“Well enough,” said Ben. “And you? You look wonderful as always.”
She laughed, a low, indulgent sound.
General Stone loudly cleared his throat. “Birchard, since you seem to know Ms. Porcher so well, why don’t you escort her upstairs. Take one of the null-projectors with you,” he added with a suspicious glance at the news reporter. Veronica pretended not to hear him.
Ben, ever obedient to his master, turned first to Oliver and Emily, but he must have thought better of that decision, because he suddenly shifted his attention away. “Quincy, Alyson, how would you two like to take a short break with me up to the fifth floor?”
Quincy wordlessly stood and straightened the stack of papers she had been looking through. Alyson was equally ready to comply, though a nervous hint of jealousy gleamed in her eyes as she smoothed her rumpled suit. Emily didn’t know why she bothered. Not a hair was out of place on Veronica, who looked as though she had just come from an extended session with makeup and wardrobe professionals. No one in the room could compete with her as far as looks went. An anxious dab of a thing like Alyson had no chance.
And why she would want a chance with the likes of Ben Birchard, Emily would never understand.
The foursome exited the conference room, leaving behind a number of star-struck GCA agents in their wake. General Stone turned to Principal Carter. “You really thought it was appropriate to put your little prima donna up in a hotel for an unknown period of time?”
Carter shifted uncertainly from one foot to another. “It seemed reasonable enough when she asked.”
General Stone smiled sarcastically. “I’m sure it did. Has she been briefed on her role in this charade?”
“Yes. She has a set of broadcasts to run this evening from seven to eleven, so she’ll need to go back to the studio in a couple of hours. She wanted to get settled where she was staying before then, which is why we’ve come.”
“She came now because she wanted me to approve a five-star hotel room for her,” General Stone said.
“Not five-star,” Principal Carter protested faintly.
“Have you seen where she usually stays? NPNN should know better than anyone to keep an eye on human-projectors in their midst. This one in particular has been using her talents to upgrade her lifestyle, and the government gets to foot the bill. I will not tolerate that sort of insurrection, Carter. She is a tool, and she will behave accordingly.”
“I’m sure she understands, General,” Carter said quickly, and he glanced around the room in growing embarrassment.
General Stone continued. “I have very little patience for projectors. If we didn’t need her…” He left that sentence hanging so that everyone within hearing distance could imagine a suitably disagreeable ending.
“I—I understand,” the Prom-C principal said, appropriately cowed by the general’s menacing aura. “I’m one hundred percent certain that Veronica knows her place and won’t cause you any trouble. She’s always done excellent work in the past.”
General Stone grunted and turned away. “And now that she’s here safe and sound, I’m sure the Prometheus-C campus is awaiting your return.”
“Yes, sir.” Principal Carter made a short bow, looked around again in confusion, and then retreated from the room. The GCA agents exchanged uncomfortable glances.
“Everyone stop what you’re doing and hand your papers back to Agent Knox,” General Stone abruptly announced. “We’ve done enough for today. Knox, have the likely locations compiled into a separate list by tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, sir,” said Agent Knox, but his expression looked like he’d been commanded to dive into a vat full of mealworms.
Emily didn’t begrudge him his task. It was sure to be long and boring, and she was glad it hadn’t been allocated to her. She quickly handed the remainder of her pages to Oliver, who shuffled them in with his own and added the whole to Knox’s growing pile.
“Can I go back to my room?” Oliver boldly asked.
General Stone was busy checking his phone again, but he took the time to wave one hand dismissively, as though shooing away a fly. Oliver caught Emily’s eye and tipped his head toward the doorway.
She was more than grateful to make a retreat. “You want to take the stairs again?” she asked once they were out in the hall.
“Why would I choose to climb three flights if I didn’t have to? It’s not like Birchard’s going to be in the elevator poisoning the air with his smugness.”
“True,” said Emily.
As he pushed the button to go up, though, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open to reveal the object of their conversation.
“Oh!” said Ben, halfway out before he registered that they were standing right in front of him.
