Sam wore dark blue notch-tab capri pants and a white scoop neck sweater. She’d left her shoulder-length, white-blond hair loose, and dark sunglasses hid her ice-blue eyes even though it was dark outside. According to the tourist pamphlets, the area was rife with pickpockets and purse-snatchers. At five feet three inches tall and slender, she knew she’d be a target for predators. As a safeguard, she carried her ID, passport and cash in a pocket. She felt naked without a weapon.
And she was nervous.
You have every right to be nervous, she told herself. You’re meeting your sister in person for the fourth time in your whole life.
For all of her childhood that she could remember, Sam had been an orphan raised in foster homes. She’d learned to be quiet and self-contained. She wasn’t used to family. Most of the foster homes she’d been in preferred not to see their charges. She’d learned to spend incredible amounts of time surfing the Internet.
Ultimately, it had been her interest in computers that had saved her, though her salvation had taken a strange route. When she’d been nine years old, she’d hacked into a sensitive government site, not really knowing what she was getting into, just plugging away at a barrier that had stymied her young mind. Her success had triggered an armed invasion by federal forces.
But a judge’s decision and government intervention had brought her to the attention of the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women. The seventh-through-twelfth-grade school was a special academy set up for the smartest, most promising young women to learn and explore their every potential.
While there, Sam had come to know the only family she’d ever felt part of. The Cassandras. Her orientation group had all been assigned at random, but their senior student leader, Lorraine “Rainy” Miller, had united them into a group of best friends. Even graduation hadn’t ended that relationship.
Rainy’s recent murder and the fallout from their investigation and eventual exposure of the killers had only drawn the Cassandras closer. Sam hadn’t needed anything outside that world.
Until she’d found out about Elle Petrenko.
Last year, Sam had been detained by the CIA and accused of being responsible for a double-cross in Berzhaan that had triggered a lot of adverse publicity for the United States. No one expected Sam to have an evil twin.
But Elle Petrenko was her twin, separated from Sam when they were barely toddlers when their parents, who had been Russian double agents for the British intelligence agency MI-6, were murdered. The events around those deaths and how Sam eventually was abandoned in America still hadn’t been explained.
Thankfully, Elle hadn’t been an evil twin. She’d merely been a Russian agent performing her own mission in Berzhaan. Neither Sam nor Elle had known the other existed, but once they’d met, each of them had felt as if a missing piece had been restored to them. Though their lives were worlds apart and filled with covert responsibilities, they made an effort to stay in touch by phone and e-mail and meet when they could.
So, for the fourth meeting, Sam thought glumly, it’s all, “Come to see me in Amsterdam and try not to die.” What kind of sister am I? She sighed, because she truly didn’t know the answer to that question at present.
She had mixed emotions. On one hand, she wanted to see Elle and they’d already made arrangements to be together this week, which had been hard to plan to begin with. Giving up the time wasn’t something Sam was willing to do. But neither was turning away from a request Allison and Alex had tendered, knowing full well Sam was planning on seeing Elle.
On the other hand, Sam knew how valuable Elle would be in Amsterdam, a place Sam had never been. Being a good agent was all about having resources in place in the field. So what are you? she asked herself. A sister, an agent or a rat?
“Hi.”
Startled, Sam turned to look at the speaker. He’d come up behind her quietly.
The man was tall, at least six foot three, with broad shoulders and lean hips. His shaved head gave him a look of menace, and a reddish soul patch made a point on his lower lip. Gray-green hazel eyes, like those of a big jungle cat, surveyed her impassively and held deep melancholy. The black biker leathers and heavy-metal concert T-shirt didn’t give much away. He could have been a dockworker or a Goth.
“Are you American?” The man spoke English flawlessly.
Because she felt contrary and because she didn’t want to let anyone know her business, Sam answered in French. “I don’t speak English. Do you speak French?” Languages and computers were her specialty at the CIA.
He switched to German, which she also understood. “No French. I speak German.”
Sam decided to cut the guy a break. He might even know more languages. She spoke in German. “Your German is very good.”
“I’m told my English is really good, too,” he said.
“I wouldn’t know,” Sam replied.
The man shrugged. “I’m amazed.”
Sam arched an eyebrow.
“You’re so gifted linguistically.”
“What makes you think that?”
Again the shrug, just a slight lift of the broad, leather-covered shoulders. “You speak French. You speak German.” He reached out slowly, without threat, and touched the pamphlet in her hand. “And you read English. Quite an accomplishment.”
Glancing down, Sam saw that she was indeed holding an English language pamphlet. “Busted.” She smiled, but she was wary at the same time. The man was very observant.
“I came over because you look like a tourist. This is a dangerous place for tourists.”
“You just volunteer to wait with strangers in the train station?”
He gave a slight nod. “It’s a hobby.”
“Maybe,” Sam said sweetly, “you should seek counseling.”
Perhaps he had a comeback for that, but Sam didn’t find out. At that moment the warning Klaxons went off, filling the station with noise and vibration. The crowd moved around her, getting ready for the train’s arrival.
In that moment, Sam got a clue as to what the man’s real interest was. Two men dressed in casual streetwear moved toward the platform. They had short, military-style haircuts and wore light jackets. An air of danger clung to both of them.
The big man, dressed in black, moved with them, shifting so that they stayed in his view.
The two men kept their distance.
Sam looked at the man in black. Are you hunting them? Or avoiding them? The situation intrigued her.
The train stopped with a grinding screech of brakes. Seconds later, the doors opened and the passengers began to debark in a press of moving bodies.
Sam stood on tiptoe to peer through the crowd.
Elle Petrenko stepped out from a middle car. She was carrying a baby and chatting amiably with a woman only a little older than her, who was carrying another toddler.
A baby? Sam was shocked. Elle hadn’t said anything about a baby. But then, there was a lot Sam didn’t know about her twin. Elle seemed outgoing and friendly, always willing to share her life, but Sam didn’t do that because of her upbringing. Naturally she assumed others held back things they didn’t want known as well. But a baby?
Three