Virtually His (11 page)

He wasn’t averse to crossing the line. God knew he’d done that more times than he could count, but in all those times, he’d been in total control, even in the middle of sex. He opened his eyes, ignoring the sharp stab of cold liquid needles on his head and shoulders. He thought of how wet she’d felt. Real or not, he’d felt her response through the feedback oscillator. His lips twisted wryly. The experiment—a virtual reflection of her virtual reality experience being fed back to him—was going to be more successful than they’d thought. He had felt her very close to coming without having touched her. What would it be like when their minds became even more in sync with remote viewing?

The cold water didn’t appear to affect his current condition. Kirkland would be coming over here soon. He squeezed a small amount of liquid soap in his hand. Reached down. Closed his eyes. And thought of the feel of her hand around him.

Area 4, secret test facility, Virginia

“I
want you to find out the identity of our target. Here are the coordinates. Find out exactly what they’re doing. Remember how it felt to lose to that woman. We aren’t going to let some other candidate win, are we? Think of it. You can beat her. This is your chance.”

Zoom.

Dark. Dark.

“This is where I am. The room inside the monitor room. Right turn. Electronic panel. Going to open…”

“We’re not interested in the panel, Agent. Go through into that room on the right. What’s in there?”

Zoom. Focus.

“I…the door is gray and made of…”

“Agent 22! Just walk through it.”

“I…can’t.”

“What does he mean, he can’t?”

“I don’t know. He’s never said that before. Listen, Agent 22, go through the door and tell us what’s in that room. This is an order.”

Zoom. Close-up. Make door open. Make door disappear.

“I…can’t. Can’t go through. Feels like thick liquid. Like drowning. No, there is some electrical current. I feel energy. No, waves, like…”

“Shut him up. Those drugs are really fucking him up more and more. He’s useless.”

“Agent 22, this is your monitor. I’m your guide. You can trust me, remember? You can go through anything. You’re the camera. Tell us what you see. Zoom in.”

“Can’t…see. Feel lots of pressure. Like waterfall. Like electric current. Like big waves moving and rolling together.”

“He isn’t even making sense. The others never had this problem. Waterfall, big waves?”

“Let me try another way. Agent 22, listen to me. Why can’t you go through?”

Zoom. Pan back.

“This is what I see. Someone walks into the room. A doctor. He opens a drawer and pulls out some files. He walks back toward the entrance. The phone rings. He pauses, then returns to the desk and picks up the phone.

“He says, ‘Yes, I’m alone. I punched in the secured line. I’ll bring them to you and we can go over them.’ The doctor then hangs up. He has the file…”

“Oh, shut him down. We want to get into the room, not follow this doctor.”

“No, it’s okay. We’ll see where the doctor’s going, find out more about this project. Follow him, Agent. Where’s he now?”

Zoom. Cut.

“Entering another level. Gray carpet. Looking up. Different…I can’t see well.”

“Follow him, Agent. I’m here with you. Don’t be afraid.”

“The passage is light, then dim, then almost shadowy. Like a tunnel with strange walls. The doctor knocks on a door. The pounding’s so loud! He palms the scanner and the door slides open. The doctor steps into the—oh, my God—”

“Shit! He’s screaming like he’s in pain! Why’s he covering his eyes?”

“Agent, what’s wrong?”

Dark. Dark.
“Can’t see, can’t see! Loud! Mental block. Can’t see! Headache. Get me out, get me out!”

“That’s the second time his stupid headaches have interrupted the sessions. I say let’s use someone new.”

“Please, please, I need another dose.”
Dark. Gone.
“It hurts! The air is like water. The energy is beating on my head.”

“You’re right. The drug has eaten his brain or something. Look at his vitals. He’s having difficulty breathing.”

“I say let him suffocate. It would be natural causes, right?”

“No. They’ll discover the serum in his system. We don’t want anyone to be suspicious about any of the patients here. Let’s snap him out of it. Agent, can you hear me?”

Dark. Dark. Very, very dark.

COS COMMAND CENTER

Kirkland put down the files he had brought along on the huge desk that dominated the room. The private living quarters suited the owner—stark, simple, and work-oriented. He couldn’t find a single thing there that betrayed anything about the man who was casually putting on some clothes in front of him. Like the desk, his presence dominated the room. He wondered whether the man had any other life outside here.

“Here they are. Nothing unusual. I assume the session went very well? She mentioned you both were falling from a great height. Did you plan that?” Dr. Kirkland sat down.

