No One Lives Twice (A Lexi Carmichael Mystery) Page 32

  I stepped out from the side of the museum. “Basia!”

  She turned quickly and then broke into a run. Before I had taken no more than two steps toward her, she had already collided with me at full force, her arms thrown tight around my neck.

  “Lexi,” she said. “Oh my God. I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life.”

  “You dyed your hair.” As if I didn’t have anything more important to say like “I’m glad you’re alive,” or “We’re in serious trouble.”

  She stepped back, her face pale and drawn. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to get here in time.”

  “Hey, a little faith, please. I work for the NSA, remember?”

  She had lost a lot of weight and the blouse hung from her petite form in a way that kind of scared me. “Did you come alone?”

  “More or less,” I said. “I left Finn Shaughnessy handcuffed to a bed in the hotel. But that’s a story for another time.”

  Her eyes widened and then she noticed the sling. “What happened to your arm?”

  “A three-hundred-pound thug fell on it while trying to kill me.”

  She gasped. “Oh, God, Lexi. I’m so sorry to have dragged you into all of this. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

  “It’s okay. Look, we don’t have a lot of time for chit-chat before things go down.” I glanced at my watch and saw we had about two minutes until the party started. “Is Judyta safe?”

  “Yes, for the time being. What do you mean ‘before things go down’?”

  “You’ll see. You just have to trust me and follow my lead. But whatever you do, absolutely, positively and under no circumstances are you to give away Judyta’s whereabouts until I give you the go-ahead. Got it?”

  Panic started to creep into Basia’s eyes. “Lexi, what’s going on?”

  “A hell of a lot more than Judyta bargained for,” I said, steering Basia toward a bench and motioning for her to sit. “How is she?”

  “Mentally, she’s frightened. Physically, she’s fine. Lexi, Judyta had the baby yesterday.”

  My mouth fell open. “Yesterday?”

  “Yes. She gave birth to a little boy.”

  “Okay,” I said, breathing fast. This changed things. “Was it healthy?”

  “As a horse,” she said, smiling. “He’s a big baby. Judyta named him Tadeusz, or Tadek for short.”

  My heart started to thud uncomfortably. I had no idea how to break the news to her or how to soften the blow. “Basia, look, I don’t know of an easier way to say this to you, so just prepare yourself.”

  “Prepare myself for what?”

  “Tadek is not an ordinary baby.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I held my breath then expelled it with a whoosh. “Judyta gave birth to a clone.”

  Shock melded with complete disbelief on her face. “A what?”

  “A clone. Judyta was implanted with a clone. She was a surrogate for what may be the world’s first successfully born human clone. That’s what this whole mess is about.”

  “But I saw him. He’s just a tiny little baby.”

  “Yeah, that’s the whole idea.” I tried to soften my tone. “Where did she deliver? I mean, you didn’t take her to the hospital, did you?”

  Basia shook her head. “No, we didn’t dare risk it. The family we are staying with knows a midwife. She helped Judyta deliver.”

  “This family—are they friends of Lars Anderson?”

  “Yes.”

  “I knew he was up to his neck in this!” I exclaimed. “Why is he helping you?”

  Basia looked down at her hands. “Lars and I have a history.”

  “A history? Like you dated him?”

  “Sort of.”

  I blew out an impatient breath. “We don’t have time for ambiguity, Basia. Spill.”

  She chewed her lower lip and I had never seen her look so sad or miserable. “Well, remember our first year at Georgetown? The following summer I went to Poland to do some translation work for the Polish military. They were conducting joint exercises with U.S. and Swedish special ops teams and I served as a three-way translator. The captain of the Swedish team was Lars.”

  “And?”

  “I fell for him. Hard. I was nineteen, young and stupid. I knew it wasn’t a good idea to fool around with a participant, but I was nuts about him. We managed to keep our affair a secret, but we were caught.”

  I shrugged. “So what? It’s not like he was your superior or anything. You were two consenting adults after all.”

  “It’s not so simple. Lars and I were so embarrassed, but that’s not the worst part. Lexi, Lars was married.”

