Logan’s eyes widened, as he looked at the janitor. He glanced behind him, then moved into the centre of the aisle, boxing Malik in.
Malik smiled, his black eyes twinkling. “Mizzy Micky, I knew you had not forgotten me, despite what the others say, and I was right.”
He straightened up, putting his garbage bag on the floor. He was a little man, shorter than Sahara, with a small frame to match. He was wearing green overalls that were too big for him. His hair was quite short and very black, in tight little curls all over his head.
His enormous black eyes twinkled with good cheer but that wasn’t what had tipped her off. It was the sharp way he had looked at her. Just for a moment, she had seen the keen intelligence behind the cheer and it had reminded her of the photo of Malik they had asked her to study. In the photo, he had not been smiling and no good-natured twinkle had disguised his brilliance.
“You thought I wouldn’t recognize you as a cleaner, didn’t you?” she said. “These others who spoke ill of me, they said I would not.”
Malik looked pleased. “You must forgive me this little test, no? I admire you immensely but sometimes subtleties are lost in translation—I have heard you are the sort who does not see those who provide services. They are invisible to you.”
“You would never be invisible to me, Malik,” she assured him.
“And now I know this, so all is happy. Besides….” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I will be invisible to many others who might be here. Just like I was invisible to Mr. Wilde a moment ago.”
He looked over his shoulder at Logan, who grimaced. “Yeah, you got me there, Malik. After the song and dance you’ve had us run through today, I should have known better.”
Malik inclined his head. “Thank you. But it was not a song and dance designed to move you as the puppets, you understand?”
“That much I figured out,” Logan assured him. “It was well done. I could not have done better myself.”
Malik picked up his garbage bag. “I cannot linger here,” he said. “It would look odd, for my duty shift has ended and we are all hurrying for our lockers and to leave. I must be on my way. Meet me in the service corridor in three minutes’ time. You will find it—”
“At the back behind the old card catalogue,” Logan finished. “I’m not always slow at my job.”
Malik inclined his head again. “Good. Three minutes.”
He moved back down the aisle and turned right, the opposite direction from which they had come.
Logan turned to Sahara, took her head in his hands and kissed her thoroughly. He leaned his forehead against hers and sighed. “Thank you,” he said, with heartfelt meaning. “You played that perfectly. Just keep it up for another few minutes and it’ll all be over.”
“I can’t wait,” she lied and followed him back down the aisle. In another few minutes, her task here would be over and she would have to go home.
Without Logan.
It was ridiculously easy to slip into the service corridor. Many of the library personnel were also clocking off for the night and there was a quiet fuss at the check-out counter as they said their farewells to those staying on.
Logan shepherded her through the service door and they stepped into another wide, well-lit corridor. This one had dark green linoleum on the floor and light green walls. It was as institutional as any similar building in the States.
Dotted along the corridor were banks of lockers. About fifty feet away, Malik stood at an open one, stripping off his green coveralls. He wore a black tee shirt and shiny basketball shorts beneath, both making him look incredibly young.
As they approached him, he shoved the coveralls inside the locker and leaned against the open door, smiling, with one hand in the pocket of his shorts.
As they got closer, he pulled the hand out and a silver computer USB drive the size of Sahara’s forefinger swung at the end of the cord he was holding.
“This is a good day, isn’t it?” he declared. “A day when everything will be put to rights. The balance will be kept.”
“Your gift will be spread around the world,” Logan assured him. “Everyone will benefit from it.”
“That is all I have ever asked for,” Malik declared, the twinkle in his gaze diminishing. “It was denied me.”
“Not anymore,” Logan said. “We’ll make sure of that.”
Malik smiled at Sahara…and his smile died. He looked at her more closely and then pounded his fist against his forehead. “You…you are not Mizzy Wilde! How could I have been so stupid!”
Sahara looked at Logan, alarmed.
Logan spread his hands. “What on earth are you talking about, Malik?” It was bluff. Pure bluff. It was all they had now.
Sahara’s heart was pounding so fast the beats were melding into one huge painful cluster. “Why would you say that?” she said, keeping her tone cool. Staying as Micky.
But Malik was gently pummelling his forehead. Then he clutched at his hair, staring at her. “I should have known! I should have! Micky would not have recognized me as a cleaner. Never! Never!! All they say about her is true but I wanted so badly to think only good things. Oh, merciful Allah!”
Logan glanced around the corridor. It was still empty except for the three of them. “Malik, for heaven’s sake, pull it together,” he whispered desperately. “You want everyone running here and forcing you to explain this?”
