Reba chuckled. "Wendell does make a good point."
"Fine," I said, throwing up my hands. "Cool cave it is. But don't expect me to say that out loud." I frowned at Wendell. "I didn't bring you on board so you could come up with silly names for stuff."
"Don't worry," Wendell said. "I'm on top of it. While you were sleeping and growing a donkey dick, I've been studying the gear in the cool cave. Gadgets, computers, everything. Since we haven't been briefed on the mission yet, I brought along a nice variety of equipment. Once we get details, I'll get you nicely situated. I promise, you'll be ready for anything."
Wendell's breakdown of his preparations reassured me that bringing him along was the right choice. He was a character, for sure, but I had the feeling that when things got real, he'd get real as well.
"Great," I said to Wendell. "And what about the implant? Dr. Kazue said you'd fill me in."
Wendell nodded. "The doc wanted me to test it and get you set up before we landed." He pulled what looked like a square black tile from his pocket. "This is your new phone."
"Looks kind of small."
Before I finished the sentence, Wendell thumbed a button and the phone snapped open, instantly doubling in size. It now appeared slightly larger than my iPhone X, but instead of a single screen, rows of app icons appeared on both sides.
Wendell winked at me. "Double-sided screen. Pretty sweet, huh? And check out how thin it is." He turned the phone sideways and I almost gasped. It was no thicker than a credit card.
"Wow!" I said. "That is sweet."
"That's not even the best part," Reba said, with a hint of annoyance. "Apparently it works anywhere in the world and you never have to recharge it. Never. Can you believe that?"
"Actually I do. Digby showed me a phone just like it when he first took me into the action room."
"Cool cave," Wendell corrected. "Get it right."
"Whatever."
Reba said, "Did my father also tell you that Wendell and I don't get new phones?"
"No. Why not?"
She sighed. "Some silly rule about who gets to use proto-tech devices, and the risk of losing them. Blah, blah, blah. Personally, I don't think it's fair."
"Hold on," Wendell said to Reba. "Didn't you tell me to quit griping about not getting a superhero makeover like Matt? How is whining about not getting a super-phone any different?"
Reba leveled self-righteous eyes on Wendell. "Because a super-phone would be a useful tool for all of us on these missions. You're just the techie on the team. You don't need the halo implant or the enhancements. You just want them so that you can impress the babes. Tell me I'm wrong."
"You're wrong," Wendell said, returning her stare. "What if Matt gets into a tight spot and needs a bro to back him up?"
Reba snorted. "You wouldn't be able to help him. You'd be too busy banging some bimbo."
"That's funny," Wendell said. "And completely ridiculous. Soon as I got the call, I'd stop mid-hump to run and save Matt. Spies before thighs. You never heard of that?"
Reba laughed. "You're crazy, you know that?"
"Actually," I said, "you're both being a little crazy right now. Can we get back to business?" I turned to Wendell. "You were going to test the implant and show me how to use it."
Wendell nodded. "Right. Digby said you already played around with the app, so you know how to open it and swipe through the menus, right?"
"Yeah, it was just like using any other app."
"Exactly. Now gimme a sec. I'm going to upload a skill set to the implant."
"Whoa!" I said. "Right this second?"
"Yeah. It's crazy easy and Dr. Kazue said you won't feel a thing."
"That's what he said about injecting the implant and I never want to go through that again."
Wendell frowned. "Okay, okay. He did say you might feel a little tingling sensation, but he promised, zero pain."
I stared at Wendell looking for any sign that he was bullshitting me.
"It's true," Reba said. "Dr. Kazue said the upload was painless. And think about it, would he leave the testing to a computer geek if he thought there'd be a medical issue?"
Wendell winced. "I hate to admit it, but she has a point. It's all good, bro. I got you."
Reluctantly I nodded. "Okay. Do it."