“We’ve been excused for the evening,” Oliver said shortly. “You’d probably better report back to General Stone so he can give you your marching orders.”
Ben smiled wryly. “Yes, I probably should. I’ll see you two later.” He slipped past them, not one bit upset by Oliver’s peremptory dismissal.
“That was easy enough,” said Emily as the elevator doors shut behind them.
Oliver grunted, Ben’s nonchalant attitude having rubbed him the wrong way as usual.
Their adventures were not quite over, though. Emily saw Oliver to his room, and when he was safely inside, she turned to her own. She was surprised to discover Veronica coming down the hall, an eager attendant in tow with her baggage.
“Is this your room?” she asked Emily, pointing to the nearest door.
“Yes,” said Emily tightly.
“I was hoping you might do me a little favor,” Veronica said with a disarming smile. “Since I have to leave early in the mornings and come back late at night, I was hoping for something a little closer to the elevator. Would you mind switching rooms with me?”
Yes, Emily thought with growing irritation. “My room is next door to Oliver’s,” she said aloud. “I’m supposed to stay next to him—you know, Prometheus handler and all.”
The disarming smile looked a little strained. “You’ll still be on the same floor. I’m sure no one will mind. General Stone probably won’t even know. I mean, there’s no reason for him to come up and check where we’re all staying, is there? Pretty please? I’d be so grateful to you.”
Emily didn’t care to have gratitude from someone like Veronica. She was more annoyed that, even in government-regulated quarters, she was being asked to move aside for someone more important than her, someone who regularly stayed in five-star hotel rooms, someone who was a human-projector who always got her own way. Like Honey West.
Before she could voice her anger, Oliver’s door opened behind her. “She said no, ya harpy,” he told Veronica in his brattiest voice. “Go back to your own room and quit trying to project your wants on everyone else. It’s not going to work as long as I’m around.”
Then, he slammed the door.
Gratified as she was for the interruption, Emily was still embarrassed. “Sorry,” she said to the astonished television reporter. Mortified, she skirted past her into her own room. Veronica remained speechless, clearly unaccustomed to such treatment.
Emily leaned against the closed door with a sigh of relief. If not for Oliver’s presence she would have caved to the beautiful woman’s demands. She would have had no choice, just like she’d had no choice with Honey West.
How grateful she was to Oliver just for being there. Maybe she should buy him his own bottle of pancake syrup in thanks.
XVI
Real Irish Tea (Reprise)
August 1, 6:45pm mst, GCA regional office, Central Phoenix
“Wow,” said Oliver to Emily. “Birchard must hate you. He brought you fish for dinner.”
“I happen to like fish.” Emily stabbed the mahi-mahi filet with her fork perhaps a little too vigorously. She did like fish. She just didn’t like that Ben obviously knew as much.
But then, it wasn’t a strip steak and baked potato,
so she should have been grateful rather than annoyed.
She glanced over at Oliver’s entrée. “How’s the chicken?”
Oliver’s attention darted to the corner, where Ben sat talking with Alyson. He made an unhappy noise in the back of his throat, which Emily took to mean that it was delicious.
“What did Quincy get?”
He made a face. “Some gross vegetarian thing. I think it has eggplant in it.”
“Did she want some gross vegetarian thing?” Emily enjoyed a lot of vegetarian meals, but she could understand why such cuisine wouldn’t appeal to a couple of grade-school kids.
“Probably. She doesn’t eat meat,” said Oliver.
Emily stared. “She had a burger for lunch.”
“Veggie-burger. And her breakfast was scones and fruit salad with a side of eggs that she didn’t eat. She says eggs are proto-meat. She’ll eat them if they’re mixed into something, but she doesn’t like them plain.”
“Maybe she could try adding ketchup,” said Emily dryly. Oliver leveled his standard “you’re such an idiot” look directly at her.
