The Impossible Alliance by Candace Irvin

residency at San Diego General in November of 1984. Orloff returned to Rajalla for three years’ hiatus, rotating though several of the capital city’s then free outpatient clinics before returning to the U.S. in 1987 to specialize in—’” He broke off when he realized Alex was no longer staring at the computer, but at him. Christ. It probably would have helped if he’d remembered to glance at the screen once or twice. The blunder was moot now.
    â€œYou have a photographic memory.”
    He held her gaze. “It’s not as uncommon as you’d think.”
    But it was.
    At least, ones like his were. He was four when he’d discovered that. Kindergarten orientation, as a matter of fact. He’d learned firsthand that not everyone could recall every sentence they read word-for-precise-word the way his mother could—or the way he could.
    Weirdo. Show-off. Smart-ass.
    He’d heard them all by the end of the school year. A couple of times from teachers, too.
    Alex was still staring. She glanced down at the laptop. “How long did it take you to read this?”
    Oh, no. He had no intention of answering that one.
    Unfortunately she had a watch. She used it, comparing the dial to the time stamp the computer had inserted on the file’s initial opening. She gasped as she gaped up at him. How many times had he seen that look?
    He forced a shrug. “Welcome to the freak show.”
    Alex shook her head. “What happened?”
    â€œNothing happened.” An outright lie.
    She crossed her arms over her chest. “Try again.”
    â€œLook, Dr. Mor—”
    â€œDon’t ‘doctor’ me, mister. You could’ve gotten fifty degrees if you’d wanted to. All I want is a simple answer. How does a kid with a brain that probably rivals Albert Einstein’s drop out of the eighth grade? Why? ”
    â€œThat’s two questions.”
    â€œPick one.”
    The hell he would. What he did was stand up. Move. He paced his way to the bunk beds before he turned back, every inch of the floor’s twenty feet between them as he pointed to the computer. “Page sixty-two, paragraph five, line eight. Finish it.” The double-edged curse already exposed, he began reciting, “‘Orloff returned to Rajalla for three years’ hiatus, rotating through the capital city’s then free outpatient clinics before returning the U.S. in 1987—” To his relief, she took the hint and severed her gaze, dropping it the screen to pick up where he left off.
    â€œâ€˜â€”to specialize in…neurology’?”
    He nodded as her eyes widened. “Keep going. Scroll down the next page. Paragraph five, line four. ‘Orloff is rumored to have taken multiple, unexplained trips during the past month. Each trip averaging three hours.’”
    â€œLet me guess, plenty of time to drive from Rajalla to Veisweimar castle, examine a patient and return.”
    He nodded.
    â€œDo you have a photo?”
    â€œI was finishing the medical backgrounder when you woke up. I haven’t had a chance to check our e-mail. Knowing Jerry, he’s already anticipated the request.”
    She logged on to their encrypted account. Fifteen seconds later they had access, but the message wasn’t there.
    â€œNothing.” She tapped out a quick message and hit “send.”
    The tension returned as they waited.
    Fortunately Jerry broke it a minute and a half later. Alex opened the e-mail and studied the electronic photograph the ARIES database tech had pasted within.
    She nodded. “That’s him.”
    Jared stared at the color photo. The man appeared as tall as both of them were, with hair close in color and texture to the mop Alex had sported two hours before. Brown eyes, graying temples and a matching mustache completed an angular but otherwise nondescript face.
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    She tipped her chin to meet his eyes, her