No One Lives Twice (A Lexi Carmichael Mystery) Page 22

  The minute I got to my apartment, the phone rang. Stepping into the kitchen, I picked it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, sis, it’s Rock. I’ve got some of that info you requested.”

  “Great. Where are you?”

  “At home. Why?”

  “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll call you right back.”

  “Well, make it quick. I’m on my way out.”

  Maybe it was paranoia or maybe I just didn’t want the government to know everything damn thing I was doing, but I reached for the cell phone Finn had given me, intending to use it instead. To my shock it started to ring just as I grabbed it, and I dropped it like a hot potato. I didn’t have time to talk to Finn at this exact moment, so I left it on my couch where it kept ringing. Dashing next door, I rang Jan’s bell and prayed she was home.

  After a moment, the door flew open and Jan Walton’s seven-year-old son, Jamie, stood there staring at me without saying anything.

  “Hi, Jamie,” I said. “Is your mom home?”

  He looked at me, blinking rapidly, and then said, “Did you know the red spot on Jupiter is really a raging, burning storm?”

  “Yep. I knew that.”

  Just then Jan came to the door, looking relieved to see me there. “Sorry, I was in the bathroom. Jamie, you know you’re not supposed to open the door without me.”

  “Did you know that Jupiter is four hundred eighty-three and a half million miles from the sun,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her. “If you traveled at one hundred miles per hour, twenty-four hours a day, it would take five hundred and fifty-two years to reach the sun.”

  It took me several seconds to calculate that in my head, and damned if he wasn’t right. “Amazing,” I said. “How about Saturn?”

  “Eight hundred and eighty-seven million miles from the sun,” he answered promptly. “If you traveled at one hundred miles per hour, twenty-four hours a day, it would take you one thousand and twelve years to reach the sun.”

  “I love this kid,” I said.

  “It’s mutual,” she said and then patted Jamie affectionately on the shoulder. “All right, buster. Go play on the computer.”

  Jamie darted away without a word and Jan ushered me inside. “Glad to see you, Lexi. I was beginning to think you had fallen off the face of the earth. What’s up?”

  “This is going to sound like a strange request, but can I use your phone?”

  “What’s wrong with yours?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “It’s kind of urgent.”

  “Of course,” she said, looking puzzled. “You can use the one in the kitchen.”

  I went into the kitchen, sat down at the table and dialed Rock’s number. He answered on the first ring.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on?” he demanded.

  “Not right now. What do you have for me?”

  “You were right about Bright Horizons almost going bankrupt a year ago. But they miraculously turned it around.”

  “How miraculous are we talking?”

  “Forty million dollars worth.”

  I whistled. “Wow, some miracle.”

  “It smells fishy to me,” said Rock. He has a pretty damn good nose for fish.

  “My thoughts exactly,” I said.

  “Anyway, I emailed you a couple of articles from some business publications with a bit of background info on the company and press about the company’s rejuvenation. You might find it useful. Check it out when you get a chance.”

  “Thanks, I will,” I replied. “Any idea where the dough came from? I mean, is the infertility business really that profitable?”

  “Profitable, yeah, but not to the tune of forty million. I think you may be on to something, Lexi.”

  If he only knew.

  I suddenly had a thought. “Hey, Rock, does the word Acheron mean anything to you?”

  He paused for a moment, thinking. “No. Should it?”

  “If I were to tell you it might be connected to Greek mythology, would that ring any bells?”

  “No. What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m not sure. I think the word or a certain meaning of Acheron might have some connection in all of this.”

  I could hear the scratch of his pencil as he wrote it down. “Just what have you got yourself into?”

  “Well, that’s the thousand dollar question these days,” I said as lightly as I could manage. “Look, Rock, Acheron is supposedly a mythical river in the Underworld. Do me a favor and see what else you can come up with.”

  I could tell he had more questions to ask, but he knew me well enough to know I wasn’t going to answer them. “Okay, I’m on it,” he said. I knew if anyone could dig up something useful, it would be him.

  I hung up and Jan walked into the kitchen, looking at me in concern. “Are you all right, Lexi?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Is this a matter of national security or something?”

  “Something,” I said honestly. I had never officially confirmed it, but Jan pretty much knew I worked at the NSA like half of the population in Jessup. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure that out.

  “Is that why you can’t use your phone? It’s being tapped?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “Look, I don’t want to say anything more so that if you’re asked, you can honestly say you don’t know diddly squat.”

  “I don’t know diddly squat,” she said in exasperation.

  “Good. That worked for Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton and it should work for you. Keep up the good work. I promise you the full story later.”

  I left her apartment and returned to mine. The cell phone Finn had given me was ringing nonstop where I had left it on the couch.

  I picked it up and pushed the talk button. “Hello?”

  “Where in the hell have you been?” Slash yelled.

  My brain froze for a minute in confusion. “Hey, how did you get this number? I just got the phone about an hour ago from Finn.” This was really starting to get annoying.

  “Need you really ask, cara?”

  “Jeez, is nothing sacred in America any more?”

  “Not when it potentially involves terrorism.”

