Eternity Base (12 page)

"All right. The entry was good. Let's remember something though. We've got to work this up to where you can do it not only at night but wearing gas masks. Your normal crook in a hostage situation is going to be relatively unprepared, so it's to your advantage to gas your objective. That's why we've designated your blooper man and had him practice putting his tear gas rounds through windows out on the range.

"But let's also worst-case things. If your intelligence indicates you're up against professionals, then you have to expect they're wearing gas masks too." Riley's head hurt. Every time he taught this stuff he started getting into this worst-case cycle. "So then you're back to square one. But that's what—"

"What have you done?" A burly policeman, his bulk enhanced by the flak vest he wore, had asked the question.

"Excuse me?"

The cop's gray mustache twitched as he spat the words out. "We've been listening to you prattling on for four days now about what we should and shouldn't do. Well, I've spent eighteen years on the streets here. I've been in three shoot-outs, and I just want to know what your qualifications are."

Riley sighed. "I spent three years in the 10th Special Forces Group. Then three years in a classified counterterrorist unit overseas. I've been to—"

"Yeah. I heard all that the first day," the cop interrupted. "But what I want to know is if you've ever been shot at or if you ever shot anyone. Eh?"

Riley looked at the man for a long time as he considered his answer. Finally he lied. "No."

The cop nodded. "I thought so. Well, I have, and you can tell us all this, but it don't make a bit of difference when the shit hits the fan. You stand there and—"

"Riley." Luce was in the doorway with the portable phone in her hand. "The colonel's on the phone for you. He wants to talk to you now."

"All right. You take over. Do another run through." Riley could feel the eyes of all the occupants of the room on his back as he took the phone from his partner. He walked down the hallway and stepped out into the brisk fall weather.

"This is Riley, sir."

Colonel Pike wasted no time on pleasantries. "I want Luce to finish out the contract. I've got a friend in trouble and I need your help."

Riley didn't hesitate. "Yes, sir." He knew the colonel was worried about him and that Luce had been assigned as his partner to keep an eye on him, but Riley felt that he did his job well enough. What he did in his off-duty time was his own business. He'd been at this job for a little more than a month now, and although it had kept him busy, there were still times when there was no work and the four walls of the hotel room closed in. Those times were the worst. He wondered what the colonel had conjured up for him now.

"Your tickets will be waiting at the Delta counter at the airport. The flight takes off in forty-five minutes, so get moving. Give me a call when you get on the ground."

A
IRSPACE,
P
ACIFIC
O
CEAN

A
S
the western coastline of the United States disappeared behind them, Conner allowed her mind to drift ahead to the landing in New Zealand and then back in time. She wondered if Devlin would be the same as she remembered him from Chicago more than a year ago.

She'd first seen him chained to the outlet pipe of a factory that poured thousands of gallons of polluted water into Lake Michigan every hour. Devlin and three other members of Our Earth had stayed there for four hours, letting the filth pour over them, while other members of the group held banners and protested nearby. Finally, even the security men for the plant couldn't take it anymore and they had moved in with bolt cutters to break the chains.

Conner had already gotten enough footage for a good minute-and-a-half spot, but she still followed the police wagon down to the station, where Devlin and his partners were booked for unlawful trespass. She was impressed with the efficiency of the Our Earth organization as the men were bailed out in almost record speed.

Devlin was coming out of the courtroom, still clad in his filthy overalls, when he spotted her standing by the door. He walked over to her and smiled. "The news lady. Channel 4. How much time do we get tonight? Thirty seconds?"

Conner looked up at his grime-streaked face and decided he was worth more than a perfunctory two-to-three-minute chat. She already knew some background and hoped to coax more from him. Randall Simpson Devlin was almost more of a story than the group to which he gave all of his time and the majority of his money. And money was the key to Devlin—his family was loaded, thanks to a hardworking great-grandfather, good family marriages, and efficient tax attorneys.

She knew from her research that Devlin's childhood had been spent in East Coast mansions surrounded by the best primary caretakers money could buy. His first toy car was large enough for him to ride in; his first pet was a pony. His father had hoped he would enter the family business after the Choate-Ivy League route, but Devlin at eighteen had turned away from his family's money and connections to make it on his own. Conner's theory was that in Our Earth he had found a way to assuage his guilt and thereby enjoy the fruits of his ancestor's labor.

Standing there outside the police station, Conner was impressed that he both knew who she was and had spotted her at the plant. She wanted to know more. There was a great story standing in front of her and she meant to get it. "No, sixty seconds. But I can make it ninety if you let me buy you a drink and then talk to me."

She wasn't sure why she had asked him out for the drink. It just seemed like the right thing to do. It was far more than the story. The facts that Devlin was attractive, rich, and would be gone from the city in the morning and out of her life were very enticing.

Devlin smiled at her. "I'm not exactly dressed to go out. How about we go back to my hotel while I get changed. I'll take that drink and talk when I'm clean."

Conner was not surprised when the cab dropped them off at the most expensive hotel in downtown Chicago. Devlin smiled at her look, as though he expected some comment about his extravagance. "I figure four hours in that filth is worth this, wouldn't you agree? As a friend of my father's used to say—'never complain, never explain.'"

Conner smiled back. "Henry Ford."

Devlin seemed slightly surprised. His eyes lingered on her face. "You're no dumb mouthpiece, are you?"

"No, Mr. Devlin, I'm no dummy."

