Black-Market Body Double Page 11

  She wound around the neighborhood a bit and then checked her watch—11:54. Time to get to the golf course. She took the path, certain she had timed it right to arrive at the safe zone promptly at noon.

  Joan wouldn’t be late. Why Amanda felt confident of that, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was Joan’s knowing that as well as her own life, the lives of her husband and child depended on her actions. Whatever her reason, Amanda sensed Joan would be on time.

  And she was. Promptly at noon, Joan paused on her run in the safe zone and bent down to tie her shoe.

  Amanda called out. “Hi, there.”

  Joan smiled and stood up, still breathing heavily from her run. “Hello.”

  By that time, Amanda had reached her. She hiked an eyebrow, verifying they were safe to speak openly.

  “We’re fine,” Joan said.

  “How’s Mark?” Amanda kept the smile, but had to work at it. The guard paused far enough away to be out of reach and just out of earshot, provided they kept their voices low.

  “He’s still in isolation being interrogated. I can’t get to him yet. But he’ll be coming to me later today.”

  “They’re not torturing him?” That they might be had her stomach in knots.

  “No, they want to see how he reacts in hostile situations. It’s part of his study. I don’t have time to explain now,” she said, stroking the sweat from her forehead. “But he’s not being tortured.”

  “Joan, you realize we have to stop this GRID program.”

  Her look glazed. “I don’t think we can.”

  Hope had been drained out of the woman. “You help me get the big picture,” Amanda said, determined to restore it, “and I’ll find a way.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried? I did everything I knew to do, Amanda.” Joan’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked hard and fast. “There is no way to stop him. Everything I thought of, Kunz had already built in a contingency to cover. Everything. You have no idea how hard I worked at this.”

  “You were alone, then,” Amanda quietly insisted. She shook her leg, shifted her weight as if walking out a cramp. “You’re not now.”

  Joan bent down, rubbed Amanda’s calf. “I’m supposed to be befriending you so you don’t fight me on your debriefing,” she confessed, obviously realizing the risks in doing so. “That’s why Kunz is permitting us to meet and chat, and why I was moved into the apartment next door to you.”

  Amanda tensed, but kept her tone civil and her voice even. “So are you just doing your job, or are you sincere?”

  Joan’s hands stilled on her calf and her look went flat. “They have my husband.”

  “That tells me nothing. You could hate him.”

  “I love him.”

  “So you are sincere, then?”

  “Yes.” Joan let the truth show in her eyes.

  Amanda believed her. “I need all the information you can give me. Is there a way for us to meet more than for just a few minutes at a time?”

  “Not without monitors. Not yet. But I’m working on it.” She kneaded Amanda’s muscle one last time and then stood up. “Meet me here at eleven tonight. Don’t let the guard see you leave. Convince him you’ve gone to bed for the night. By then, I’ll have had a chance to talk with Mark and to see what Kunz plans for him.”

  “Whatever it is, nip it in the bud,” Amanda said before thinking. “I have plans of my own for Mark.”

  Stark terror washed through Joan’s eyes. “Tell me Kunz doesn’t know that.”

  “What?”

  “That you have a personal interest in Mark.”

  “I didn’t even know it,” Amanda admitted, shuffling her shoulders. “He couldn’t.”

  “Well, for God’s sake, don’t tell him. He’ll do horrible things to Mark to get you to do what he wants done,” Joan warned her. “And you will do them, Amanda. You think you won’t, but you will. Because love is stronger than fear or hate. It’s stronger than anything.” She looked off, past the green and sand trap to a distant cluster of trees. “I’ve learned that the hard way here.”

  She had. Amanda could see that in the sadness in her expression, in the defeated slump of her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.” Joan looked up at her. A tear glistened on her cheek. “It should have been a beautiful lesson.”

  It should have been, but that was in a perfect world, and they didn’t live in a perfect world. Amanda was sorry, but she couldn’t control that. She had greater responsibilities she could control, so that’s where she had to focus her energy. On the military, who were counting on her to protect and defend the country. And to the unsuspecting millions of people living in it. Her duty to those things had to have priority over her personal feelings for one man.