I watched Wendell swipe and poke at the super-phone's screen. The idea that he was fiddling with a device connected to my brain made my stomach flip. Suddenly my entire body tensed as icy tingles rippled across my scalp then ceased completely. It didn't hurt at all. In fact it felt... nice.
"Done," Wendell said. "How do you feel?"
I shrugged. "I feel fine. Normal. What skill did you upload?"
Wendell smiled mysteriously, then picked up a phone beside his chair. "It's time."
An instant later the cockpit door opened and my pilot, Russell, filled the doorway. He was tall and filled his uniform like a soldier. I'd flown with Russell several times in the last two weeks, and I've never seen him without an easy smile. "Good to see you again, Mr. Zillion. Whenever you're ready she's all yours."
"Excuse me?"
Russell gestured behind him to the co-pilot, who was still seated in the cockpit. "Louis will turn over flight control to you as soon as you're strapped in."
Louis, who was slightly younger than Russell, pivoted in his seat and flipped a wave to me.
I waved back then turned to Wendell, but before I could get a word out he said, "To answer your question I upload the piloting skillset. Right now you should be able to fly everything from a glider to an Airbus 380. Go on. Give it a try."
For a moment I just sat there. I didn't feel like I could suddenly pilot anything, and I was about to say so, when I experienced something odd. The idea of entering that cockpit and taking the pilot's seat didn't intimidate or mystify me at all. My reaction was as innocuous as if Wendell had asked me how much is two plus two. I didn't have to think about the knowledge required to find the answer, or question whether I possessed the knowledge or not. It wasn't an issue worth thinking about at all. I simply knew the answer.
I got up, slipped past Russell, and climbed into the seat beside the co-pilot.
"Hello, Mr. Zillion," Louis said. "You ready to take the stick?"
I took in the countless knobs, switches, buttons, levers, and dials before me that made up the control panel of the customized Gulfstream 3. An hour ago my head would've been spinning, but now I understood it all.
I slipped on the headset, positioned my feet on the pedals, took hold of the yoke, then nodded.
Louis said to me, "You now have the flight controls, sir."
I countered with the standard response, "I have the flight controls." And with that I was piloting the twin engine jet, five hundred and eight miles an hour at an altitude of twenty thousand feet.
A moment later Reba and Wendell were standing at the cockpit door, watching me execute simple maneuvers. Banking, climbing, descending, all done perfectly, as if I'd been flying for decades. I was tempted to do a barrel roll, but somehow knew the Gulfstream 3 had a history of stalling while in a roll.
"You're doing it, dude," Wendell said. "I guess we can mark this test as successful... and fucking cool as hell."
"It's amazing," Reba said to me. "Do you feel any different?"
I shook my head and told Reba I didn't, but I wasn't being honest. With my new athleticism and the amazing ability to learn anything in an instant, I was feeling a bit indestructible. I told Russell to relax in the cabin, while I flew for a while, then cranked the throttle up to top speed. Suddenly I couldn't wait to get to Washington, get my assignment, and put my new abilities to the test.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
When Wendell, Reba, and I exited the jet, a black Escalade ESV with dark tinted windows was waiting at the bottom of the steps. The driver, a tall man in a black suit who introduced himself as Vance, held the rear door open as we climbed in. After about a fifteen minute drive through light traffic we exited the highway and cru
ised through an industrial area. As old factories and warehouses scrolled by, Reba, Wendell, and I exchanged puzzled looks. Although Agent Farris never revealed the exact location of X9's headquarters, we assumed we were headed to some government building in Langley or near the Capital. The Escalade turned into a short driveway and came to a stop at a rusted roll-down steel gate. The six-story windowless building looming before us took up the entire block. Its weathered and chipped red brick facade had to be at least a century old. The two high-mounted surveillance cameras flanking the gate, the only hint the aging structure might be far more important than it appeared.
Vance spoke into his sleeve, the gate clattered open, and we rolled forward into an ultra-modern garage. The brightly lit space, housing a variety of vehicles, was so strikingly different from the building's exterior that it was disorientating. It was as if we'd crossed a time portal, from the crumbling industrial age into a sleek and pristine future.
