Deadeye (23 page)

Omo was able to alter his appearance by turning his back to Lee and trading his cowboy hat and mask for a privacy hood. That, too, was an accepted piece of apparel inside the red zone and unlikely to attract attention. “What about our weapons?” Lee wanted to know, as they reentered the car. “What if they scan us?”

The deputy laughed. “You must be joking. Everyone in the Republic of Texas has the right to carry a gun anywhere they want to. It's in our constitution.”

Omo directed Lee onto West Congress Street. It led to Nickels Peak Road. They passed below a fancy-looking arch shortly thereafter and followed the signs into a large parking lot. It was early in the day, so there were lots of empty slots. Lee took one, got out, and locked the car. Shuttles were available, but they chose to walk. It didn't take long for Lee to realize that the burqa was too long. But, by holding on to the side seams, she could lift it up off the pavement.

Dozens of palm trees had been brought in and planted all around to give the impression of a desert oasis—and the mall was designed to resemble someone's fantasy of what a North African city might look like. The jumble of buildings included domed buildings, minaret-like spires, and boxy structures with arched windows. All of which bore Mediterranean colors. The goal was to transport customers out of their humdrum lives and into a state of mind where they would be willing to risk their hard-earned money.

But the police officers didn't see the
real
pièce de résistance until they passed through the so-called western gate and entered a large open area within. When they looked up, the pair could see the point where water shot out of the hillside, splashed into what appeared to be an ancient aqueduct, and was then delivered to the lake via a spectacular waterfall. That created a mist that drifted out to cool the mall's shoppers. Or so it seemed.

A more careful inspection revealed that most of the water vapor was being produced by misters concealed in the old-fashioned light poles that circled the lake and were used to support hanging plants. It was a clever way to not only add some ambience but combat the steadily rising temperature.

Logically enough, the mall had been built so that most of the stores enjoyed water views. That meant shoppers could walk an endless loop that would carry them past shop after shop until fatigue forced them into a restaurant, or they ran out of money.

It was important to appear normal, so the couple wandered in and out of stores, fingered merchandise, and conversed in low tones. “The whole place is lousy with cameras,” Omo said, as they strolled down an aisle of women's clothing.

“And the merchandise sucks,” Lee observed. “Most of these dresses are knockoffs of items manufactured in Pacifica. I have this top at home.”

“Try to focus,” Omo said. “We have a tail now . . . A woman wearing a flowered dress.”

“Oh,
her
,” Lee said dismissively. “My guess is that she works for the store rather than Nickels.” And that theory proved to be correct because the woman stayed behind once they left the store.

More people were arriving all the time. That made Lee feel less exposed as they circled the lake and arrived in front of a second gate. This one promised to provide access to the “Medina,” or oldest part of the imaginary city. And there, according to the signs, they would find the Palms Hotel and the Happy Nickels Casino. Both of which were bound to be of considerable importance to Mr. Nickels and his co-CFOs.

So they passed through the gate, followed a winding path past all sorts of small shops, and were delivered into the hotel's enormous lobby. Or were they in the casino? The two businesses were so intertwined, it was difficult to tell where one started and the other left off. Both were housed under a series of interlocking domes. And as Lee looked up, she could see the sort of intricate geometric designs that she associated with North Africa. Shafts of dusty sunlight entered through a cupola and streamed down to splash the tile floor. The temperature was almost
too
cool and kept that way at considerable cost.

The reception desk was a circular affair located directly below the cupola. Radiating out from that were pie-shaped sections of seats, various types of gambling setups, and restaurants with different themes. The whole thing was very impressive. But where to start? A feeling of hopelessness settled over Lee. Traveling to Tucson was a stupid idea. So what to do?
Keep looking,
she told herself, and followed Omo out into a well-furnished wilderness.

