Veil (27 page)

“Holy shit,” was the best response Hunter
could muster. He realized he was probably slack-jawed the entire
time Pollock described and sketched his concept.

Ten days later, the Terminal program on
Brock’s monitor opened. That time the cursor immediately started
typing.

“It’s ready. Get online, book a ticket to
D.C. for first thing tomorrow morning. Don’t worry about the price.
Book it and call your parents and tell them you’re coming home to
visit
.
Then call my phone and tell me
you’re flying here tomorrow to see your parents. Ask me if I can
find a van to pick your disabled ass up from the airport.”

Brock responded, “SKSK
.
”

H
unter couldn’t
have made a bigger show of it if he tried, which was saying a lot
if one considered it
was
Hunter. His overwhelming, over the
top excitement and pride were palpable. His best friend in the
entire world, who also happened to be his first patient and whole
reason for becoming a doctor, was coming into town. Oh, how he
couldn’t wait for everyone to meet him.

He hoped he could find a way to show him the
lab. Maybe put all the “Top Secret” stuff away for a couple of
hours? Oh, and he was absolutely positive the General’s wife would
love to meet his friend Brock and hear his story. The General’s
wife loved to hear stories that made her feel sympathy; oh, how she
relished in her ability to feel so much sympathy. Yes, Hunter was
certain, Lynn Coffman simply
had
to meet Brock, too.

And damn, did Brock ever live up to his part.
Hunter was blown away by how well Brock played along. Brock was
usually quite visibly apathetic when obliged to regale people with
stories of his accident, his struggles, his despair, his triumphs,
and his good friend and personal doctor, Hunter Kennerly. There
were a couple of times, especially when having dinner at General
Coffman’s home, where Hunter sat back and watched Brock have a go
at it.

Hunter got a little misty-eyed at times. Not
at all for the same reasons as everyone else in the room. He lived
most of the stories with Brock so hearing them out loud was beyond
banal. No, Hunter was moved by how well he taught his best friend
to be a lying, conniving, deceiving, manipulative bastard. He
couldn’t remember ever being so proud.

“Ironic how they never see the guy in the
wheelchair coming, huh?” Brock joked when they returned to his
childhood home.

“That should be the title of your book,”
Hunter declared and pillaged Brock’s dad’s bar.

“Should you really be doing that?” Brock
scolded but knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“Kiss it,” was Hunter’s reply as he twisted
the cap off one of the airplane mini-sized bottles Brock’s dad
collected. He tilted it in Brock’s direction for a mock cheers and
then downed its entire contents. He performed the same dramatics
three more times before he flung himself onto the couch.

“How long am I staying with my parents? With
your drinking habit, this could get expensive for them.”

“I’m not sure, really. Today makes day—what?
Eleven?”

“Thirteen,” Brock informed him and rolled his
eyes.

“Oh, shit, cutting it kinda close, aren’t
we?”

Brock didn’t reply with his computer and
instead let out a guttural, “Mmhmmm.”

“Oh cool it, Elizabeth. We told them two
weeks and it will be two weeks. We could even buy ourselves more
time if we needed, but I’m pretty sure we don’t. We’ll call them
tonight and make plans for you to meet up with Ken. Maybe meet
tomorrow.”

Brock responded through his computer and
prodded, “For me to meet up with Ken? Me?”

“Yes—
you
. You asshat. What am I
supposed to, waltz out of there, go meet up with the dead doctor’s
old partner and then waltz right back in? Do you really think it’s
that easy? Would I’ve needed to go through all this,” Hunter asked
as he spread his arms wide and gestured around Mr. Elsbeth’s
den.

“Well you didn’t mention anything about field
trips. How much am I getting paid? What’s my per diem? What do I
get out of all this?” Brock joked.

“What do you get out of it? Well maybe I’ll
go out tonight and pick up some hot straight guy. We’ll come back
here and you can listen to us fuck each other’s brains out on your
bedroom floor.”

“I hate you.”

“I know you do.”

“No, seriously, I hate you. You’re like the
worst person ever.”

“Yep.”

“You’re so gross Hunter. Why am I even
friends with you? And, if a dude sleeps with you, he’s not
straight.”

“Didn’t hear you complain when I jacked you
off in Lacey Newlin’s basement when we were thirteen, ya big homo,”
Hunter laughed and rushed to unplug the monitor attached to Brock’s
chair before he could type a reply.