  “Oh, crap.”

  “According to Lars, he and his wife were on the verge of breaking up but I swear I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me until after we’d been found out. I felt used and betrayed. Somehow I finished up the translation job.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this? I thought we were best friends.”

  “Because I was ashamed. I was the other woman. I didn’t want you to think badly of me. Lars contacted me during our second year at Georgetown, but I didn’t respond. He divorced his wife, resigned from his special ops unit and moved to the U.S. to start a new life. He’s been calling me periodically over the past several years, but I never responded until all of this stuff with Judyta started happening.”

  “And you responded by signing up for his karate class?” I asked in disbelief.

  “No. We just used that for cover. After everything with Judyta started going down, I needed a safe place for her to go. I immediately thought of Lars. I wanted to get her out of Poland, and Sweden is close. Lars agreed to help, so we’re staying with an old military buddy of his out in the country.”

  “I bet the affair was never made an official military part of Lars’s record,” I murmured thoughtfully. That’s probably why Slash hadn’t made the connection between Lars and Basia.

  On the other hand, Slash had never offered me the information that Lars had once been part of a Swedish special ops team. I was positive he had dug that deep into Lars’s background, although I bet that little tidbit had intrigued, as well as greatly worried, him. I would venture a guess it had also helped Judyta and Basia evade detection for so long. Lars was a pro.

  “Lexi, how can you be so certain Judyta’s baby is a clone?” Basia asked. “Maybe this is all a big mistake.” Yet even as she said the words, I could see the truth of the situation sinking in for her.

  “I wish it were a mistake,” I said, sighing, and then glanced at my watch. Bouker was late. I didn’t see anyone else arriving either, but time was getting tight and I expected things to go down any minute.

  “Look, Basia, I need to know what Judyta wants. Do you think she’d still want to keep the baby after learning about this?”

  Basia gripped my hand and squeezed so hard I winced. “Lexi, Judyta loves that baby. It’s hers now. I can guarantee it won’t matter to her who or even what Tadek is. You have to promise me that you’ll help figure out a way to let her keep him.”

  “Okay. I’m working on it.”

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Well, hopefully I’ve led everyone who has any interest in the whereabouts of Judyta Taszynski to this exact spot. My game plan is to break the whole thing wide open by holding an information auction of sorts.”

  Basia looked at me in surprise. “An information auction? Here?”

  “Yes. Time isn’t on our side, Basia. You have some of the world’s best intelligence agencies looking for you. It won’t be too long before they find Judyta. If we want to settle this on her terms, it’s going to have to be here and now.”

  “Oh, God. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “Actually, I’m having second thoughts, but it’s too late now. The interested parties are scheduled to start arriving any minute.”

  Basia closed her eyes and I thought she was a lot more composed than I would have
been in her situation. “I didn’t even know human cloning was possible,” she murmured.

  “Science has been on the verge for many years. Honestly, it was only a matter of time before it happened. It still doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. And, Basia, I’m sorry, but things could get worse.”

  “Worse? What can possibly be worse than this?”

  “Well, Bright Horizons, the clinic where Judyta was impregnated, almost went bankrupt until someone apparently found a way to provide a decent cash infusion by offering clones to the very rich and very discreet. But someone else also got a whiff of Bright Horizons’ cloning operation and had the brilliant idea to use it for furthering a political cause.”

  Dismay and fascination clouded her expression. “What kind of cause?” she asked almost fearfully.

  “Do you know who Samir Al-Naddi is?”

  “Isn’t he some terrorist nutcase?”

  “Yes. Well, he apparently had his followers assassinate the two bodyguards carrying Al-Asan’s DNA samples for the cloning procedure and then switched it with his own. His followers delivered the sample containing Al-Naddi’s DNA to the clinic, where it was eventually planted into the surrogate mothers.”

  Basia shook her head vigorously, horrified disbelief etched on her face. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You can’t possibly mean to say Judyta just gave birth to a clone of a…a terrorist.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Then who is trying to kill her?”

  “We are.”