After parking the Escalade, Vance ushered us over to a security checkpoint worthy of a major international airport. After passing through a full-body scanner, we were frisked by two male armed guards. Reba was offered the option of having a female guard called down to conduct the body search, but Reba declined. Even Vance, who'd traded familiar greetings with both guards, had to submit to a thorough pat down. During the search, Vance surrendered his shoulder-holstered weapon, which was quickly checked and returned.
Next, we rode an elevator to the sixth floor and followed Vance down a long white corridor lined with unmarked doors and ceiling-mounted security cameras. The hall was oddly odorless and unnaturally quiet. The only sound was our footfalls on the speckled white linoleum.
Vance used a key card to unlock the door at the end of the hall and led us into a conference room. Instead of windows three large video monitors, currently off, lined one wall. On the opposite side of the room, an inviting spread of sandwiches, coffee, fruit, and snacks made for a pleasant surprise.
Vance gestured to the refreshments, "Please help yourself to whatever you like. Mr. Farris will join you in a few minutes." With that Vance exited the room.
Wendell wasted no time getting to the eats. After griping about the lack of beer, he settled on two cans of Mountain Dew and a bag of kettle chips then flopped into one of the eight high-back chairs that surrounded the conference table. Reba grabbed two bottled waters, tossed me one then she and I also took seats.
I noticed Wendell eyeballing me as he munched potato chips. "Why are you staring at me like that?" I asked.
He cracked a wise-ass smile. "You're nervous. I can see it in your eyes."
"Of course I'm a little nervous. You're not?"
Wendell shrugged. "A little excited. A lot of disbelief. I'm experiencing an interesting cocktail of emotions."
Reba shook her head at Wendell. "You are so strange."
The door opened and Agent Farris strode in. "Welcome to DC," he said. "I apologize for my haste but we need to get started right away."
He sat down at the head of the table, took a moment to clean his glasses with a lens cloth, then tapped buttons on a remote control.
The lights dimmed and the image of a man with slick blonde hair and a golden beard appeared on the center monitor.
"This man will be the target of your operation," Agent Farris said.
My heart pounded because I recognized the man instantly. I had a run in with him several weeks ago. "That's Balthazar Banks," I said.
"Yes," Agent Farris said. "I thought you'd recognize him because he recently stayed at the Excelsior, where you were once employed."
"Yeah, he damn near assaulted me too. He's a total asshole."
Wendell and Reba said they were familiar with the minor celebrity as well, but only from entertainment news items.
"Banks is much more than a wealthy celebrity leech," Agent Farris said. "He's been on our radar for a while. He supports his lifestyle by trading in black market proto-tech. Up until recently it has been small stuff. Nothing considered a threat to human life or national security. But that has changed. We believe Mr. Banks has decided to expand his operation in a major way."
Farris tapped a button and another screen displayed the rotating image of a cube-shaped device resting in the palm of a digital human hand. It was made of dull metal and looked to be about half the size of a Rubik's Cube. Five of its sides were featureless and without markings. The sixth side had three buttons and a tiny display screen.
"This is the proto-tech device Mr. Banks is trying to sell now."
Reba pointed at the screen. "That looks like one of those hand fidget thingies. I got one for my fiancé for his birthday."
"Yeah," Wendall said. "I was gonna say the same thing. But a crappy one."
I turned to Agent Farris, "So, what is it?"
"Believe it or not," he said, "you're looking at a one-megaton nuclear device."
Reba, Wendell, and I all returned puzzled eyes to the monitor. After a moment of stunned silence, Wendell chuckled. "Come on. You can't be serious. That thing could fit in my pocket."
"Precisely," Agent Farris said with a nod. "It's a miniaturized clean-hydrogen bomb. We call it a pocket nuke. It packs all the earth-moving punch of a nuke, while only releasing trace amounts of radiation. If one were detonated in a major city it would obliterate a five to ten block radius, but barely move the needle on a Geiger counter."
