Color Blind (Team Red) (2 page)

“Bas-Terd,”
Red contributed as I heard his nails clicking up the stairs.

I smirked, and kept the dog’s last remark to myself. “You neglected to clarify that if he has to fly to reach it, it’s out of bounds. It’s pretty obvious to me that your idea of a red zone and his idea of a Red Zone are at polar opposites.”

“We need to do something,” David grumbled. “These are the basic prototypes, but they are still pretty pricy. Even more importantly, we can’t afford to have the testing halted every time Red wants to play fetch. We need to run the full program, uninterrupted.”

“Actually, they don’t look too bad,” Bas said. “The propellers are bent on all of them, but no broken tails. They should be easy to fix. Depending on whether Red damaged the bodies, we may be able to salvage most of these, or use them for parts. If I can put them back into working order, we can add them to the current twelve drone security pattern. We have five metal ones here that we had written off as lost, carted off by wildlife, or broken.”

“Do you mean ‘broken’ like the one that smashed into the tree last week?” Ken asked, in all innocence. “It must have been going ninety miles an hour when it hit that elm at the fence line.”

My voice was low and threatening when I asked, “The golden elm near the pond? I love that tree.”

“The top half is smashed to smithereens,” Ken said, with all the glee of a destructive five-year-old.

David’s warm arms wrapped around me pinning my arms against my body, I was not unaware of the comparison to a strait jacket. Oh Man! I really,
really
like that tree. “Does it make a difference if I say that it was an accident?” He asked. “The tree guy we called seems to think he can save seventy percent of it.” He placed a string of tiny kisses over the bridge of my nose, ending with a warmer one on my lips. My head dropped forward on David’s very wide, rock hard chest. Mmm, he smelled nice with the hint of sandalwood cologne mixed with clean sweat.

Tree? What tree? “Very
almost
effective distraction technique, Mr. Preston,” I said with a sigh. “Try and save it if you can. I knew there might be accidents with the testing.” Pause. “It was an accident, right? You’re not targeting trees are you?”

“No, of course not,” he assured me. “I zigged when I should have zagged. Operator error. Totally an accident.”

“I’m just happy you don’t fly them that fast towards the house. Be safe, okay?”

A tight hug was all the affirmation I needed. Although that chocolate donut wouldn’t hurt right about now.

We had set up the twenty mile per hour maximum speed limit over any area with a manicured lawn or structure; the average was closer to ten miles per hour. In other parts of our acreage the drones were allowed higher speeds as long as it was directed away from the house, and the homes of the few neighbors around us. David and Bas were currently buying up a total of twenty-two additional acres to the west for range expansion - that was his story anyway. I suspected their main motivation was to build an extra layer of privacy.

Our property abutted forestry lands and a wildlife conservation area on the south and east, so we didn’t worry about people wandering into the area from those directions (the incline off the Little Spokane River was too steep and marshy). There were quite a few undeveloped lots on the third side that, theoretically, could be developed, bringing neighbors closer to where we were nestled in the terrain. Those vacant properties ran along the sanctuary boundary also; the guys were looking at securing a strip of land almost a quarter-mile long.

I grinned, not only did David lay siege to win my heart, he was now building a fortress to protect his prize… well, okay, his prize and maybe a couple hundred thousand dollars’ worth of military-grade equipment. I was still amazed at the amount of money the government threw his way to keep him supplied for all his projects. He may have been Navy for twenty plus years, raking in a respectable military salary, but he was making some serious money now, and his budget seemed unlimited.

David was a combination computer programmer and electronics wiz, with some seriously advanced hacking skills added to the mix. With Bastian’s help, the two of them built and modified drones to work with David’s programs. Many aspects of this work were top secret, but he shared enough that I knew he and Bas were concurrently working on two programs, one offensive and the other defensive, that involved the use of mini-drones.