He watched the man throw the wet towel into a bin nearby, then walk with that unhurried air he always had toward the small kitchen.

“No, it was unplanned,” he said as he poured a drink from the refrigerator.

Kirkland nodded at the silent offer of a glass. “Was it a test of her reflexes? Or how she was adjusting to VR?”

The Portal was the newest tech advancement for VR and with its brain wave synchronicity mode, he was concerned about the complex issues behind the program. As a doctor, he was excited to see two candidates so suited for the new program. He had been a junior aide during the first experiments in the V-Program years ago, and now he was part of the main research team of V2, as COMCEN had secretly renamed this program.

“Yes.”

“They like to file every finding and effect about Miss Roston ASAP,” Kirkland said.

“Later, Doc. Tonight.”

Kirkland usually advised against that, but he was talking to a man who could recall a memory of a map of a hostile camp down to the color of the coffee cup in the hand of the man he had assassinated from six years ago. He would never forget the amazing show of the man’s computation abilities during the initial stages of finding and approving the trainer role for V2.

“Will you be at the Q and A session?” Finishing the cold protein juice, Kirkland got up to put the glass in the kitchen sink.

“Probably, if I’m back. I’ll want to listen in on the tape if I’m late.”

Kirkland noted the new shoes the man was putting on and wondered what assignment he was going into. “I’m sure Miss Roston will be asking a bunch of questions. She’s the one taking all the risks, after all. She’s been very cooperative, though. Her psych profile said she wasn’t a team player but I find that to be untrue.”

“Are you sure, Doc?”

Dr. Kirkland caught the amusement that flitted momentarily across the man’s face. “She has always answered every question, even the ones that were private. She hasn’t objected to the lack of privacy and has forgone many things without complaint. It’s not every day we find a woman like that,” he pointed out, and hastily added, “or a man.”

The amusement was now evident in the man’s voice. “I know you like her, Kirkland, no need to get so defensive. GEM operatives are very professional. The few I’ve seen and worked with have always been exceptional when it came to adapting to extreme environments. Hell’s exceptionally good at her job.” The lips quirked. “She also has an exceptional way with men, as you noticed.”

So it was Hell, the nickname her friends used. That was quick progress. It was very good that the two of them were getting along.

“Yes, it’ll probably help speed our synchronization,” the man agreed.

Kirkland rubbed his nose, trying to hide his surprise. How did he always read his mind at the oddest moment? It was unsettling, even after all these years. “Yes, of course.”

“You’re probably going to stay up all night wondering which came first, the synchronization of brain waves or the ease with which we’re relating to each other.”

Kirkland silently agreed, although the chicken or egg question wouldn’t worry the people who were going to watch the test tonight. Some of them hated what they mocked as ‘woo-woo’ stuff. But with nine department heads sitting in—some of whom were already miffed that their candidates didn’t get them the crown—this was a very important project for them. And it all rested on one woman’s shoulders right now. He wondered whether she understood the importance.

He looked at the worn book opened on the kitchen table, glancing down at the page quickly. “E, huh? What’s today’s word?” He’d recently become aware of the other man’s strange habit of thumbing through the dictionary. “Is it a difficult one?”

“Exceptionally hard.” There was that small quirk of lips again, as if something was privately amusing him.

Oh…exceptional. Kirkland looked down at the page again. “Constituting, or occurring as, an exception; not ordinary or average,” he read out loud, “needing special attention or presenting a special problem.” He glanced up and quizzically asked, “Which meaning?”

The quirk became even more mocking. “Both.”

He was missing a joke here somewhere; he was sure of it, but then he was slow to catch them. Following the man out, Kirkland watched him pick a set of keys from a panel that had dozens of sets hanging there. “You’re dividing your time with too many operations,” he observed. “Consolidate and give someone else more responsibilities.”

“We all have to do our assignments, Doc, but Miss Roston will get my top priority, don’t worry. Now I have to get going.” He pocketed the keys. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Kirkland sighed. Mind games, that was what they were all trained for. He was just a poor scientist trying to get some results in a controlled environment. Needless to say, COMCEN wasn’t a good place for scientists.

“You’re fifteen minutes late,” Helen announced as Flyboy hurried down the stairway to her, his long limbs in crisp white pants.

“You’re a tough woman,” he said when he reached her at the bottom. “I told you I’d be ten minutes later than you, and that makes me five minutes late.”