  “Your guard is getting antsy,” Joan said. “The monitors have radioed and told him they can’t hear us. We’d better get going.” She cast Amanda a parting smile that appeared frozen. “Eleven.”

  “Eleven.” Amanda took off in the opposite direction and ran hard, pumping her legs and arms, releasing some anxiety and giving herself time to clear all of her thoughts.

  “Captain West!” the guard shouted.

  No one had called her “Captain West” since Kunz had stripped her of her identity, which begged the question, why had this man used her title? She looked back. He waved, motioning her toward him.

  She slowed and turned, jogged back to him, and ran in place to cool down a bit. “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Kunz wants to see you right away.”

  “What for?”

  “I didn’t ask, ma’am,” he said, his back rod-straight. “Does it really matter?”

  He had a point. Her choices here were limited and she needed to not arouse tempers or suspicions, or everyone would shut down and she would learn nothing from them. And he’d treated her with respect. “May I grab a shower first?” she asked without a hint of the hostility she felt.

  “I wouldn’t recommend it, ma’am,” he said softly, his Adam’s apple rippling up his throat. “When Mr. Kunz says right away, he means right away.”

  “Okay, then.” She looked down at her sweat-drenched shirt, then smiled at the guard. “When he gets a whiff, he’ll remember next time to give me time to get cleaned up, eh?”

  “I’d think so, ma’am.” The guard’s lips didn’t move, but a humorous twinkle lit his eyes. “You pretty much reek.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Amanda walked back toward the apartment. “What’s your name?”

  “Gaston, ma’am.”

  “Well, Gaston, you’re looking a little peaked. You okay?”

  “Frankly, your run nearly killed me.”

  She looked down at his shoes. His suit. His gun. Yet no way would a die-hard GRID member admit that. “You’re not dressed for it,” she said. “This heat doesn’t help.”

  “Ma’am, I could be in running gear and in optimum weather conditions, and your pace would still kick my tail.” Reluctant respect resonated in his voice. “What’s your speed in the stretch?”

  Definitely not die-hard GRID. So what was he doing here? “Four and a half.”

  He pursed his lips, blew softly. “Three’s pretty average.” She graced him with a killer smile. “But I’m not average.”

  “No, ma’am. I guess you’re not.”

  Another potential ally. If it took flirting and being a little crass to seal a deal, she wasn’t above it. She’d done worse and the stakes warranted it.

  Exactly what those stakes were, she didn’t know yet. But everything in her screamed the same warning: The stakes were enormous.

  A messenger rode up to Gaston and Amanda on the golf course and pulled to a stop a short distance away. Gaston walked over and the young guard whispered something to him that he obviously didn’t want Amanda to overhear.

  Whatever it was turned Gaston’s skin a sickly shade of green. “I need the cart,” he told the messenger.

  The guy climbed out, grimacing. Sweat streamed down his thin, pasty face and Amanda sup
posed he wasn’t enthused at the idea of walking back to wherever he’d come from in the midday heat.

  Gaston ignored him, turned to Amanda. “Get in.”

  Her stomach did a little flip, but she climbed into the cart. When Gaston slid in behind the wheel, she kept her manner casual. “Kunz change his mind?”

  “Only about where he wants you to go.” Gaston frowned now, and didn’t bother to hide it.

  “What is it? A firing squad? More drug therapy? Or has he ordered you to bury me in another tomb?”

  Gaston glanced over at her and unmistakable pity shone in his eyes. “For you, it’s worse.” He swiped at his damp forehead with the back of his arm and motioned for her to hike up the hemmed edge of her shorts. When she did, he pulled a pen from his pocket and wrote on her thigh: No choice. Few want 2 B here.

  Thinking of Joan and her situation, she softened her gaze on Gaston and blinked, letting him know she understood. Then she dabbed her fingertip against her tongue and rubbed away what he’d written.

  When she had, he wrote a second message: Avoid Reese and broken nose. Both want 2 kill U.