The defensive aspects were already in use as part of our home security system. Miniature drones monitored activity on the property. The guys were constantly refining data and upgrading them to perform a combination of increasingly delicate movements and more sophisticated target identification. The drones were currently learning to distinguish between images that walked on two feet versus four feet; something to do with height and the way the head moved.  I was impressed by the feature that allowed the drones to override their own program momentarily to avoid an unknown moving obstacle in their path, such as a deer, going around or over it, before resuming its grid pattern. Bas and David needed to add that feature to all of the drones if they insisted on testing close to the house. If the drones can react fast enough with an avoidance feature, it may help them circumvent leaping canines. Just sayin’.

The offense programs seemed to have more solemn applications, from what little David would say about them. Although the majority of the offensive test drones are basic shells to test maneuverability, a half-dozen of them have cameras or sensors feeding back infra-red, sonic, still images, and streaming video data to a main computer located somewhere in the depths of the Cave. The guys were using the imagery to develop three dimensional and holographic maps. They assured me that their prototypes would not carry explosive payloads (Yeah, like that had really crossed my mind before they said that, right?), which led me to wonder, how much harm could a golf ball-sized drone cause anyway?  It didn’t seem like that much explosive material could be packed into one. The guys had a secretive smugness to their tone, when I scoffed at them. I’m sure the joke was on me, but some things I just don’t need to know.

At last count, we had over thirty drones engaged in a variety of tests or duties, buzzing around the house and grounds. Add this to the security cameras, two vigilant military strategists, and a super smart German shepherd - we were pretty much impenetrable.

The doorbell rang.

And there it was folks! The security is only as good as the person paying attention to the consoles and readouts. I scoffed, “Gee, I wonder who managed to breach our perimeter, Ken.”

“I’ll get it,” Ken said, his voice turned away toward the door. He saw something he didn’t like in the security camera in the entryway because his voice dropped, becoming hesitant. “Hey guys? Are these G.I. Joe wannabes friends of yours?”

Ken and David stood at my side as Bas answered the second, more insistent, ringing of the doorbell. When he opened the front door, I heard the sound of a dozen or more of our drones buzzing like angry mosquitos. David whispered to me, “The drones are in a holding pattern behind our visitors. It can be disconcerting to have them crowded so closely, aimed in your direction.”

“They should have called first,” I replied. “Do you think they’re here to talk with you and Bas?”

“Nope, our employers would not think to show up at the house uninvited; it’s a respect thing. I believe we are about to find out who Officer Blair emailed the video of our police demonstration to. It’s bugged the hell out of me that I haven’t been able to trace the email recipient. Officer Blair was very systematic in covering his trail, and without access to the laptop that was used, I couldn’t track down the account.”

“Damn, Bas has gotta cut back on the weights,” Ken griped. “His shoulders have gotten so broad I can’t see around him to identify anyone in the doorway.”

“Oh, and the fact he’s six-foot-three has nothing to do with blocking the view?” I teased.

“David is six-five and we can see some daylight around him when he stands at the door,” Ken joked. “Although, his shoulders are
almost
as wide across as Bastian’s.”

“Gentlemen,” Bas said, his tone suggesting he thought they were anything but. “How can we help you?”

One man replied in a high, nervous voice, “We are here to have a conversation with Team Red.”

“Ah,” David said thoughtfully. “Our visitors knows about the Team. What’s most interesting is Gil didn’t come up with the Team Red designation until
after
the illegal video was taken.

We had been secretly taped last September inside the police department, when Red and I did a demonstration of our unique mind-speak abilities for a special task force that wanted our help to catch a rapist. Red discovered, by accident, that an officer took illegal photos and video of us, emailing it to a person we never identified.

“These guys know our group works as Team Red. Officer Blair must have contacted the email recipient again, after the email account we were trying to trace was cancelled.” David contemplated. “I may find something in the former-officer’s personal email or his cell phone records.”

Bas was still talking to the people at the door, his tone abrupt and irritated, “I see. And, is there a reason why you didn’t call first and make an appointment?”

“What’s going on?”
Red asked. His body brushed against my leg so I knew where he was.
“Why have Bas and David gone into Alpha posturing?”

I relayed Red’s question. “Unexpected visitors,” David explained. “Can you approach the door, but stay behind Bas? Let Teresa know your impressions? Watch Bas for sign language.”

