Dead Ringer Read online

  “I bought that dress. The first and only one I ever selected for you...for Traci. When I saw it on the model in the showroom, it seemed to have been designed for Traci.”

  Mercy stood in the center of the room not knowing how to respond but realized she had pleased him with her selection. He wasn’t the kind of man to gush over a woman’s appearance, and she was glad. She’d never learned to handle compliments gracefully. She looked around the room. “Where are Fergus and Daniel?”

  “Fergus took him to the dining room for dinner to get him out of here for a while.”

  He walked back into his room and returned with a velvet jewelry box. “I brought these along, just in case they would match your dress. They’ve been gathering dust in my luggage for a long time.”

  The case snapped open, revealing a pair of sapphire and diamond earrings and a matching necklace that sparkled like the Paris skyline.

  “I bought these after Daniel’s birth. When you—Traci ran off to Rome. After Rossellini...” He lifted the necklace. Standing before the mirror, she turned and he fastened it around her neck. The jewels felt cool against her skin.

  His hand lingered on her neck for a moment and he caught her glance in the mirror. “They’re perfect with your gown.”

  The telephone rang. Thomas removed his hand and turned to grab the receiver. After a short conversation, he reached for her cloak. “That was the limousine driver from the embassy. He’s downstairs in the garage. We won’t have to run the gauntlet through the photographers.”

  That didn’t stop flashbulbs from popping like fireworks as the limousine exited to the street. The jackals jumped into cars and followed them.

  9

  The American Embassy, Paris, France

  Saturday, May 20

  Inside the embassy gates, the driver dropped them at the entrance.

  The attendant accepted her wrap and checked their names off the invitation list.

  A crowd had already gathered in the ballroom.

  All eyes were on her. The buzz of conversation halted and quiet spread across the room like an oil slick on the sea’s surface.

  Mercy tried to turn back.

  Thomas placed his hand at the small of her back and whispered in her ear. “Hold your head up and smile. They’ll get over the initial shock. Your name has been out of the tabloids for a while.” A low laugh rumbled in his chest. “But it appears they haven’t forgotten your attempt to skinny-dip in their fountain.”

  Remembering the story from the scrapbook clippings, Mercy could feel heat creep up to her hairline. In a voice so low, only he could hear, she whispered. “This must be how Daniel felt when the guards opened the gate to the lion’s den.”

  A tall, distinguished man with a receding hairline broke away from the pack and hurried to meet them, his hand outstretched. “Thomas, glad you’re here.”

  He introduced himself to her as Paul Redford and circled his arm around the elegant redhead who had moved from behind him. “This is my wife, Gale. Mrs. Wallace, your photographs don’t do you justice.”

  Gale gave her a sincere smile and clasped her hand. “What a gorgeous dress. Wherever did you find it?”

  Mercy’s heart left her throat and settled back into her chest. She was going to like this woman. “I truly don’t know. Thomas bought it.”

  Gale smiled at Thomas. “You have excellent taste. Paul would never buy clothes for me.” She laughed and winked at her husband. “And if he did I wouldn’t wear them.”

  A white-coated waiter offered drinks.

  Thomas took two and handed one to Mercy.

  The room atmosphere returned to normal.

  Gale took hold of Mercy’s arm. “Let’s leave these dull men, and I’ll introduce you around. You have a son, don’t you?”

  Mercy let Gale take over. The slightly older woman guided her from group to group, finally stopping to introduce her to the American ambassador and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Simon Belmont.

  Mrs. Belmont was an elegantly plump older woman with a kind face that reminded Mercy of Nanna. “Mrs. Wallace, your wedding photograph on the cover of that magazine was the most beautiful bridal portrait I’ve ever seen.”

  Mercy had never seen the cover, and she searched for the right response. “Thank you, it’s kind of you to remember.”

  A French minister’s wife standing in the group gave her a disapproving glance. “Yes, they do marvelous work with touchups, don’t they?”

