough to board. Inflatable pontoons on the sides of the open fourteen-foot boat met in a V at its bow; its flat stern was dominated by an enormous outboard engine. Swinging a leg over the nearest pontoon, Roxy tumbled from stable land into the rising and falling boat, then quickly released the line, freeing the vessel. A swift current carried it away from the rocks as Roxy turned to start the engine. Still running full tilt, Sydney jumped, landing in a heap on the boat's hard bottom.
The sudden change in weight nearly capsized the light craft. Roxy staggered, clutching the outboard for support. Pushing up to her knees, Sydney found a wooden oar tucked under the edge of the nearest pontoon. She grabbed it and lurched to her feet, jabbing the handle hard into Roxy's kidneys. Roxy gasped with pain. Letting go of the engine, she assumed a wobbly fighting stance. Sydney swung the oar around like a martial-arts weapon, aiming the flat of the blade at Roxy's head.
The blow connected with a sickening crack. Sydney's stomach clenched as the vibrations traveled up the wooden handle into her hands. For a fraction of a second, the antagonism left Roxy's blue eyes, and they stared in wonder. Then they rolled up into her head and she fell forward into Sydney's arms.
Tears streamed down Sydney's cheeks as she laid her former sister in the bottom of the boat and checked for a pulse. To her relief, Roxy was still alive. A moment later, the girl groaned and moved her head slightly. She wouldn't be down for long.
Crawling forward, Sydney found a spare dock line. She tied Roxy's hands and feet before tethering the free end of the line to a ring on the floorboards. Then, almost afraid to hope, she unzipped Roxy's backpack and looked inside.
The prototype was there. So was Sydney's GPS unit.
“You broke into my car, too?” Sydney demanded, outraged.
Roxy moaned, but Sydney could have sworn a hint of a smile played around the girl's lips. Taking her SD-6 phone from her backpack, Sydney dialed Wilson.
“I've got the prototype,” she reported.
“Yes. I know.”
“Oh. Right.” As far as Wilson knew, she'd had it all along. “I need to get rid of it now. And of something else, too. Is your boat here yet?”
“It's just outside Honolulu Harbor. I was going to call you when they docked.”
“Tell them not to dock. They need to meet me at sea.”
“Sydney, what's going on?”
Roxy sat up abruptly, leveling a malevolent gaze at Sydney.
“Things are, um . . . complicated,” said Sydney. “Can I explain later?”
“Just tell me this: Is there a problem?”
“Not unless you consider having an enemy agent tied up on the floor of a rowboat a problem.”
“That's my girl!” Wilson said. “All right, here's what we'll do. Do you have your GPS unit?”
“Yes.”
The two of them set coordinates for a rendezvous at sea, where Roxy could be transferred secretly.
“And Sydney?” Wilson added before she hung up. “Good job. I'm proud of you.”
“Thanks.”
But the praise didn't mean as much as it once would have. And the gathering darkness didn't prevent her from seeing the girl she'd believed was her friend huddled in the bottom of the boat.
Sydney found the start cord on the engine and pulled it savagely, jerking the motor to life.
Then, with a watchful eye on Roxy, she wheeled the boat around and roared off into the open ocean.
15
Stars were twinkling overhead when the SD-6 yacht pulled into Honolulu Harbor, but Sydney didn't see them. She and two senior SD-6 agents were down below in a soundproof cabin, questioning a surly Roxy.
“We know you're K-Directorate,” said Agent Ramirez, an older intelligence officer with graying streaks in her black hair. She'd told Sydney that her specialties were psychology and interrogation, but so far those skills weren't much in evidence.
“You don't know anything,” Roxy replied, her smile thin and provoking.
“Then why don't you tell us?” Agent Warren cut in.
A huge, intimidating man, Warren looked more like a professional wrestler than an undercover agent. Sydney didn't want to guess what his specialty was, but the way he kept cracking his knuckles suggested some unpleasant possibilities.
“We're going to find out,” he added. “One way or another.”