*   *   *

Amanda was terrified as she stood next to the door, metal tray in hand, and waited for the kitchen man to come. She'd been there for ten minutes by then—much longer than necessary. But it had taken days, no weeks, in which to build up sufficient courage. And should he come early,
before
she was ready, Amanda wasn't sure that she could summon the courage required to try it again. So she stood there, body trembling, waiting for the sound of his key in the lock.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she heard movement outside. A knock followed. That was the signal to tighten her grip and raise the tray high. One blow, that's all she could be sure of, so it had to be good.

The door opened, and the kitchen worker stepped inside. Just as he did every day to retrieve the breakfast dishes. Except it was a woman this time . . . A fact that didn't register on Amanda's brain until the tray was already in motion. It came down hard, struck the back of the worker's head, and sent her sprawling.

Amanda kicked the door closed, just as she had imagined that she would, and rushed to administer a follow-up blow. It produced a dull clang. Amanda regretted having to hit the woman again but had convinced herself of the necessity days earlier. She was a prisoner, and prisoners have a right to escape. Or so it seemed to Amanda. That didn't stop her from checking the woman's pulse or being glad that there was one.

Then it was a race to remove the woman's clothes. That was a stroke of luck, actually, since she'd been expecting a man. A
small
man to be sure but a man nevertheless.

First, Amanda had to roll the woman onto her back in order to unbutton the shirt. That went pretty quickly but getting the kitchen worker's arms out of the sleeves proved to be more difficult than anticipated.

In the meantime, seconds and minutes continued to tick by. How long until somebody like Mac noticed the cart and wondered why the woman was taking so long? That's all it would take to bring Amanda's escape attempt to a disastrous halt.
Concentrate,
Amanda told herself as she pulled the shirt free.
Think about what you're doing.

Amanda was wearing nothing more than a bra and panties so as to complete the change of clothing speedily. All she had to do was pull the shirt on and remove the woman's shoes. Her pants were next and proved to be easier to cope with than the shirt had been.

Amanda tossed the trousers aside and went to work with the strips of cloth torn from one of her bedsheets. The plan was to bind the victim's wrists and ankles before gagging her. Hours had been spent on making that decision. What if the woman came to—and started to scream? Maybe the gag should be applied first. But if her hands were free, she would remove the gag. The “what if” process continued until Amanda had gamed every possibility she could think of.

Fortunately, the kitchen worker
didn't
come to. And Amanda was able to bind and gag her without interference. The pants were too big, but that was better than being too small. And by cinching the belt tight, Amanda could keep the trousers from falling down. Rather than wear shoes that were too large, Amanda chose to wear a pair of her own slip-ons.

With her heart beating like a trip-hammer, Amanda loaded the breakfast dishes onto the tray and carried it to the door. The trick was to hold it up with one hand while turning the knob and stepping out into the hall.

The stainless-steel cart was waiting. Amanda opened the cargo area, slipped the tray into an empty slot, and closed the door. Then she heard voices. Would the disguise work? There wasn't much to it. Another piece of the sheet had been used to fashion a harem-style veil similar to one she'd seen at a party. That would cover her nose and the lower part of her face. As for the rest, well, she knew that people see what they expect to see. And having grown up with a houseful of servants, Amanda knew how they could fade into the background unless one made a conscious effort to track them.

And sure enough, the men in the business suits didn't even glance at her as they walked past. Thus encouraged, Amanda pushed the cart toward the lobby. The rest of her plan was simple: She would take the freight elevator down to the tunnel, push the cart all the way to the hotel's kitchen, and leave as quickly as possible.

Would employees have an exit of their own? Amanda thought so . . . That would provide her with a quick way out. Then, she would have to wing it. There would be cameras, of course. But maybe, just maybe, she would manage to get off the grounds quickly enough to evade capture.

And after that? Well, there was whatever money might be in the wallet the woman had been carrying plus her own resourcefulness. Somehow she would find a way to make contact with her parents, and they would send help.

The thought made Amanda feel better as she pushed the
DOWN
button and waited for the elevator to arrive. It took three long minutes. Finally, the doors parted, and rather than the full car that Amanda feared, the interior was empty.