There was no need to ask what Alyson’s dinner was. In her ecstasy over the fettuccini alfredo, she’d taken five minutes to express her nervous, excited thanks. Emily imagined that she didn’t have much experience with men, because she seemed to think Ben’s attentions were personal instead of realizing that he catered to everyone he met.
It was sad to watch.
The conversation in the corner took an interesting twist. Alyson asked, “So, how long have you known Veronica Porcher?”
Emily, careful not to make any jarring movements, lifted her gaze from her food to study the pair.
Ben smiled. “Oh, it’s been a few years or more now,” he mused as though recalling blissful days. “We dated for a short while.”
“O-oh,” said Alyson, who looked supremely disappointed. “She… she’s always been one of my favorite reporters. She’s so beautiful and well-spoken.”
He nodded, much to her dismay.
“Hey.” Quincy abruptly stood from the nearby table, where she’d been sitting alone. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
Alyson extracted herself from the conversation with apparent relief and hurriedly followed her charge out the door.
“When do you go to the bathroom?” Oliver asked Emily impertinently.
She plastered a bland smile on her face. “I wear an adult diaper during the day so that I never have to leave your side.”
He recoiled. “Ew! Gross!”
She lightly swatted his head. “I go when you go. Or what, did you think I just always stand outside the boys’ room like a faithful dog?”
“You’re always there when I get out.”
“You always take too long looking at yourself in the mirror,” Emily said. That was only a guess, but by his outraged expression she’d hit the nail right on the head.
“You two look like you’re having fun,” said Ben as he sauntered from the opposite corner. “How’s your dinner?”
Oliver grunted.
“It’s excellent, thank you,” said Emily with a fake smile.
He suppressed a laugh. “No love lost for me on this side of the room, I see. Have I done something to offend you?” This question was directed at Emily, as he apparently knew Oliver was a lost cause.
“No,” she said lightly.
“Your girlfriend tried to kick her out of her room earlier,” said Oliver. Emily shot him a warning glance, but that only made him defensive. “What? She did. And if not for me, you would’ve let her.”
Ben watched the interchange with interest. “If by ‘girlfriend’ you mean Veronica,” he said apologetically, “then I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to her by that particular title.”
“Rough breakup?” Oliver snidely asked.
“Nothing’s ever rough for her,” said Ben, but then he added, “except when she’s around the likes of you. No, Veronica can have any man she wants, and for a few short days, she wanted me. Just between us, though,”—he leaned in closer, as though telling Oliver a secret—“it was all part of my interview process with the GCA. She and I are on good terms because we have no reason to be otherwise.”
“Part of your interview process involved you dating Veronica Porcher?” Emily asked skeptically.
“They didn’t say so at the time, of course,” said Ben, straightening, “but the GCA always exposes potential staff members to a low-level projector to assess their susceptibility. I conveniently met Veronica on my way out from my third interview at Prom-A, she conveniently was interested in spending time with me, and we conveniently broke up all within two weeks. I got my job three days later.”
“I guess handlers don’t merit that sort of scrutiny,” said Emily. She certainly hadn’t dated any extra-charming individuals during her interview process.
Ben shook his head, but his answer surprised her. “Not to such an extent as full-time staff members, no. You did meet with a projector at some point in the process. I told you that you scored high for obedience on your personality assessment, didn’t I?”
She opened her mouth but then shut it again without speaking. She had naturally assumed that the “personality assessment” had been one of the myriad questionnaires she’d filled out with her applications. She racked her brains to recall all the people she’d met with, but it had been so long ago, back when she’d just been starting her graduate program.
“Girls always take so long in the bathroom,” Ben said absently. He glanced toward the doorway and then shifted a wry look upon the surly ten-year-old next to him. “Almost as long as you do, Oliver. I wonder how much longer they’re going to be.”
“Did you need something from them?” Emily tightly asked. Why didn’t he just follow the pair into the girls’ room, since he didn’t have any scruples about snooping elsewhere?
“Actually, I had a matter to discuss with all of you.” Ben pulled a set of keys from his suit pocket. “It took me a while to get General Stone to agree with me even bringing it up, because it’s something of a sensitive subject. We’ll have to wait until they get back to discuss it any further.”