“What were you doing, beautifying that perfect coif?” she mocked.

Flyboy laughed, his teeth perfectly straight and white, of course. He looked boyish in his cream T-shirt and pants, his hair flicked back carelessly. He tapped on his watch.

“How much time do we have before I have to get you back here?”

“We’re eating outside the Center?”

“What, you want to be cooped up in here all day? Want to come or not?”

“Yeah.” A breath of fresh air from everything would be welcome. “Where are we going? Not too fancy a place, I hope?”

Flyboy’s grin was devilish. “That’s for another date. Got to slowly work you up to fancy. Then you’ll appreciate me more and more.”

“Ah,” Helen said with a nod. They walked past security, then through the double doors. “It’s cheap hamburger and fries then.”

The weather was balmy outside, just turning a bit cool, especially in the shade. Flyboy put on his sunglasses as he pointed to the vehicle parked not too far away.

“My, my, Center must pay their commandos very, very well,” she murmured. This was an expensively-packaged European car, with the extra knobs and whistles under the hood, the kind one admired in a magazine with no hope of purchasing. She paused a few paces away to admire it. “Six hundred horsepower. Double overhead cams. Sixteen valves, supercharged. Top speed 180 miles an hour. Zero to sixty in five point five secs. Back to dead stop thirteen point five secs.”

Flyboy gave her a bemused look. “Not quite the typical girl talker, are you? Next you’ll tell me you’re a race freak.”

Helen stole a quick glance at Flyboy but he was just looking at her with open admiration. Strange coincidence that she had just passed on a certain image to Hades, and here was a race car. Still, they couldn’t have possibly produced the exact image in that quick a time.

“I like cars,” she said in an easy voice. “You must be superrich to own this one, sweetheart.”

“I like speed.” Flyboy grinned as he flipped the car keys into the air. “And I test drive vehicles for anyone who is kind enough to lend me fast things.”

T. had told her about Flyboy’s love of anything that flew. He was the youngest of the original COS commandos, enthusiastic and eager.

“Is that how you do everything? In hot pursuit?” she teased.

Flyboy laid an arm over her shoulders and hugged her close to him. Lowering his voice, he said, “It can be hot, but it doesn’t have to be fast all the time, babe.”

Helen laughed, shaking her head. He was incorrigible.

“Look who’s going out,” Flyboy added.

Helen turned and watched as Alex Diamond approached, motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. He looked just as lethal in a leather jacket.

“We’re bumping into each other a lot today,” Helen remarked. “You lunching, too?”

Alex studied them for a moment. “I didn’t think you were allowed to eat anything other than the crap they feed you in there,” he said, not even pausing as he walked by. Clearly, he didn’t expect a conversation.

Meaning alcohol, caffeine, ibuprofen…Helen went through a mental list of all the no-nos she had to observe. She shrugged. What was new about her boring life? She caught sight of the motorcycle parked nearby. Nice machine.

“At least I can still speed, right?” she called. That was probably the longest sentence the man had ever said to her.

Diamond turned. “Good luck, Helen,” he said quietly.

“Thanks.” Helen frowned as she looked at his back.

“What is it?” Flyboy rubbed her shoulder.

“Nothing.” Except Alex Diamond’s stance, the way he stood so still, reminded her of…She shook her head mentally. “Just one of those passing thoughts. Now, let’s see you test drive this baby, Flyboy.”

He unlocked the car and bowed extravagantly as she got in. “Zero to sixty in five point five secs, sweetheart. We’re going maximum horsepower.”

Helen batted her eyes. “Oh, my. The things you do to a girl’s heart rate.”

Helen liked to analyze a man by the car he drove. This expensive vehicle might not be Flyboy’s but he looked very comfortable in it. His hands ran around the steering wheel as if he were giving it a caress. He made some quick adjustments, then turned to make sure she had her seat belt on. He winked as he leaned over, pulling on the strap.

“Just double-checking out of habit,” he said.

She had a feeling that he did a lot of double-checking. In his job, the tiniest mistake could be fatal. The way he moved around, looking in control, he seemed to be about to take the car for a spin in the heavens. Like any sportster, the interior was more like the inside of an aircraft, with just enough legroom and head space, and the instrument panel lit up by all kinds of dials.

“What’s the fastest speed you’ve driven in a car?” she asked, curious.

“Two hundred, two hundred and twenty.” That was traveling the length of a football field a second. “Scared?”