“And bring me to justice, right?” Roxy sneered. “I'll save it for the judge.”
“I am the judge. And these two here?” Warren indicated Sydney and Ramirez. “Consider them the jury.”
Roxy laughed mockingly. “Those aren't my peers. Your junior there couldn't find her own butt with a magnifying glass.”
Sydney bristled, but Warren only smiled.
“She found you, didn't she?” he taunted. “And she found the hardware. Twice. If she's that incompetent, what's your excuse?”
“She got lucky!” Roxy flung back, goaded.
The yacht jolted, then stopped. Ramirez checked her watch. “We're docking. And this conversation is going nowhere.”
“Let me talk to her alone,” Sydney urged her senior agents. “Just give us a few minutes.”
“What are you going to do? Beat me up?” Roxy was tied to a chair, unable to move her hands or feet, but her tone was supremely unconcerned. “I'm shaking in my boots.”
Warren cracked his knuckles in Roxy's face. “Don't worry. Our methods are more efficient than that. Come on, Ramirez.”
Motioning for the other agent to follow him out of the room, he pointed a finger at Sydney. “You have ten minutes. Then you're out of here, and I take over. By myself.”
A trace of fear crossed Roxy's face as Warren closed the door, but the second she saw Sydney watching, her features reverted to her former condescending expression.
“So. Just me and Agent Bristow,” Roxy said. “Or should I say Wannabe Agent Bristow?”
“I am a trainee. So what?” Sydney pulled her chair closer to Roxy's, until only a narrow gap remained between their knees. They glared at each other across the short distance as if they had never been friends.
We never were friends, Sydney reminded herself. It was all a big lie.
So how come looking at Roxy now made her want to cry?
“You killed Jen Williams,” Sydney accused, choosing anger over tears.
Roxy's answering smile was so cold it raised the fine hairs on the back of Sydney's neck. “Jen was a little too smart for her own good.”
“She caught on to you,” Sydney guessed. “And once your cover was blown, you had no choice but to kill her.”
“There's always a choice,” Roxy said with a philosophical tilt of her head. “I tend to like the easy way.”
A shudder rocked Sydney's body. The girl was a cold-blooded killer.
“So you snuck up on her while she was asleep, put a pillow over her face, and suffocated her,” said Sydney, trying not to see
the horrible scene in her head.
“Please!” Roxy sounded genuinely offended. “That's pretty crude, isn't it? Don't they have doctors where you work? People who can mix you up a little something?”
Sydney grimaced. Had it been an undetectable poison, then? Or maybe some other substance, one that caused an asthma-like reaction?
“The thing about Jen was, she should have seen it coming,” Roxy continued. “She was only half as naïve as you are. I really doubt, for example, that Jen would have walked into a cocktail party and asked if a dead girl had been having trouble breathing. Way to go, Columbo. How do you think you got into AKX in the first place? It wasn't your fashion sense.”
“So you knew,” Sydney murmured, appalled by her own blindness. “All this time you only wanted me where you could watch—”
“And I'm positive that pushing a potted plant off a catamaran, then getting some drunk to say the splash was her best friend wouldn't have made our Jen drop cover in front of two hundred people.”
“It was . . . You—you pushed off a plant?” Sydney sputtered.
“Big fake palm tree. I'm surprised no one missed it. Not even you.” Roxy's smile was so smug that Sydney felt a sudden urge to slap her.
“And then you manipulated Ashley into thinking it was Francie.”
“Manipulated!” Roxy hooted. “That's a two-dollar word for a nickel event. In case you haven't noticed, Ashley isn't the brains of any operation.”
“Ashley likes you. In fact, she loves you. You could have helped her, but instead you just used her.”
“Ashley!” Roxy spat the name. “Have you ever met anyone more pathetic? Losers like Ashley deserve what they get. She'd have ended up exactly where she is without any help from me.”
“But you knew what she was up to. You could have set her straight.”
Roxy looked disgusted. “What is Ashley to me? Or to you, for that matter? I've got to be honest—I don't see you going too far in this business.”
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