  The guard whose nose she’d broken. Beefy. She gave Gaston the slightest of nods, and then scrubbed off that message, too, trying not to let fear eat at her. Worse than a firing squad or being drugged or buried. There was no telling what Kunz, the King of Torture, had in mind for her.

  Whatever it was, she prayed it didn’t include Mark. Gaston cut across the course and onto a paved street lined with low-slung gray buildings and two wooden shacks that seemed out of place. The pavement ended at a circular driveway before a sprawling white-stucco building that had no windows. He pulled to a stop. “This is it.”

  Amanda walked inside. The air chilled her, raising goose-flesh. Beyond the typical difference between midsummer humid heat and air-conditioning, this went to that hospital-like cold in surgical units that’s essential for keeping germ counts low. Antiseptic in smell and in looks. They walked down concrete painted-white floors, surrounded by tall white walls and white ceilings. The only decoration or color in the long hallway was multiple photos of the black-haired man she once thought was Thomas Kunz.

  But why had she thought that? Confused, her skin crawled, warning her of the reason. Transference. He, or his minions, had superimposed a visual image of the man in the photo over his actual image to avoid his being correctly identified by authorities.

  Amazing, but if she hadn’t seen him face-to-face again, she would have sworn the man in the photos was Thomas Kunz, just as Intel had purported. Yet on seeing him, she’d immediately known the truth.

  Mind games. He loved the “miracles of modern medicine” and, while that memory surprised her, she’d be foolish to forget that he included corrupting those miracles.

  “Turn right here,” Gaston said.

  Amanda turned and walked to where Gaston stopped, two doors down. He held open a door for her. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Thank you,” she said, then walked into the room.

  It was semi-dark, shadowy, a screening room of sorts. Three rows of six red-cushioned theater seats were centered before a large blank screen.

  Thomas Kunz sat front row center. He turned to look back at her. “Ah, finally. Come and join me, Amanda.”

  She sat down on the row’s end seat. “I need a shower,” she explained. “I was out for a run.”

  “Considerate.”

  Kunz’s smile stunned her. He looked so charming and innocent. How could he look so at ease with himself and at peace with his conscience when he’d done so many horrible things?

  She crossed her ankles. “You summoned, I presume, for a reason.”

  “Oh, yes.” Kunz shifted to face her. “I have something I want you to see. I suggest you watch carefully, my dear, and with as much emotional detachment as possible. It might be a little discomfiting, but it will prove to be in your best interests.”

  “I’ll do my utmost to muddle through it, Thomas.”

  “I’m in no mood for amusements, so kindly refrain from engaging in flippant remarks and sarcasm.” He looked at her, his eyes cold and empty.

  The sunny-to-frigid change startled her. Burying her reaction to him, she shrugged. “So what is it you want me to see?”

  “Your fate.”

  Fingers of ice tapped at her spine, squeezed her heart. “Okay, then. Let’s take a look.” She tried to sound breezy, knew she’d failed, but he obviously took her comment as sass and not substantive because he again frowned.

  Kunz lifted a hand and the lights dimmed to dark. The screen before them flickered, and the “movie” began. The first image had Amanda’s heart slamming against her ribs and her throat swelling shut.

  She was the star in this film. And she was in uniform, meeting with Colonel Drake and Kate in Colonel Drake’s office at Providence. Only it wasn’t Amanda. She wasn’t there.

  It was her double.

  Living Amanda’s life.

  Thomas cued up the sound. The double was speaking, and she sounded like Amanda—right down to her slight southern drawl.

  “After intense investigation and conferring with Captain Cross, ma’am,” the double told Colonel Drake, “I’m convinced there are no links between the three-month-absence cases.”

  “But, Amanda,” Kate interceded, flipping a hand through her soft blond curls. “The last time we talked, you were certain there was a connection. Mark believed there was one, too.”

  “We were wrong, Kate,” the double said simply. “We scrutinized everything and then double-checked ourselves. We found nothing. No evidence whatsoever to suggest any link. It just wasn’t there.”