Red’s nails tapped across the linoleum and I continued my interrupted conversation with David, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but peeking at the former officer’s email would be considered hacking, wouldn’t it?”

“Only if they catch me. If I don’t get caught, I will disavow any prying on my part,” he said smugly.

“Red leaned a shoulder into Bas to let him know he’s there,” David commented, apprising me of what was going on. “I can’t hear what the uniforms are saying, can you?”

My hearing was excellent, to offset my lost eyesight, but not in this case. “No, sorry,” I answered. “The drones are too loud.”

“Let’s freak them out by putting the drones in stealth mode,” David said, with an evil chuckle.

Bas had recently finished the design of a handheld touchpad control panel the size of a paperback book; David had probably had it in his back pocket when he came up from his lair to find the missing drone. I grinned a calculating and wicked grin - if that welcome kiss had lasted a few seconds longer, I may have found the control pad myself. There was the faint tapping of a stylus against the touchpad screen. It took five seconds for the buzzing to be replaced by a strange whispering noise. “There, that should do it,” David sounded pleased with himself.

“Way to go!”
Red praised.
“I think the guy in the back almost wet himself.”

“According to Red, you are having the desired effect,” I drawled to David, skipping the specifics. I added, “I didn’t know the buzzing noise was on purpose.”

“It gives us an idea of where they are. Also, we want intruders listening for drones, that way I can have some moving around in stealth mode that would probably remain undetected.”

Ken, can you go down to the Cave and grab my laptop from my desk? Just unplug it and bring it up. Be quiet on the stairs, I don’t want them clued in that we have a basement.”

“No problem. Back in a sec.” Ken’s sneaker-covered feet were quiet as he headed for the secret pantry entrance. Luckily the foyer wall shielded most of the house’s interior from view, so no one would have any idea where Ken was. I remembered Ken’s remark about Bas’ shoulders with a smile - they probably couldn’t see around the huge body standing in the door frame anyway.

“There are four men. All of them are wearing guns,”
Red said.
“Bas is very angry with the talking man. The talking man says he will send the police department video to the media if we don’t talk with them.”

I swear David growled when I mentioned the last part of what Red communicated me. “Oh really? Teresa, I need to sit down and concentrate. Do you want to come to the couch to sit with me?” David asked.

I offered my elbow in answer and David led me to sit beside him as he did some screen-tapping on his control panel. David explained what he was doing, a habit he was getting into after living with me these past couple of months, to include me in what he was working on (Did I mention what a great guy he is?). “A few of the drones have streaming video, I’m going to maneuver one around to read the uniform pocket of the guy in charge.”

Ken arrived with the laptop, and the couch shook as he plopped heavily back against the cushions on the other side of David. Anger was evident in the sound of David’s fingers, tapping computer keys fast and hard, like muffled gunshots. He was slow to anger, but when he finally reached a boiling point, he was formidable.

“Wow,”
Red said with awe,
“Bas is making some really interesting suggestions to the talking guy. I’m pretty sure some of the stuff he’s saying is anatomically impossible.”
There was a perceptible pause,
“well, for a human anyway.”
Red started to chuckle then told me a drone whizzed around to the front of the talking man and was right in his face…
“No wait, it’s near his shirt. No, it’s at his face again, and just hovering there. The talking man just moved back and stepped on the soldier behind him.”
The laughter turned into a snicker,
“Awww, someone is embarrassed. And getting mad.”
Red’s constant feedback of the conversation with the Army men indicated tempers were rising as Bas stalled and refused them entrance.

“Captain Blair, huh? What a coincidence,” David sneered, referring to Officer Blair, formerly of the Spokane Police Department. “Looks like the Captain is probably an older brother. He’s not in a position, or pay grade, to be making threats against us.”

“One moment,” Bas said. “I want to confer with my associates.” The front door closed, with a solid thud. “Goddamned, motherf…” the rest of Bastian’s sentence trailed off, but I’m sure he was mentally continuing the diatribe in his head. His was one brain I was glad I couldn’t tap, I was betting he knew cuss words I wouldn’t even begin to understand. He tried to tone it down around me, but every once in a while...