Malik clutched his chest, screwing up the tee shirt in his hand and looked at Sahara. “Why?” he demanded. “Why would you do this to me?”
Bluff wasn’t going to work. She could see in Malik’s face that he knew the truth.
She stepped closer to him and put her hand on his arm. “It wasn’t to fool you, Malik. You have my word on that. The information on that USB drive is so vitally important that they chose this way to obtain it. You refused to deliver the information to anyone other than Micky. So I became Micky. Not to hurt you, Malik but to give you what you wanted. I’m sorry it has upset you.”
“You became Micky?” he said. “For me?”
She hesitated, then settled for the truth. “No, Malik. I didn’t do it for you.”
She heard Logan’s hiss, like a man drawing in a quick, startled breath.
“I didn’t know you then,” she continued. “Ten days ago, I was just a girl who ran a surfing shop on Ocean Beach.” She held out her hand. “My name is Sahara, Malik. I am so very glad I did get the opportunity to meet you, though. Your work will spread out across Europe, across the world. I will be proud to say that I met you once and shook your hand.”
Malik stared at her hand. Sahara could hear that Logan had stopped breathing, waiting for Malik to react.
Still, Malik hesitated.
“You are not western enough to shake a woman’s hand?” she asked softly.
“No, no. I just try to…take it all in,” he said slowly. He reached out for her hand and shook it. “You are not even like Mr. Wilde? A James Bond?”
“Hell, no,” she said quickly. “I ran into Logan a few days ago—literally. His boss saw how much I looked like Micky and asked me to do this as….” She caught his hand with her other one. “Malik, I’m so sorry but Micky is dead. I know you didn’t know that but I feel you deserve the truth.”
“I knew,” he said, dropping her hand. “I knew as soon as I saw you were not Micky.” He looked at Logan. “It did not occur to you to just tell me that and ask me to give you the information anyway?”
“Would you have given it to us?” Logan asked softly. “If Micky had not come to you as you asked?”
Malik dropped his head and lowered his gaze. “No,” he said and sighed. “I wanted so badly to bring her to me. No, I would not have done it. Perhaps you are wisest here, after all.”
“Just experienced, Malik,” Logan said softly. “I know Micky’s power. I know it all too well. I’ve seen too many like you caught in it.”
Malik glanced at Logan and nodded again.
Sahara cleared her throat a little. “Would you give me the notebook, Malik? I will make sure it goes to the right people, just as you want it to.”
Malik turned to her, his eyes narrowing. “Just as I want to?” he said. “You do not want this, then? Why do you do this thing, then, this posturing?”
Sahara mentally winced. The fatal misstep. She had not chosen her words carefully enough.
Knowing she had nothing to lose, she straightened her spine and looked Malik right in the eye. “I did it for Logan,” she said firmly. She heard Logan’s quick intake of breath again but did not look at him. She did not dare look. She didn’t want to see his expression and what it might tell her about the colossal foolishness that had brought her to this moment.
“He told me the truth, you see,” she explained to Malik. “When no one around me would tell me the truth, Logan did. He did it despite the truth being dangerous to him and to his employers. He did it because he cared enough to make sure I knew what I was getting into.” She took another breath and was alarmed to realize she was trembling. “That’s why I’m telling you the truth now, Malik. Because it makes a difference to what you do and why you do it, when you know that.”
He was staring at her, the keen eyes studying and weighing. “You love him? This is why you do this thing? Because you love him and he asked?”
“I didn’t love him when he asked me to do this but I think that’s when I began to love him.”
Logan was utterly silent. She could almost hear his heart thudding. She still didn’t have the courage to look at him. Her legs were already trembling and she wasn’t sure she could even turn without tripping over her own feet.
Malik slowly began to smile. “You are not Mizzy Micky,” he said. “I am glad it is so.” He held out the USB drive to her. “Thank you.”
“Malik, you disappoint me,” came another voice from behind them. Malik’s eyes widened and his hand holding the USB drive lowered to his side.
Sahara and Logan both spun around. A dark-haired woman stood about ten feet away from them, holding an automatic pistol on them. “How could you fall for that sentimental pap?” she railed at the scientist. “I thought more highly of you than that.”
“Micky….” Logan breathed.
Sahara felt the shock like a body blow. It slammed through her and left her windless and incapable of speaking. Even drawing breath took what felt like a month.
Micky Wilde reached up and pulled the black wig away and her blonde hair rained down around her shoulders. She had green eyes just like Sahara’s, yes, but there were small differences that Sahara could catalogue just because she stared at the same face in the mirror every day.