  I sighed. “Why are you calling?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “So, talk.”

  “Come downstairs.”

  “What?”

  “Look out your window,” he said.

  I went to the balcony and looked out. Slash sat there in his big black SUV, waving at me out the open window.

  “I have no life,” I muttered and hung up the cell phone, tossing it back on the couch.

  I climbed down the stairs and out to the parking lot. Slash stood leaning against the car, crossing his arms against his chest. He wore jeans, a white muscle shirt and the darkest pair of mirror shades I’d ever seen. Remembering what Elvis had told me about Slash and his supposed connection to Vatican intelligence, I peered closer and saw the tiny gold cross tucked beneath his shirt. It made sense in this context, but could it really be true? A guy as sexy and dangerous as Slash seemed more destined to be on the dark side of things. Then again, when had I ever accurately read people?

  “So, what’s up?” I asked.

  “We’ve got a big problem,” he said grimly.

  “Jeez, how much bigger can this problem possibly get?”

  “Come,” he ordered, leading me to a nearby tree that provided some welcome shade. He sat down on the grass, crossing his legs in a yoga-like position. I sat down beside him, with my legs straight out, knobby knees and all. They were still sore from all the pretzel sits I had done in karate and there was no way I was crossing them again.

  “So?” I prompted after a few minutes had gone by and he hadn’t said anything. He sat as still as a statue, calm and serene, almost like he was meditating. Since I couldn’t see his eyes behind those shades, I had no idea if he was even awake or cared that I sat there.

  “Dead,”
he finally said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Six of the girls impregnated by Al-Asan have turned up dead. Murdered.”

  “Murdered?” I repeated in shock. “Oh, my God. How were they murdered?”

  “Executed. One shot to the back of the skull each. No clues left. They were professional hits.”

  I felt sick. “The babies?”

  Slash shook his head.

  My stomach heaved and I swallowed hard. “What about Judyta?” I asked, my voice shaky. “Did you find her…too?”

  “No. But I don’t have to emphasize that she’s in grave peril.”

  “But why would someone kill them?”

  Slash pushed his fingers through his dark hair. His voice sounded tired and his cheeks sported a five o’clock shadow. “I don’t know. But we have what could be a lead on the assassinations of Al-Asan’s bodyguards in Italy.”

  “What kind of lead?”

  “I reviewed the crime report this morning, including an interview with Al-Asan. According to the report, at approximately ten o’clock in the morning on December 17, Al-Asan’s two bodyguards left the Hotel Mediterraneé en route for the Bright Horizons clinic. Al-Asan told investigators he was in Italy to undergo a medical procedure, but not surprisingly, didn’t offer any more information. Apparently the weather was particularly bad. It was snowing hard and the visibility was poor. According to two employees at Bright Horizons, the bodyguards arrived at approximately ten-fifty, dropped off the briefcase and left the clinic. They were in the building for less than five minutes.”

  “How far is the clinic from the hotel?”

  “About ten minutes.”

  “Even in poor weather?”

  “In poor weather it would be no more than half an hour at the most, cara.”

  “So what were they doing for that extra thirty minutes?”

  “This is what we need to find out,” Slash said.

  “Where were the bodies found?”

  “According to the report, the bodies were discovered at approximately eleven-fifteen in an alley five minutes from the hotel, lying in their rental car.”

  “No one heard any shots or saw anything?”

  “No. It apparently occurred in a blind alley, meaning no windows or doors open onto it.”

  “Isn’t that convenient?”

  “Si, and I believe it is no coincidence. The back of the rental car had been damaged. It looked like they had got hit from behind.”

  “A good reason to pull over,” I mused. “Especially if the weather was bad. Accidents happen, right?”

  Slash nodded. “One man was shot while he was in the car and the other while he was out of the car. Multiple shots on both of them. The Italian medical examiner wrote, however, that he was certain both men had been moved from their locations once they had been shot, but then later returned to the exact location where they were killed. Similar fibers found on both bodies indicate that the bodies were stacked somewhere together—most likely in a truck or a van.”

  I looked at Slash in disbelief. “How weird is that?”

  “Very.”

  “But why hide the bodies and then return them to the spot of the crime?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “What about time of death?” I asked. “How sure is the examiner of that?”

  “Certain within an hour or two.”

  “That’s not particularly helpful. What was Al-Asan’s official reaction to the murders?”

  “Shock, naturally. He said he had no idea who could have committed such an atrocity. Italian officials are leaning toward a robbery gone bad.”

  “Robbery?”

  “Both of the men’s wallets and watches were gone. The polizia traced the identities of the men via the rental car, which led them to Al-Asan. But this was no robbery.”

  “I agree. But then what was it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We were quiet for a moment, and I started to find the hot, humid air stifling. Then Slash turned his head toward me. “Did you give Shaughnessy the disk?”

  I nodded. “I did it this morning. He said he’d take the disk to work today and do it. I already told the twins.” It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him about his possible connection to the Vatican, but I didn’t know how it mattered at this point. So I decided to keep it to myself until I had time to think about it more.