Brock groaned nonstop as loudly as he could
until it became clear he wasn’t going to let up. Hunter finally
plugged the monitor back in, just to shut him the hell
up
.

Brock typed, “I hate you, fag.”

The two laughed and Hunter decided time would
go by faster if he ordered pizza. They still had a couple of hours
to waste before they could call Tsay’s wife and his old partner.
Although they just returned from dinner at General Coffman’s, the
activities and excitement of the day wore on them. While they
looked for a place to order from, Hunter glanced at his friend and
was struck by a wave of guilt and sadness that Brock’s only sexual
experience was a nearly prepubescent typical boyhood jerk-off
session.

Brock wasn’t gay—not by a long shot. Not even
remotely close. He and Hunter were night and day in that regard.
Given a different fate, Hunter imagined Brock would probably have
been married by then, perhaps with kids. The thought of it almost
made him shudder, but he did feel a certain sadness for his friend.
Not pity. A twinge of sadness. He began to feel badly for how he
joked earlier. Not once did they speak of the random, meaningless
act between them.

Brock looked up and caught Hunter staring at
him while lost in thought. He typed something into the computer and
Hunter’s attention snapped back when the voice came from Brock’s
chair.

“Seriously, try any gay shit and I’m peeing
on you. You freak.”

Hunter rolled off the couch with laughter and
no longer felt bad for anything. He laughed so hard his stomach
cramped and tears rolled down his temples into his hair. No one
else could elicit laughter like that from him. No one.

He pulled himself up from the floor, plopped
back on the couch and asked, “So what do ya wanna eat, ya
cripple?”

It was Hunter’s first time being present
during one of Brock’s calls with Suren and Ken. “Don’t let them
know I’m in the room with you. I’m not going to talk.”

“Ok.”

“Put the phone on speaker and hopefully there
won’t be any interference or feedback from the computer.”

“It’s a crap phone. It will probably pick up
interference from the air alone.”

“I know,” Hunter replied and grabbed the
plastic bag that contained the prepaid cellphone they purchased for
that purpose while faux-sightseeing after Brock’s arrival the day
before. “But like I said, using the phone in here would be way too
risky.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Let them know the call isn’t scripted so
you’ll be typing, which takes longer.”

“Yeah. I think they understand. I mean, they
at least know I can’t speak unassisted. I think. Actually, I have
no idea what they know. Never mind.”

“Maybe they think you’re—” Hunter started to
say as he struggled to open the packaging for the prepaid cell
phone. Instead of finishing the sentence, Hunter hummed and sang
the theme song for
Inspector Gadget
.

“God
,
you are such a
prick. How has no one ever killed you? Someone should’ve killed you
by now,” Brock directed the computer to say and then rolled his
eyes in disapproval of his friend.

“I’m slippery,” Hunter shrugged nonchalantly
and placed the cell phone face-up on the tray in front of
Brock.

“That’s called slimy. You’re a slimy
dude.”

“My balls are slimy.”

“Ewww. I’ve never liked you. You do realize
this, right?”

“Sad that I’m your best friend then,” Hunter
smiled and leaned over Brock’s shoulder. He pressed the ‘send’
button on the phone, winked
,
and said, “Ok
Sweetness, you’re on.”

Twenty-seven minutes later
,
their plan was set. Brock and Ken would meet the
following morning at the World War II memorial in downtown D.C. at
11:00 am. Ken would give Brock a flash drive containing a digital
version of
Encyclopedia Veil
and bring an additional blank
drive for the schematics. After that, they all had a total of four
days; both groups only had four days until Hunter made his big
move.

Once Ken’s so-called
Encyclopedia Veil
was in his hands, Hunter would study the document for the following
two nights
,
after his usual work in the
lab. He wanted to allow himself enough time to thoroughly read
every bit of Ken’s document. He couldn’t risk bringing any of the
new data into the lab. He needed to commit all of it to memory. He
figured two nights of studying would be enough. Then, he would use
the following days in the lab to add the new programming to the
Veil prototype schematics—provided he could get the
knuckle-draggers to go the fuck away.

Hunter already knew how he was going to
distract the pair and keep them out of the lab for the two whole
days he required in order to write, program and test the additional
coding. Since they developed a fully functional, basic prototype of
Veil, the next logical step would be for them to test it. Hunter
would just so happen to have himself a seemingly spontaneous yet
brilliant idea: over the course of those two days he needed the lab
to himself, Schaffer and Pollock should Veil each other. In fact,
Hunter would have it no other way.