He was just trying to drum up their curiosity, probably for his own amusement. Well, it wouldn’t work on her. She kept her expression neutral, as if she didn’t care what sensitive subject General Stone had agreed to let Ben broach.
Except she did care. It had to do with the Wests, because everything right now tied back to the Wests, and Emily wanted nothing more than for those four kids to get caught and dragged back to Prometheus. She was willing to do whatever she could to help in that endeavor.
But no one wanted her help. It was Oliver and Quincy they needed. She and Alyson were a couple of warm bodies there to make sure those two didn’t disappear into the sunset as well.
“Here you are,” Ben said as Quincy and Alyson returned from their bathroom break. “Let’s all adjourn to the computer lab down the hall, shall we?”
“There’s a computer lab down the hall?” Oliver asked with interest.
“Restricted access,” Ben replied, and he swung his keys on one finger for emphasis. He led them around the corner to a plain-looking doorway, where both key and fingerprint were required to open the lock. He pressed his thumb onto the pad. “Fingerprint scanners are so easy to hack. All it takes is an authorized print and a copy machine, but it makes the higher-ups feel so much more secure when they have to use a body part to gain access somewhere.” He took the time to wipe his own print off the scanner before he held the door open for all of them.
“In you go,” he said.
Within was a very small room, more like a closet than a lab, where two computers sat on standby. Everyone squashed in, with Oliver and Quincy taking the only two chairs while Emily and Alyson wedged themselves into the corners. Ben stepped between the two kids and tapped a password into a prompt on one computer.
“Now,” he said, “what I’m about to tell you is completely confidential,
and you’re never to speak of it outside this room, do you understand? Quincy, Oliver, that means no discussing it with your little friends once you get back to Prometheus. Alyson, Emily, that goes double for you. Mere mention of the word can get you expelled from the premises and regarded as a threat to national security.”
He was going to talk about Altair again. Emily’s heart rate spiked. “What if we don’t want to know about it?”
He tipped his head toward the door. “You’re welcome to wait outside if that’s how you feel. I wouldn’t blame you in the least.”
She might have taken him up on that offer, except that Oliver turned disparaging eyes upon her. “Stay where you are,” that glare said, and it effectively killed any inner initiative that she had to flee.
When it became apparent that no one was making an escape, Ben proceeded. “I thought that so long as you both are here to help find the Wests, you should probably be aware of their movements and the GCA’s efforts to get them back. I convinced General Stone to let you help with the property search this afternoon—”
“Oh, thanks loads,” said Oliver sarcastically.
“—but it took me a little while longer for him to agree with me sharing what you’re about to see,” he continued seamlessly, as though Oliver had not spoken a word. “Do you want to look at surveillance footage first, or files?”
“We’ve been looking at files all afternoon,” said Quincy in an exasperated voice.
Ben spared her a faint smile. “Surveillance footage it is, then. This is from yesterday morning’s break-in. One of the GCA techs cobbled together all the pertinent footage into one loop.”
He tapped a few keys, and a window opened up on the screen in front of Oliver. The camera angle showed the front security guards’ desk and the door leading to the street. A time signature in the corner read 07:16. “It starts with the view from inside the entrance,” Ben said. “Roughly ten minutes before, this branch of the GCA received notification from the national headquarters that Honey and Happy West had been spotted at a restaurant a few miles away. The agents on duty scrambled to put together a surveillance team, and most of them were away from the office when this occurred. Now, there—see the guard pick up the phone?” On screen, the security guard spoke into a handset. “If you squint you can make out the four kids through the glass of the front door. That’s Honey on the other end of the phone. They called the accounting department first and had them transfer the call down to the security desk, presumably because they didn’t have the extension for the direct line down there. The main phones were still switched over to the answering service, so they had to use a back-door line anyway.”
A Rumor of Real Irish Tea (Annals of Altair Book 2) Page 15