She could see why everyone had thought she was Micky, the first time they met her. With the blonde hair and icy demeanour, it would have added to their confusion. On the surface and at first glance, they were astonishingly alike despite the difference in ages.
Micky smiled at Logan and said in a voice devoid of feeling, “Hello, honey. I’m home.” She glanced at Sahara. “Barely passable.” She sniffed and looked at Malik.
Sahara realized that she had been judged and dismissed in two words and was now beneath contemplation.
Malik was looking from her to Micky and back.
“I’ll take that, thank you,” Micky said, stepping forward and holding her hand out for the USB drive.
“You are dead!” Malik cried, clutching the drive to his chest.
“It’s marvellous what some synthetic blood and a few bullet casings will do, huh?”
Logan stepped between her and Malik. “You let your own child think you were dead? What sort of inhuman monster would let a girl believe her mother was dead?”
Micky’s mouth crimped in a disinterested, bored expression. “With you pandering to her all the time, I’m surprised she even noticed. Get out of the way, Logan. I’m on a schedule here.” She motioned with the gun for him to move and Sahara found her breath catching with each casual wave of the barrel. “Hand it over, Malik.”
But Malik was staring at Logan, his eyes widening in disbelief. He swivelled his head to study Micky. “You…have a daughter? You never spoke of her when we met in Milan. Not once. Have you no pride, no care for your own offspring?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Yes, I have a daughter. She’s ten, she’s spoiled rotten and I’m quite sure she hasn’t missed me for a moment. Is that better?”
“Angel is eleven,” Logan said, his voice dangerously quiet. “Nearly twelve. You’ve missed two of her birthdays.”
Micky dismissed the problem with a wave of her hand. “Malik, darling, you need to give me that memory stick in your hot little hand. Or I really am going to have to use this gun.”
“She’s going to use it anyway, Malik,” Logan said.
Sahara realized that he had moved. He was behind her right shoulder now, almost level with Malik where he stood at his locker.
Micky shot him a sour smile. “You’d know that of course.” She turned back to Malik. “Logan taught me everything I know about guns, you see.”
“She’s a crack shot,” Logan added. “Better than me—especially with a live target, because she has no nerves about pulling the trigger.”
“For once Logan is saying something worthwhile,” Micky told Malik. “I’d listen, if I were you.”
Malik’s face was white and his eyes very big. Clearly he was listening. Sahara felt a touch of pity for him. If he had been so deeply caught up in Micky’s glamour that he would hand the cold fusion plans to her and no one else in the world, then this had to be a hard blow for him. Micky wasn’t pulling a single punch now. The mask had been dropped and her true nature was on at full wattage.
Even Sahara was finding it difficult to believe this was the real Micky and she’d had prior warning—all the hints and innuendos she had received over the last few days, all the strange reactions she had received from people who had known Micky and had faced Sahara instead.
Poor Logan…. How long had they been married before the real Micky had begun to emerge? No wonder he was so protective of his daughter. No wonder he was insisting on having all the bases covered before he bought her back to the States. It wasn’t just his ego he was catering to. He was also protecting her from whatever harm the memory of her mother might impart.
“You are a bad woman,” Malik said. It was a profoundly simple statement, one that told Sahara he had finally shrugged off all influence Micky once had over him. The only way she was going to get that USB drive now was by force.
But Mickey had the gun.
Sahara’s guts clamped tight. She had only faced a gun once before and swore she never wanted to do it again. The second time did not get easier for having been there before.
“She is a bad woman,” Logan agreed, his voice low.
“Oh, don’t be such a hypocrite,” Micky told him, her eyes narrowing. “You think I don’t know you got cozy with this cheap little carbon copy as soon as you could get the bedroom door shut? You, the great mourning widower!”
“If you want a fight, Micky, keep it between you and me. Sahara is way out of your league.”
Micky looked at him more carefully. “Oh, heaven’s above, he has feelings for the clone. How sweet.”
“Cut the crap,” Logan snapped. “You’re not impressing anyone.”
“No, she is not,” Malik agreed softly.
Sahara kept her silence. She was trembling badly but she had no idea if it was fear or rage. Both seemed to be circling through her system, making her feel hot and cold at once.
But Logan’s and Malik’s combined criticism finally broke through Micky’s indifference. She was growing angry. She looked from Sahara to Malik to Logan and began to smile. It wasn’t a happy expression at all.