  Slash stood and held out a hand to pull me to my feet. “Eccellente. If Shaughnessy has done his part, I’ve got work to do. I want you to stay at your apartment where I can reach you at a moment’s notice.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t like what’s happening,” he replied with a frown. “Women are showing up dead and someone took a shot at you last night. I want you to be safe, Lexi.”

  Without thinking, I looked over my shoulder. I saw my neighbor, Mrs. Wolansky, walking her dog in a big open area across from my apartment. Somehow the familiar sight calmed me.

  “I’ll be okay,” I said, but my voice shook a little bit. “After all, the FBI is watching me, right?”

  Slash smiled and touched my cheek. Without a word, he turned and walked back to his SUV. As he drove away I watched until I couldn’t see the black speck anymore and then returned to my apartment. There was no way I was sitting around doing nothing, so I picked up my purse and cell phone before heading back out to my car. It took me just under five minutes to reach the twins’ house.

  I rang the bell and Elvis answered. He practically dragged me inside.

  “Shaughnessy did it,” Elvis said, pulling me into the command room and over behind Xavier who sat peering at a monitor. “He planted the program. Check it out, we’re in CGM.”

  I peered over Xavier’s shoulder, not certain what I was looking for. “Did you find anything interesting?”

  “What do you think?” Xavier said, a smile in his voice.

  “Just tell me you found a file called Acheron,” I breathed.

  “Bingo,” Xavier said happily, twirling around in his swivel chair.

  “Is it encrypted?” I asked.

  “Hell, yes. But give us an hour or two and this baby is ours.”

  Elvis sat down next to his brother and they started talking in that language only they understood. Bored, I wandered into the kitchen to help myself to something to drink. I had just grabbed a Coke when the cell phone in my pocket began to ring.

  I pulled it out and flipped it open. “Hello?” I said. There was a lot of static and I could barely hear anything. “Finn?” I asked. “Slash? Anyone?”

  The crackle continued and then my heart stopped when I heard a voice say, “Lexi, are you there? It’s me. Basia.”

  Chapter 11

  I was so shocked I dropped the unopened can of Coke. It fell to the floor with a clatter and then rolled across the linoleum, stopping against the base of the kitchen island.

  “Basia?” I shouted into the receiver. “Where in the hell are you?”

  “Lexi, thank God, it’s you. I’m safe for now.”

  “Do you have any idea of the trouble you’re in?”

  “Yes, and I’m scared.”

  I knew exactly what she meant because my own heart was racing. “Is Judyta with you?”

  “How do you know about Judyta?” she asked and then laughed hoarsely. “Oh yeah, you’re with the NSA. Right.”

  “Basia, listen to me carefully,” I said. “We don’t have time for a lot of small talk. I’m pretty much up to speed on what is going on. I got the documents and I’ve figured out that Judyta is your cousin and she’s acting as a surrogate mother for a Saudi prince named Mahir Al-Asan. But how in the world did you connect the translation you were working on for Finn Shaughnessy at CGM to Judyta?”

  She blew out a deep breath. “Rather simple, really. Judyta sent me an exact copy of the contract I was working on. She wanted me to check it out to make sure the translation was on the up and up. In her letter, she told me she had signed up to be a surrogate mother for a Saudi pr
ince to earn extra cash so she could study abroad. But she became suspicious when CGM refused to give her a copy of the contract for her own records. So she stole it from her files during a check-up when the nurse left it in the room for a moment.”

  “They had a copy of the contract in her medical files?”

  “That and more. Judyta told me there was also a document that kept referring to her as part of Project Acheron. It sounded really weird and scared her to death. She didn’t dare steal that document, too, so she just wrote to ask me if I could find anything unusual about the contract and whether or not Project Acheron rang any bells.”

  “So, that’s why you penciled the word Acheron in code at the bottom of page three.”

  “I knew you’d figure it out! Do you know what Acheron is?”

  “Not yet, but I’m working on it,” I said grimly. “And I’ve got the twins helping me. Is there anything else of interest I should know about Judyta’s contract?”

  “Not that I can think of. I looked it over carefully. Other than naming the clients, Judyta and Al-Asan, it was word for word like the one Finn had asked me to translate. Do you remember Greg Santiago?”

  “Vaguely. Wasn’t he at Georgetown?”

  “Lived one floor down from us in the dorm. He went on to law school at Yale and returned to D.C. to practice. He looked over my translation of the contract and said he thought it was worded very oddly. He’s not an expert on surrogate pregnancy, but he thought the language was definitely irregular and considered it very suspicious that they wouldn’t provide Judyta with her own copy.”

  “A nineteen-year-old girl,” I murmured. “They thought they could manipulate her easily.”

  “Then the accident happened.”

  I looked up sharply. “What accident?”

  “Judyta was driving in the outskirts of Warsaw when she was run off the road. She came within inches of plunging down a sharp incline and into a lake when a car she thought wanted to pass smashed into the side of her. She managed to spin the car around and stop with only one tire hanging off the incline. As she spun, she saw the car race by. It was a dark sedan with two men inside. She was really shaken.”