Devlin remained silent until they were in his suite. He showed her where to make the drinks and left to take the much needed shower. Conner was flipping through a thumbed copy of short stories when he returned to the living room wearing loose khaki pants and a tight polo shirt. He looked very good with all the gunk removed. His blond hair was just beginning to thin but was a nice contrast to his blue eyes. He had a muscular body. Conner was swift to note that it was his natural build and not one he worked on. He had the beginnings of that soft look that comes from an easy life and middling ambition.

She held up the book. "Fitzgerald. So, Mr. Devlin. Is it true? Are the rich really different from me and you? Or should I say me?"

He shot her another dazzling smile and pulled her into his arms. She felt him grow hard beneath the pants. "No, not at all. I'd say the rich aren't very different. The main luxury is more time to think about things."

Conner pulled away and sat down on one of the overstuffed damask sofas. "The rich seem to skip a lot of preliminaries."

Devlin sat across from her and picked up the drink she'd made for him. She noticed the manicured nails before she noticed how fine the hands were. "I'm sorry, Conner. May I call you Conner? I hope I didn't seem rude, but you are an incredibly beautiful woman and well read on top of that. I guess I got carried away."

Conner nodded an acceptance to his apology and pulled out a notebook. "Devlin—may I call you Devlin? Or do your friends use your first name?"

He showed a set of perfect teeth. "Devlin is fine."

"So, Devlin. Tell me about a life of environmental activism after a youth of unparalleled luxury."

Devlin leaned back, crossing his legs and putting both arms on the back of the sofa. He looked for all the world like the scion of a wealthy family. "The hounds of the press appear to skip a lot of the preliminaries also."

"I've always found a good interview to be an excellent preliminary," Conner remarked, her eyes meeting his.

Devlin talked for a long time.

Later, when they were lying in a tangle of linen on his king-size bed, he asked her about her newscast that night. She looked down at him, pushing aside the tendrils of dark hair that had fallen across her eyes, and informed him that if she didn't show up at the station on time they knew she was on a story.

Devlin wrapped his hands around her thin waist, looked up at her, and replied: "Well, I'd definitely say you're on a story now."

At the time, Conner had found the comment amusing, and she had silently agreed.

The next day a bouquet of roses was waiting on her desk at work. Conner became irritated when her coworkers looked at her curiously, and the whole incident began to seem like a mistake. She knew that the flowers put the burden on her to get in touch with him, but she didn't. She had her life planned, and a relationship with Devlin—or anyone—would just get in her way.

Conner sometimes wondered if she'd made the right decision, but then came the offer of the job in Atlanta and she'd thought about nothing but work since then—at least until the other day when she'd picked up the phone and called Devlin.

With the click of the computer screen locking upright, Conner banished that memory and went to work to ensure that her future would be as successful as her past.

S
T.
L
OUIS,
M
ISSOURI, 26
N
OVEMBER 1996

"Come in," Sammy called out, pressing her back against the far wall of the van and pointing the pistol at the back door. The metal door swung open and a figure was standing there, silhouetted against the parking lot lights.

"Whoa!" The man dropped a duffel bag he'd been carrying and held his hands away from his body. "Take it easy. I'm Riley. Colonel Pike sent me."

"Come in and shut the door," Sammy ordered.

Riley threw in his duffel bag and then followed it. With the door swung shut, the inside was almost pitch black. "Could you put down the gun, please?" Riley asked.

Sammy slid the pistol back in the shoulder holster. It had been an anxious four hours waiting here in the dark. She'd started doubting reality in that time, not wanting to believe she'd killed a man earlier this evening. Then she'd started getting paranoid, wondering if even Pike was to be trusted. When she'd called him with parking lot information, the colonel had relayed to her Riley's name and approximate time of arrival. She'd spent the interim trying to figure out what steps to take next. Although she might be relatively safe for the moment, she knew her sister was heading into something much more dangerous than she expected.

"The colonel told me to keep you safe and not much more," Riley remarked as he sat down on his duffel bag. "Care to fill me in on what's going on?"

For the second time that evening Sammy related the events that had occurred since leaving the office supply shop. Riley also had her backtrack a bit and give him all she knew on Eternity Base. When she was done he sat silent for a few moments, then spoke. "We need to get rid of this van and the gun. They're the two things that can link you to the body."

Sammy shook her head. "Our first priority is to warn my sister."

Riley shook his head in turn. "No. At least not through SNN—that's the most likely source of the leak reference Eternity Base. Think about how those places operate. They've got more people getting paid off than any South American government. It's the perfect conduit for intelligence organizations to sink a line to fish for information. If you try getting in touch with her through SNN, you might as well advertise your presence, and from what you told me about your sister, she would probably continue on with the story anyway."

"Then we catch up with her," Sammy declared firmly.

"What?" Riley blinked in the dark.

It was the decision she had come to more than an hour ago, and she was determined to follow it through whether Riley agreed or not. "We catch up with her and warn her. You can protect her along with me." Sammy leaned forward. "The colonel told me not to go to the cops. You're telling me not to go to SNN. I agree with both of you. Either way we could be putting our heads in the lion's mouth."

She continued. "We don't know who that man worked for, and until we do, we won't be safe. The only way we're going to find out who is behind this is by linking up with Conner and helping her find Eternity Base."

Having said what she'd needed to, Sammy watched Riley in the dim glow from the windshield, waiting to see how he'd react. Pike had only said that Riley was ex-Special Forces and did good work. He was a far cry from the Rambo type so commonly portrayed in films, but Sammy had expected that because her own father had been slight of build and a quiet, thoughtful man.