The cart made a rattling sound as she pushed it onto the lift and touched the button below the word
TUNNEL
. The lift began to drop, and kept dropping, until it coasted to a stop. Then the doors slid open to reveal the twins known as Tom-Tom. Amanda felt a stab of fear as they stepped to one side. All she could do was put her head down and push the cart out into the lobby. The wheels rattled, and she was just starting to feel a sense of relief, when a hand grabbed the back of her collar. Another jerked her around. “Wait a minute,” one of the twins said. “I recognize that smell.”

“Yes,” the other one agreed. “Remove the veil.”

A hand tore the piece of sheet away, and Amanda saw the looks of recognition on both faces. “Amanda Screed!” the one called Ethan said. “What are you doing here?”

“She's trying to escape,” Orson put in sourly.

“You're a very naughty girl,” Ethan said as he sniffed the air. “Yes, it's you all right . . . My brother and I can smell things most people are entirely unaware of. Now get back on the elevator.”

A shove accompanied the order, and Amanda fell. She didn't bother to get up. The escape attempt had failed, and the only thing she had to look forward to was some sort of punishment. The twins laughed.

*   *   *

After hours spent wandering around the mall and inspecting the hotel-casino complex, the police officers returned to their car. A short drive and a bit of searching turned up a midpriced hotel that catered to shoppers and gamblers on a budget.

Once they were checked in, the hard work began. Because even though the trip to the mall had left Lee feeling less than optimistic about their chances of success, she wasn't ready to give up. So she asked Omo to visit the city's Planning & Development Services Department in hopes that the deputy would be able to obtain a copy of the plans for the residence that sat atop Nickels Peak. As well schematics for the hotel, casino, and mall. It was a risky thing to do because even though such inquiries were legal, there was the chance that the inquiry would arouse suspicions.

Meanwhile, Lee spent the afternoon using the city's info net to search for information pertaining to where Nickels and/or the Ebben twins might be holding Amanda. Hours of effort turned up a single lead—and that was a brief article about a medical clinic to which Tom-Tom had given some money. By then Lee had concluded that free medical care was something of a passion for the twins. The reason for that was obvious given the extent of their physical problems.

But what if the clinic was a front for a surrogate farm? So Lee copied the clinic's address and continued her search. It was a fruitless endeavor, and she was happy to quit once Omo returned.

Fortunately, he had some good news to report—and that was the fact that he'd been able to get a copy of the building plans for the Nickels home, the hotel, and the casino. The information pertaining to security systems had been redacted, but everything else was there to see.

They spent the next half hour poring over the drawings, especially those related to the structures inside the hill and the home located on top of it. There was very little detail about the floors immediately below the house. Just two words spelled out in block letters:
RESIDENTIAL QUARTERS
.

That raised all sorts of questions. Quarters for whom? Guests? Staff? Or? There was a remote possibility that Amanda was being held there—but Lee didn't think it would make much sense. And Omo agreed. “We've got to be realistic, Cassandra . . . Assuming Tom-Tom purchased Amanda, she's been sold to someone by now.”

“True,” Lee agreed. “The medical clinic I told you about is a better bet. I'm hungry . . . Let's go to dinner.”

So they asked the clerk at the front desk for a recommendation, were directed to a Mexican restaurant called El Toro, and arrived to find that it was hopping. Two rounds of margaritas preceded meals consumed separately. A three-piece band was playing, and Omo asked Lee if she'd like to dance.
This is a mistake,
Lee told herself as she allowed Omo to guide her out onto the dance floor.
Never date your partner. That's rule number one. And this feels like a date.

There were about six couples on the dance floor, and much to Lee's amazement, Omo could dance! Not just shuffle around the way most guys did but actually dance! The band was playing a Salsa tune, one of her favorites, and it was only a few moments before she fell into the familiar rhythm of one, two, three, back, five, six, seven. And then, in a surprisingly short period of time Omo added a turn, and Lee discovered that she was having fun. So they danced—and danced again. Before long, all of her worries dropped away.