  Mercy was at a loss for words.

  Mrs. Belmont gave the minister’s wife a dark look. “I don’t think Mrs. Wallace would need help in that department.” She turned back to Mercy. “I haven’t seen your pictures lately. Have you retired?”

  Searching for an explanation, she settled on a half-truth. “My son has been ill and I’ve stopped working until he is completely recovered.”

  Concern clouded Mrs. Belmont’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Is he doing well?”

  Mercy smiled. “Very well, thank you.”

  They moved back into the crowded room.

  Gale placed her hand on Mercy’s arm. “Do you have to deal with people like Mrs. Moure often?”

  “Mrs. Moure?”

  Gale nodded. “The French lady with Mrs. Belmont.”

  “Actually, this was the first time,” Mercy said truthfully.

  Feeling a bit like a beached dolphin, she had tried to keep Thomas in her line of vision, but he’d vanished up the side staircase with Paul and another man she hadn’t met.

  Her experience with cocktail parties was minimal, but she quickly decided they weren’t something she enjoyed. She followed Gale’s lead, listening to gossip and political rhetoric, smiling, and nodding at the appropriate time.

  Gale leaned in close and whispered. “I’m going to the powder room. Want to come?”

  Mercy shook her head. “I’ll wait for you here.”

  Gale departed, leaving Mercy alone for the first time all evening.

  A familiar prickle at the back of her neck made her turn. A pair of bold, dark eyes stared into hers.

  A man with black hair that curled over his collar stood next to the American ambassador, wearing a black tuxedo. Dazzling white teeth flashed in a dark, handsome face. He nodded at her and raised his glass in a salute. The crooked smile on his face disconcerted her. This man knew Traci. Knew her well.

  A cold shiver ran down her back, and she turned away.

  Ricco Rossellini—the face from the scrapbook.

  She scanned the room again. Neither Gale nor Thomas were anywhere in sight.

  Moments later, a hand gripped her arm and a hot breath whispered in her ear. “I’ve been waiting all evening to catch you alone, cara mia. We need to talk.”

  She tried to pull away, but his hold was too tight. Not wanting to make a scene, she let him propel her across the room and outside into the warm night air.

  As soon as they were alone, she jerked her arm away. “We have nothing to talk about...Mr. Rossellini.”

  He stepped back, his lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “My, aren’t we formal. Ricco, please.” He folded his arms, his gaze raking over her. “This is a new look for you, cara mia. I’m trying to decide whether I like it. Frankly, it seems a little virginal for you.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks as she turned to leave. “As I said, we have nothing to discuss.”

  He grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. “Oh, but we do. Give me the photographs. We can forget our disagreement ever happened and take up where we left off.” His voice became husky. “Remember those nights on the beach in Naples?”

  “I don’t remember anything with you.”

  His hands pinned her arms to her side, pulling her close, his face lowered to hers. “Let’s see if this will refresh your memory.”

  

  As soon as the secure conference room door closed, Thomas pulled out a chair and plopped down. “OK, Paul. What’s this all about?”

  The room was small, but plush, like every
thing else in the embassy. A conference table in the center seated six comfortably. He couldn’t see the windows—covered with heavy brocade drapes, and probably bulletproof and soundproof glass.

  Heim leaned against the wall to his right. Heim Rosen was a huge bear of a man. He had gained weight since their last meeting, but he carried it well. He moved with cat-like grace, never sitting when he could stand.

  Paul pulled out the chair beside Thomas. “You up on what’s happening in Iran?”

  “You mean that they’re pushing forward with their nuclear program and getting ready to start World War III?”

  “Correct,” Heim said. “And we all know who their first target will be.”

  Thomas had always found the Israeli agent trustworthy, to a point. But there was never any question that the defense of Israel was his first priority. Thomas couldn’t fault him for that.