David continued to tap frantically at the keyboard. If you’ve never listened to someone who can type over one hundred-twenty words per minute, let me tell you, it’s quite impressive.

“It appears he hasn’t been able to access info on Bas and I or he’d know better than to threaten us with media exposure.” David said thoughtfully, “Teresa, how do you feel about inviting this fine upstanding example of military competence to come and have a sit-down with us? We’ll have him keep his guns outside with the two Specialists, and let him bring his Corporal inside if he prefers.” David’s tone got wicked, “and maybe I’ll conference-call a certain Colonel we work closely with.”

“Do you trust the Colonel enough to expose Team Red?” I asked, knowing this ‘certain Colonel’ would be getting a look into Team Red’s secrets. We had agreed to limit who was included in our circle; although, Bas had mentioned, as a Team we may have the opportunity to work with the Military if we chose to. If this is a route we desired to take it would be to our advantage for
us
pick the military liaison we wanted.

“Yes, Colonel Spencer is with Military Intelligence. He’s our contact on the mapping projects, so we work closely with him all the time. We are meeting tomorrow morning to go over some test data, so he may be in town already. I’ll conference call him from the Dining room table’s phone. Let’s keep that to ourselves for the first part of the conversation, I’d like to hear what Captain Blair has to say before the Colonel reams him for making comments about exposing us to the media as a blackmail tactic.”

“You get that set up, Bas and I will attend to our guests at the door.” I called Red to my side so he could lead me to the door. “How much time do you need, David?”

“Two minutes should do it. If I can’t get the Colonel immediately, I can record the conversation until he returns the call. We’ll figure it out.”

“Red, I need you to take me to the door. We are inviting the talking man, whose name is Captain Blair, to come inside to talk.” I could almost feel Red’s question, “Yes, we’re pretty sure he’s related to the policeman who recorded the video of us.”

Bas opened the front door and resumed a sharply worded conversation with our visitors. Red came to his normal place at my left thigh. He wasn’t wearing his harness indoors, but he was pretty adept at herding me around. Then again, it wasn’t like I didn’t know where the front door was.

“When he’s sitting down, can I stare at him?”
Red asked. It was a method we’d used in the past when someone stared at my facial scars for too long. Red would approach the person, sit a couple of feet in front of them, and just stare intently. Within a few minutes, most people moved along, unnerved by the dog’s unwavering attention.”

“Good plan,” I grinned. “Just stop if one of us asks you to, okay?”

“You got it, Beautiful,”
He said, using David’s pet name for me.

I grinned and reached a hand out toward Bas’ back (or arm, or chest … whatever, as long as my hand was high enough not to grope his ass, or worse if he turned around). To his credit, Bas didn’t start or otherwise indicate that he hadn’t realized I was coming up beside him. I curled my fingers around his left bicep.

The men had stressed I was always to leave their dominant hands, their right ones, freed up when possible. Red and I were in the habit of approaching them from the left, which worked for me as the left was the side Red stood on when he was working.

“Teresa,” The stranger in the doorway addressed me, “I’m glad you’re here. This ape…”

I interrupted, “Captain Blair, we do not know each other. You will address me as Ms. March, until I decide we can move onto first names. This ape, as you call him, is my friend. You may address him as Mr. Declan, unless he says otherwise.” My voice changed from pleasant to sweetly-stern, “You are an uninvited intruder on our property, therefore, you will be civil while on our doorstep, or you will be forcibly ejected from the premises. The fact you are still standing here unharmed is a testament to our patience, and Mr. Declan’s sense of humor.”

To Bas, I directed a sidelong look, “The Captain and his corporal may come in, but only if they leave their weapons outside with the others, who may wait in the SUV parked by the gate. No weapons. No exceptions. Red can do a final check for you, if you’d like.”

“Ms. March, you are in no position to dictate to me. If you refuse to allow…”

Again, I interrupted (I know, so rude), “Captain, either give up your weapons or leave. You don’t enter our house armed. You came to us. We don’t need you. Follow our rules, or go.” I turned my back, motioning Red to stay, and wandered back towards the living room. Ken, bless his heart, met me mid-way and escorted me to the dining table where David was talking quietly on the phone.