  He had moved so quietly that I hadn’t even heard him. I gasped and whirled around on the bench to see Rashid Bouker standing behind me with a small revolver in his hand. I put a hand to my heart to steady the gallop.

  “Jeez, what took you so long?” I asked. “You’re late. Sit down.”

  He blinked in shock. “You’re expecting me?”

  “Yes. You’re the first of many people I’m expecting. So, put the gun away. You won’t need it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just what I said. We’re about to have an interesting little party.”

  His face was incredulous. “You set me up?”

  “You and everyone else. You don’t really think the tip about my rendezvous with Ms. Kowalski here in Sweden at exactly this time was just a stroke of good fortune, do you? I need you here, Bouker. I want to know exactly why you are so anxious to find Judyta Taszynski.”

  “I warned you to stay out of this,” Bouker threatened. “You would have been wise to take my advice, Miss Carmichael.”

  “Who is this?” Basia interrupted, her eyes riveted on the gun in Bouker’s hand.

  “Basia, meet Rashid Bouker, military attaché of the Yemeni Embassy in Washington,” I said.

  “Yemen!” Basia exclaimed. “Wait. Isn’t that Al-Naddi guy from Yemen?”

  “Samir Al-Naddi is scum. His name should not be mentioned in the same sentence as my country,” Bouker growled.

  “Look, we know about Al-Naddi’s DNA switch,” I told Bouker matter-of-factly. “I also know you’re under direct orders from your president to extinguish Al-Naddi in all his forms, including his clones. You’re the one killing the surrogate mothers.”

  Bouker looked at me in astonishment. “You know about the switch?” he said, searching my expression as if he could figure out where I’d discovered that. “How?”

  “Hard work, sweat, blood and tears,” I said, shrugging. “It’s the American way.”

  “You mean your government is the one killing the surrogate mothers?” Basia asked, stabbing her finger at Bouker’s chest, seemingly forgetting that he still held a revolver pointed at us. “Why?”

  Bouker’s eyes narrowed. “Al-Naddi, the scourge of Yemen, is trying to replicate himself. He, in all his forms, must be utterly extinguished.”

  “Those women were innocent, for God’s sake!” Basia said angrily. “Not a single one of them knew they were carrying Al-Naddi’s clone.”

  “It’s unfortunate, but all loose ends that lead to Al-Naddi must be permanently eliminated.”

  “That’s just nuts,” I yelled. “And you’re nuts, too. Haven’t you read any of the scientific literature on cloning? Children are molded not only by DNA, but also by environment, education and upbringing. Be realistic here. No one lives twice. Not even some psycho terrorist.”

  “Do you really care to test that theory with the clone of Al-Naddi?” he asked.

  I didn’t, but I wasn’t going to concede that point just now. “I am confident enough that Judyta Taszynski would not raise another Al-Naddi,” I said, raising my chin.

  “And if Al-Naddi’s followers ever get their hands on the baby?” Bouker asked grimly. “How will his education, upbringing and environment be any different than that of his father?”

  “They won’t find her or the baby,” I said with a conviction I didn’t feel.

  “Yes, they will,” he countered, his voice chillingly cold. “You cannot hide her forever. As long as Judyta Taszynski is alive, they will find that baby.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not going to let you kill her,” I said firmly.

  Bouker stared at me for a long moment and then his voice softened. “I know the executions seem a harsh step, but trust me, in the end we will have saved many, many more lives. Perhaps even American ones. We must balance the good of the whole against the needs of a few.”

  Basia slapped Bouker hard across the face. The crack of her open palm hitting his cheek stunned both Bouker and me because for a moment, we just stared open-mouthed at her.

  “Bastard,” she hissed at him. “Don’t you dare try to justify murder to me.”

  Bouker frowned and for a moment, I thought he might hit her back. Then his eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “Are you dumb, woman? I am holding a gun to your heart.”

  “You won’t shoot me, because I’m the only person who has exactly what you want,” she said hotly.

  Bouker nodded and then turned the gun on me. “True. But I could shoot her.”