  Paul nodded. “The cell you worked with in Kuwait has a man inside Iran, close to the top. He knows how far along their nuke program is and when they plan to push the button. The problem is getting the information out in time. Our agent is walking a tight wire over an alligator pit. If they get a whiff that he’s a spy, he’s a dead man. And the information dies with him.”

  “So where do I come in?”

  “There’s a meeting of a few members of the oil cartel in Saudi Arabia in a month. Iran is attending the mini-summit. I want you to go into the Magic Kingdom and bring back the launch timeline.”

  “Paul...I would be in the same position as your man inside. I’d have a target painted on my back.”

  The CIA chief held up his hand. “Thomas, your company sold oil equipment to Iran in the past—”

  “Wallace hasn’t sold anything to Iran since 1979, after the religious fanatics seized control. You do remember a little incident called the Iranian hostage crisis? My father refused to sell to that regime or let his people work in a hostile environment. I haven’t changed his policy.”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” Redford said. “There will be a trade show for all the major drilling equipment suppliers in Riyadh during the conference. It would be simple for your company to go in, set up a sales booth, and show them something new.”

  “Wallace has already secured a booth for the event. I hadn’t planned to attend. You don’t think they’ll be suspicious if I suddenly show up as a sales rep? And there’s the other little matter of the U.S. embargo against Iran.”

  Paul shook his head. “I don’t expect you to sell to them. The Russians and the Chinese will do that. I just need you to be there. Our agent knows you by sight. When he sees you, he’ll know you’re not there by accident. He’ll contact you and pass on the information.”

  Thomas couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. “And this is all to take place in front of hundreds of people?”

  Paul waved his hand in a don’t-worry-about-it motion. “We’ll have the details worked out before you leave.” He glared at Thomas. “We do this kind of thing on a routine basis. You should remember that.”

  “How will the information come? Microdot, CD, flash drive, what?”

  Paul’s tone turned hostile. “We don’t know. We can’t contact him. If we could, we wouldn’t need you.”

  Thomas gave him a sideways glance. They’d left that poor devil out there alone for God knows how long. “Pardon me, but I can’t help wondering how you let an agent become isolated, without resources to get information in and out? How do you even know he’s still alive?”

  A flush crept up Paul’s collar to his face. Embarrassed he’d lost contact with an asset? Or angry that Thomas had called him on it? “We know because he always travels with the president’s entourage when he leaves Iran. Our man is always visible in the background when his boss holds a press conference. He makes sure we can see him. Until recently, he had operatives in place to exchange information. But over the last six months, all of them have been murdered. We’ll replace the agents, but that takes time. Time we don’t have.”

  Thomas backed off a little. “So, he won’t know who is coming, or any of the procedures we set up. He’s flying blind.”

  Paul gave a tired nod. “Pretty much.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking. I have a family situation. If anything should happen to me...”

  Heim walked up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “If you don’t get the information, and soon, Thomas, Israel will have to take out Iran’s nukes. We can’t wait for them to strike first with a weapon of mass destruction.” Heim moved back against the wall. “My friend, if Iran starts to launch its nukes, your family situation will be the least of your worries.”

  Thomas hesitated to ask the next question, knowing once he did, he would be committed to take the assignment. “Who’s the contact?”

  Paul wrote a name and held it up long enough for Thomas to read it and then dropped the paper into the shredder mounted under the conference table.

  Aref Ladifpour. A name from his past.

  Aref’s Iranian parents had supported the Shah, and they left Iran when religious insurgents led by the Ayatollah Khomeini overthrew the Shah. Aref was dedicated to taking back his country.

  Thomas didn’t really have a choice.

  Iran posed an imminent threat.

  If he could help prevent the deaths of thousands, he had a moral duty to stand in the breach. They had to stop Iran’s nuclear program before the rogue nation built and armed a bomb. He nodded. “I’m in, but I need another favor.”

  Paul stood and then sat on the conference table’s edge, facing him. “I stuck my neck out pretty far for you already. Heads are rolling in DC these days for using agency resources for non-agency business. What’s the favor?”

