“I know he’s your friend and that he’s a major part of Admiral Madison’s investigative council, but can we fully trust him?” the woman interjected. “He’s still CIA.”
“Once a bureaucrat, always a bureaucrat,” the man observed.
“Harden wasn’t always a bureaucrat,” Jed said. “Besides, this is personal to him. His wife, GEM operative Nikki Harden, was a victim of the CIA moles.”
“All right, McNeil. I’ll update you on any conversations with him.”
“In your opinion, is the Virus unit still overextended, now that you have Admiral Madison’s SEALs to help you out?”
Helen frowned. She knew, from T’s briefing and some reading, that the COS commandos—the original nine—had undergone an intensive experimental training program called Virus, so this “Virus unit” must be referring toherteam. There were seven of them now, excluding her. Like her, two of the others, Armando Chang and Shahrukh Kingsley, were relatively new additions. It’d never occurred to her until now why there was the sudden merger between certain parts of CCC and GEM. She’d figured the need to avenge for lost teammates came into it but, in this room, she saw that the merger was more than that. The big explosion that had killed a few of the COS Commandos and her sister operatives so many years ago had effectively shut down many ongoing operations and pushed CCC to the limit.
So now they were back to eight, if they counted her. She rubbed her nose. She wondered what “number” she’d be assigned. The thought made her roll her eyes. Why couldn’t men be more creative and use gems and jewelry instead of stupid numbers?
She looked thoughtfully over at Number “so-I-can-still-freak-you-out” Nine. He projected the aura of a man who very seldom failed. How galling it must have been for him to see his men die, to acknowledge that he’d failed them. His job was to close a mission. It suddenly dawned on her he’d never “finished” that particular one. Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t know where the feeling came from, but she’d bet a whole week of coffee Number Nine had been working toward some end game he wasn’t revealing to whoever these two debriefing him were.
So many layers to this man. Could she ever have the time to peel him apart like he did her?
Chapter Eight
Secret test facility, Virginia
“Five-One, are you ready?”
Of course he was ready. He was beyond ready. When he’d been told about the test run, he’d wanted to kiss his so-called monitor in gratitude.
“Yes,” he said crisply. “No alcohol or caffeine in my bloodstream. No contaminants. I’m fully rested.”
So that was a white lie. He’d managed to bum some cigarettes from the few patients he’d befriended because he needed a buzz. They were so lucky not to be in any program that cut off their goodies. Downtime had been the pits. He hadn’t been able to sleep well at all, not with the headaches and nothing to soothe him.
His heart was beating so loudly in anticipation he was afraid his monitor could hear it. He so, so wanted this, needed this. But he had to be careful and not let the bastards see what the serum was like for him. If they knew, they would probably use the knowledge against him.
And this was perfect. They were going to look in on the bitch and now he could retrieve his cache. He’d been thinking of how she’d done it, hadn’t quite figured that part out yet, but since she took from him, he couldn’t see why he couldn’t take from her too.
“Now you know what your assignment is, right, Five-One?” his monitor prompted him, holding up a sealed envelope.
“Yes, the universal agreement is to go immediately to where the winner of the supersoldier-spy program is and make sure she isn’t in Macedonia. That way we’ll be sure she isn’t in our way this time when we’re there.”
“Yes, that’s right. Do the best you can to describe what you see, and then come back immediately because we’re going to need all your strength for the next assignment. It’s going to be a tough one and we’ll need you one hundred percent.”
One thing he had to say about his monitor, whatever his name was—Thin One, as he called him—he was very succinct in his instructions and knew how to keep him focused. If it had been Fat One, things would have gone disastrously wrong from the get-go. He couldn’t focus when there was such impatience and ridicule around him.
He glanced at Fat One. Maybe that was why he was sitting across the room this time and not taking up so much of his personal space. Maybe Thin One told his friend to shut up for once.
“Not a problem,” he told his monitor. “I’ll focus on her and make sure she’s nowhere in Macedonia, or going there.”
If he could, he’d make damn sure she would feel as lost as he was right now.
“Good. Take a deep breath. Focus on the soundwaves while I inject the serum into you. There you go. Five-One, think of the envelope and tell me when you’re where you’re supposed to be. Details, please.”
He did as he was told. Remote viewing wasn’t a complicated process for him any more. Once his brainwaves went to theta, he could bilocate—go to the agreed universal location—without even being conscious about it.
The heat of the serum. Oh, God, the rush, the rush. He felt his head go back as the heady feeling spread inside him. Trigger code...
Switch to channel three. Set programming time. Set channel.
Timer on. Record.
“I feel the coordinates,” he announced.