“You’re really in a bind, now, aren’t you, Logan?” she crooned. “Because I know you don’t have a gun or that precious switchblade on you. I read Malik’s instructions too and you wouldn’t have been able to bring anything through the security at the Plaza. So here you stand, with two people to protect and I have the gun.” She pointed toward Malik, who shrank backward. “So… Do I take out the soon-to-be-famous scientist, before he gets to play midwife to the birth of his brilliant creation?”
She swung the gun to point at Sahara and Sahara took another choked breath.
“Or do I take out the wimpy clone?” Micky asked.
Sahara twisted enough to look at Logan over her shoulder. He was staring at Micky and she could see the sheen of sweat at his temple and in the hollow at the base of his neck. But he didn’t look afraid, or even angry.
She knew he was thinking fast, trying to outmanoeuvre Micky. Sahara recognized that there was nothing she could do right now. If she tried to run, Micky would gun her down. She certainly couldn’t attack the woman, for Micky was standing a prudent ten feet away. If she was the crack shot Logan said she was, she’d shoot Sahara three times over before Sahara could reach her. But Sahara considered doing it anyway. It might give Logan the time he needed to do something himself.
But the only thing he could do would be to run and take Malik with him. Micky barred the way to the door, which meant they’d have to run down the corridor the other way—and the nearest corner looked to be miles away. They’d never reach it in time to avoid Micky’s next shot.
Her heart thudding sickly, Sahara acknowledged that she had to leave this up to Logan.
Micky gave a shrill peel of laughter. “You can’t do it, can you?” she crooned. “I can see it in your eyes. You can’t protect them both. You know I’m too fast.” She moved the gun back and forth, from Malik to Sahara. “Oooooh, so which one will it be?”
“Logan, I was wrong,” Sahara said, keeping her voice low so the shaking was disguised. “Micky isn’t a bad person. She’s an all-out lunatic.”
The gun turned to point at her.
“Shut up, Sahara,” Logan ground out.
“She left you, traded in her loyalty for her country and let her daughter think she was dead so she could play footsies with one of the worst fanatics this world has ever seen.”
“Don’t do this,” Logan growled.
“Fanatical, he may be,” Micky told her. “But he has power. Real power. Logan, for all his posturing, is a castrated wimp at the beck and call of his masters.”
“What and you’re not at Zaram’s beck and call?” Sahara shot back. She poured as much derision into her words as possible. “You’re so full of shit, Micky.”
That did it. Sahara could see it in Micky’s eyes. The slight narrowing, the glittering intensity in the green. The gun swung toward her. Fast.
And the world slowed down.
It wasn’t like slow motion on television. It wasn’t like everyone began to move at a crawl. It wasn’t that at all. It was more that Sahara was able to move faster than all of them and take time to think out her actions in between.
She knew Micky was going to shoot her. The knowledge was as ingrained as her name. Sahara had goaded her into it deliberately, knowing that Logan needed to be able to predict which of them Micky would choose to shoot first.
As the gun swung around to line up on her, Sahara saw Logan also swivel around to face her. His arm was held out wide and she was scooped up and held against his chest. His back was to Micky.
The gun roared. Once. Logan shuddered against her but he was still turning, bringing her across the corridor, sweeping her into the bank of lockers.
The gun fired again and again Logan jerked, this time a muffled grunt pushing past his lips.
Sahara’s shoulder slammed against the metal door of the locker next to Malik’s. Logan elbowed Malik’s locker door fully open with his right elbow, reaching around the little man, who was frozen with shock in front of his locker.
The gun fired again and this time the bullet thudded into the locker door, right in front of Malik’s chest. There was a soft, muffled impact and the inside of the locker door punched inward by a good two inches. But it stopped the bullet.
Logan was still moving. His right elbow was holding the locker door open fully. With his right hand, he reached into the top shelf of the locker and emerged with a heavy revolver. Sahara saw his thumb cock it, as he fell back toward the floor.
But it was a planned fall, to bring him out behind the locker door at an unexpected angle. As his rear hit the linoleum, he brought his gun arm up and around the locker door, aiming at Micky.
He fired.
There was a soft cough and a squeak of the linoleum. Then Sahara saw Micky fall to the floor, thrown backward by the impact of the bullet.
Sahara’s heart was screaming and her temples began to pound. She watched to see if Micky was going to get up again. So did Logan, still sitting with his arm flung out from his side, the gun aimed at her.
Time jumped back into its normal speed then and Sahara found herself sliding down the face of the locker, all the strength gone from her legs.
“Is she dead?” she breathed.
“Yes,” Logan said. His voice was ragged and weak. As she watched, the gun wavered and he dropped it to the linoleum. “Sahara….” he whispered.