  “Find out everything you can about a woman named Mercy Lawrence. She graduated from Texas A&M. She has an apartment in Houston. Secure her apartment and her belongings.” He handed Paul a slip of paper. “Here’s the Social Security number. I need everything. Pictures, birth certificate, everything.”

  Paul took the paper and gave a grudging nod. “When the assignment is completed. Not before.”

  

  Thomas left the two agents and headed downstairs. The task was worse than he imagined. He was not completely convinced Traci or Mercy suffered from amnesia, and if for some reason he failed to come back, she would have control of Daniel and his estate. Fergus and Nanna would protect Daniel, but his mother would have legal control. A nightmare scenario. He’d have to make a new will before he left, naming his father as executor.

  Thomas descended to the embassy ballroom. The party was still in high gear. He stopped at the bottom step, his gaze searching the crowd for his wife.

  No Traci.

  He caught a glimpse of Gale in a cluster of people and headed her way. She stepped back from the group and met him halfway.

  He smiled. “The meeting is over. Your husband will be down shortly. Have you seen Traci?”

  She glanced away, avoiding his gaze, her brow wrinkled. She inclined her head towards the balcony. “She’s outside.”

  No mistaking the look. He’d seen it a thousand times before. Something was up, something unpleasant concerning his wife.

  Fists tight, nails biting into his palms, he strode to the double doors and stepped outside. Moonlight reflected off Traci’s white dress. She stood less than twenty feet away, locked in Ricco Rossellini’s embrace.

  He stood motionless for a moment, wondering if everything she’d told him had been a lie. Was she really Traci, still playing games? A tidal wave of emotions washed over him. Jealousy? Betrayal? Perhaps both. At that moment, it didn’t matter.

  He launched across the veranda. Before he reached the Italian playboy, Traci stomped the sharp heel of her shoe into Ricco’s instep.

  He howled, released her, and clutched his foot, cursing. A dark look came over his face, and he stepped towards Traci, his hand raised.

  “I wouldn’t do that. Not if you want to leave here in one piece.” Thomas barreled towar
ds Ricco, unleashed five years of pent up violence, clenched his right fist, and connected solidly with Ricco’s jaw. The impact sent the man hurling back against the garden wall. He grimaced as pain shot through his hand.

  But Ricco, crumpled on the stone terrace, made the pain worthwhile.

  “Don’t, Thomas.” Traci grasped his arm. “He isn’t worth going to jail for. And with his past involvement with Traci, I would have a hard time convincing the authorities the man made improper advances.”

  Thomas didn’t miss the reference to Traci.

  He took two deep breaths to decompress, flexed his fingers and guided her back towards the ballroom. Strains of a familiar song drifted across the dance floor, halting him just inside the entrance.

  “Do you remember that song?”

  She glanced up at him. “Odd you should ask. It’s one of my favorites. I have it...had it, as a ring tone on my cell phone.”

  He shook his head. “The band played it at our...my wedding.”

  She would probably think he was nuts considering what just happened on the terrace, but he made the suggestion, anyway. ”I think we have time for one dance before we leave, if you’re game.”

  She gave him a wistful smile and nodded. “It would be a shame to waste such beautiful music.”

  He gathered her into his arms, memories of that day seven years ago flooded his mind. How beautiful Traci had looked. A glorious future seemed to stretch before them, a feeling he could face anything the world threw at him with her at his side. He snapped back to the present and whispered into Mercy’s ear. “The tabloids will be filled with speculation tomorrow that we have reconciled.”

  “Were we separated?”

  “I believe that’s the word for it.”

  She leaned in close, the top of her head just under his chin, made to fit. They moved easily to the haunting melody, and he became lost in the moment. The song ended and he returned to reality, reluctant to let her go. “We should leave. I think the party’s winding down.” His gaze swept the ballroom.