  I gulped. “Okay, let’s all calm down. You’re here, Bouker, because I fed you a tip. In minutes, if not seconds, the rest of the players who received similar tips will arrive. Then we’ll all talk. Peacefully.”

  At least, I sincerely hoped so. I glanced at my watch. What the hell was taking Slash, the surveillance team, MI-6, the Swedish authorities and whoever else had decided to crash the party so damn long to show up? I couldn’t have been that good at evading all of them. Or had I? If they didn’t show up soon, I was in real deep kimchee. I had counted on them to protect Basia and me.

  “You’re a fool,” Bouker said to me. “I have no intention of waiting for anyone else to show up. Do you think I came here without a plan of my own?”

  He grabbed Basia by the shoulder, hauling her up from the bench. He slid the gun under his windbreaker and pressed it into her back. “Let’s move,” he said.

  “Now wait just a minute,” I started.

  “Move or I’ll kill you both and take my chances,” Bouker said grimly.

  I came to my feet. “Where are we going?” I asked, trying to stall as he pushed us ahead of him.

  “Just move.”

  My mind raced as we walked around the back of the museum and headed down the sidewalk. I couldn’t figure out what had gone so wrong with the plan. Slash and the surveillance team should have spotted me long ago. In fact, when Bouker appeared, they should have immediately made their move, if for no other reason than to protect me and Basia—their only link to Judyta.

  So, where the hell were they?

  As we moved toward the tram stop, I glanced around. There were very few people walking about now and no one gave us a second glance. Nervously I looked up and noticed a glint coming from the branches of a tree. I frowned, wondering why metal would be in trees, when the answer hit me like a punch in the stomach.

  Slash and the others weren’t still looking for me. Oh, they’d found me all right. They were up in the trees, pro
bably on top of the museum, in fact, likely everywhere, waiting. But waiting for what? Well, whatever it was, I sure hoped they got to it soon because things were going downhill a lot faster than I expected.

  As the three of us approached the street, a white van suddenly pulled up in front of us and screeched to a halt. The side of the van had black-and-red lettering that said Nordiska Museet.

  “Uh, oh,” I said. “I don’t like the looks of this.”

  “Get in,” Bouker said, pushing us forward as the side door slid open.

  I hesitated. “Um, did I mention I get carsick in vans?”

  “Don’t argue with me, Ms. Carmichael. You’re expendable.”

  “Well, if you put it like that,” I said and started to climb in.

  Before I could get in, I heard a loud crack. I flinched on reflex and then understanding dawned. The crack was a single report and I’d been shot.

  I clutched my abdomen, but when my hand came away there was no blood, no nothing. In fact, I couldn’t feel anything, not pain, heat or cold.

  Just then Rashid Bouker staggered forward and fell into my arms, causing me to lurch backwards into the rear fender of the white van, holding onto him as if we were dancing. I smelled the coppery scent of blood and realized it was Bouker, not me, who had been shot.

  Basia had apparently been as stunned as I and started screaming as two armed figures jumped from the van. One was a tall, thin man with a black mustache, and the other a slender, pretty, dark-haired woman. Basia started to run, but the man caught her by the back of her blouse and hauled her into his arms. The grim-faced woman yanked Bouker from my grasp and pushed him to the ground. Then she grabbed me by the fleshy part of my upper arm, trying to pull me into the van.

  I resisted, kicking and shouting at the top of my lungs. In the distance I saw a dark figure run up behind the man holding Basia and tackle him, sending all three crashing to the ground in a tangle of flailing limbs. The gun flew from the tall man’s hand and landed on the ground a few feet away.

  “Elvis!” I shrieked when I saw the black trench coat and realized who was trying to save us. “He has a gun!”

  The woman holding me was temporarily distracted, so I used the moment to shift my weight and smash my elbow into her face as hard as I could. Blood spurted from her nose as I slid my hand out of my sling and grappled for the gun, trying to point it away from me. I managed to force her arm above her head, and she accidentally discharged the weapon. She snarled and tried to bite me, so I slammed her into the van, using my weight as a weapon.