  “Well,” Colonel Drake chimed in. “In the absence of evidence, we have no choice. Downgrade the status. With no tangible necessity, I can’t justify the Special Project designation. Lower the priority code on GRID right away, Amanda.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Kate looked less than happy. Actually, she looked angry. And she would be because she knew Mark and knew the quality of his work. He had felt something was there, and Kate would respect that. She also eyed Amanda’s double warily, though Kunz didn’t seem to notice. But then, he wouldn’t. Kate was merely Amanda’s peer. She lacked jurisdiction or authority over her. Colonel Drake was Amanda’s superior officer, the commander of S.A.S.S., and Kunz would be hot-wired to her reaction to Amanda’s double.

  Inside, Amanda started to shake. Whether from fear or outrage, she couldn’t tell. If honest, she had to admit it was probably a fair share of both.

  Kunz turned to look at her. “I thought you should see this yourself. You can be amazingly stubborn about accepting the truth.”

  “What truth is that, Thomas?”

  “Colonel Drake believes your double is you. She’s totally accepted her.”

  “For the moment,” Amanda conceded. Verification of the reason for the three months of plundering the depths of her mind became terrifyingly clear: familiarity studies for her double.

  Kunz smoothed a hand down the thigh of his slacks. “No one will ever doubt her. She’s worked very hard and done an excellent job at becoming you.”

  Amanda slid him a cold look. “I don’t care if you have half the medical community working around the clock, you’re not going to learn everything about any person in three months, Thomas. Things come up. Judgments have to be made. Little details get screwed up. Something happens and the truth comes out. It always comes out.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Little details do happen.” He rocked back in his seat and lit a cigarette. As I told you at our last meeting, keeping you alive makes you available to your double at all times, doesn’t it?”

  It did. It also gave her endless opportunities to pass coded messages to Drake that would reveal the truth...maybe. “How many times have you inserted doubles? Have you just infiltrated the Air Force? It and the CIA?” He had known about the CIA drop zone in Carolina. Harry was supposedly dead, but he was here. “Or have you pulled these switches
in all U.S. security forces?”

  Kunz declined to answer.

  “What?” She pushed. “I’m stuck here forever. I want to know.”

  “Ask me two years from now, and I’ll answer you, Amanda.”

  He knew she would get out of here before then, or die trying. She had to. The amount of trouble her double could wreak with her clearances could devastate the nation. Amanda had access to all U.S. intelligence agencies—including those that didn’t exist on paper. Every operative and mission around the globe was in jeopardy.

  Kunz’s double had taken over Amanda’s life. Become her.

  And for the moment, Amanda was doomed to sit and watch her live it.

  Chapter Ten

  Amanda returned to her apartment with more questions than answers and more worries than solutions. She grabbed a glass in the kitchen and walked straight to the fridge.

  Joan had left a note in the ice bin—and had pilfered most of Amanda’s ice as a pretense.

  Amanda palmed the note and dropped a couple cubes into her glass, filled it with water and drank heavily, then headed for the shower—the only place in the apartment, according to Joan, where Kunz prohibited monitoring equipment. Cranking on the water, Amanda stripped off her damp clothes, stepped into the tub and then shut the curtain behind her.

  Then she read the note.

  S.Z. 11 P.

  Safe zone at 11:00 p.m. Joan was confirming their earlier conversation. It was about 4:00 p.m. now. Amanda could shower, eat, snoop around a little and then meet Joan. Anticipation rippled in her stomach like the water rippled over her skin. She needed to talk to Mark in a bad way. They had to somehow break down this machine Kunz had built—before it broke down the government.

  She chewed up the note, swallowed and soaped, rinsed then soaped again, letting the delicate fragrance soothe her raw nerves. Being around Kunz had made her feel dirty, and she wanted to feel clean again.

  Common sense warned she had only a narrow window of time to develop a plan. With Colonel Drake already accepting her double, a very narrow window of time. And the plan had better be the best created in her career. Failing was not an option. The costs were higher than any of them even imagined. Bluntly put, they were astronomical.