She scrambled to his side, already knowing what she would see. “No, no, Logan…. God, you took those shots deliberately, didn’t you?” She tried to help him stay seated but he was a dead weight in her arms and she had to lower him to the floor.
“Back. Side. Get pressure on it,” he said weakly. “Turn me over.”
Sahara bit her lip and looked up at Malik. “Quickly, help me. He’s too heavy for me and I need more hands.”
Malik was staring at them, still frozen.
“Malik!” she snapped.
He blinked.
“Get down here. Now. I need your help. Snap to it!”
He sank down on his knees and helped her roll Logan onto his side. Under the arm, the shirt was soaked in blood. She nearly wept at the sight of it but held it together. Logan needed her.
She pointed at Malik. “Your coveralls. Your tee shirt. Give them to me.”
He reached back for the heavy green coveralls and pulled them out of the locker. She saw his gaze move over the volcano shaped protrusion in the inside of the door, then he thrust the coveralls at her.
“On his back there,” she said. “Push it up against the wound. You know how to do that?”
“Yes, yes,” he said slowly. “This I know.”
“First, your tee shirt. Hurry.”
He stripped off his tee shirt and handed it to her, then went back to wadding his coveralls and pushing them up against the wound on Logan’s back.
Sahara did the same with his tee shirt, over the side wound. There was so much blood! She tried to hold back the panic rising in her and looked down at Logan’s face.
His eyes were still open but glazed and sleepy.
“You stay awake, you hear?” she warned him. “Just hang in there. The shots will bring people running.” She glanced at Malik. “When they come, you’ll have to translate for me, okay?”
He nodded. He was more alert now, his shock fading.
Logan spoke in a rough whisper. “Sahara, you have to see Angel. Tell her—”
“Just shut up right there, Logan. This is not the end, you hear me? Just shut up and save your energy for hanging in there.”
“She has to know….”
“The truth?” Sahara said softly.
“Yes.”
“I agree,” Sahara said. “But you’re going to tell her yourself. Do not mess with me, Logan, you hear? I’m done being a carbon copy for anyone. I won’t take any more crap. You just shut up and concentrate on staying awake. Hear me?”
His answer was a long time coming. “You made her shoot you.”
“Shoot at me,” Sahara amended. “You had to know which way she was going to jump. I made sure she jumped at me, so you would be able to figure out what to do about it.”
He coughed and drew a noisy breath, then another. “She was always going to shoot you first.”
Sahara knew that talking was keeping him with her, so she answered him. “How on earth do you know that?”
“Micky…hated other women. Competition, see? Malik was just a stupid egg-head to her. She saw I…cared about you. Even before you opened your mouth, you were going to be first. I just had to figure out what to do about it.”
Tears were blurring her vision and Sahara blinked them out of the way, then dashed them from her eyes with the back of her hand, in an irritable movement. “So you just go and take two bloody bullets for me,” she husked. “I don’t know whether to shake you or kiss you, Logan Wilde.”
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, then excited calls in Spanish. The footfalls quickened to running.
“They’re here,” she murmured to Logan. She looked up at Malik. “Thanks for your help.”
He shook his head. “It has been most instructional,” he murmured.
“When they get here, you’re just the janitor. You know nothing. You just stopped to help me, okay?”
“Okay.”
Logan gave a little whispered moan and she looked down at his face again. His eyes were closing.
“No, Logan! Stay here!” she called.
He was fighting to keep them open but his eyes were rolling in a way that alarmed her. She felt hands on her arms and her back, trying to pluck her away from him and shoved them away. Hard.
“Logan, do you hear me?” she called. The hands were on her waist, they were going to lift her away. Malik was babbling in Spanish.
“Logan!” she cried.
His blue eyes opened enough to look at her and she knew he was fighting a hero’s fight to stay with her. The tears were rolling down her face and she let them fall. Nothing mattered right now but the next few seconds with him.” Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Please, Logan. Don’t leave me.”
He tried speaking twice, then took a breath that gurgled in a way that let loose the fear inside her, to crawl through her body. “Not me,” he whispered back.
His eyes rolled back and closed and a tiny rivulet of blood escaped the corner of his mouth.
Horrified, she reached for him but this time the hands and arms had their way. She was physically plucked away from him and carried down the corridor. She struggled. It was the hardest struggle of her life. She remembered screaming at people, wishing that volume would make up for her lack of Spanish. But there was a sharp sting in her arm and a cold wave that rushed from her arm, up through her body, to her head.
She remembered no more.