"Oh my God," Reba said with a gasp. "Why would anyone even invent something like that?"
"Money, power, or both are the usual motives," Agent Farris replied. "About a month ago two pocket nukes were stolen from an authorized proto-tech research firm. We don't know who pulled off the robbery, but the perpetrators have secured Banks to broker a sale to the highest bidder. Banks cares about nothing but profit so he won't discriminate when it comes to making a sale. We've already intercepted chatter on the dark web consistent with several terrorist organizations scrambling to accumulate exorbitant sums of U.S. currency. We think they're stuffing their pockets for the auction. We're not certain of the auction date or location yet, but our goal is to retrieve both nukes and arrest Banks and his clients before an auction even takes place." Agent Farris pinned me with hard eyes. "And that's where you come in."
I traded troubled looks with Wendell and Reba, then said to Agent Farris, "This is a major crisis. There are millions of lives at stake. You really think I'm qualified to handle a mission this important?"
"Of course not," Agent Farris replied without missing a beat. "We have a massive task force working on this night and day. But you can play a key role. The problem we have is that we don't know where Banks is storing the nukes. Sure, we could snatch Banks off the streets and make him talk, but we're worried if Banks disappears, so will his clients, along with the devices. Or worst-case scenario, Banks' clients detonate the devices in retribution."
"Would they really do that?" Reba asked. "Commit mass murder out of spite?"
"In regards to Banks' clients, we don't know who we're dealing with, so we have to go with the assumption that anything is possible."
"This is definitely some straight-up James Bond shit," Wendell said, "But I still don't see how Matt factors in."
Agent Farris turned to me. "All we need you to do is find out where Banks is hiding the devices and the identity of Banks's clients. Once we have the info I'll send in a black-ops squad to do the rest."
"Okay," I said. "And how do you expect me to do that?"
"Every year Banks holds a huge party at his villa in Saint-Tropez, overlooking the Riviera. Like you, Banks has several homes, but the Villa in Saint-Tropez is his main residence. We know there's a computer server somewhere on the property. We're ninety-two percent certain all the information we need is on that hard drive."
"Now I get it," Wendell said. "You want Matt to go to this shindig, poke around in stealth mode, find the server, and upload the info. Right?"
Agent Farris nodded. "More or less, yes."
"See," Wendell said to me. "I told you.
Classic James Bond shit."
I asked Farris, "Don't I need an invitation to get into this party?"
"Of course. Banks is particular about his guests, and he invites each one personally. To get around that I want you to just show up."
"Just crash the party?"
"Correct. And because you are who you are and Banks is who he is, I have little doubt he'll allow you and your date in. And that's why you are perfect for this part of the operation."
I nodded. "Okay. I get it now."
"You should know there's considerable risk involved," Agent Farris said. "Banks is big on security, both armed goons and technology. If you're caught, he will kill you."
"Yeah," I said. "I kind of figured that."
"So what do you think? Are you in? And before you answer you should know that because you're unsanctioned you always have the option to refuse an assignment. No questions asked. No judgments made."
I had no idea how I would pull off what Agent Farris asked of me, but with so many lives on the line, I also had no idea how I could refuse. "I'm in," I said to Farris. "But I can't speak for Wendell and Reba."
Agent Farris turned to Reba, the obvious question in his eyes.
Reba nodded. "Yes. I'm in."
Agent Farris then turned to Wendell.
"Oh, I'm definitely in," Wendell said. "This is like the best RPG game ever."
Agent Farris actually flashed the slightest smile. "Good. Banks' party is in two days, so Matt will have to leave for France within the hour."
I turned to Reba. "Looks like you and I are going to a party."
"Actually no," Farris said. "Reba will manage the operation and serve as a conduit between your team and X9. This prevents you from ever having to contact headquarters directly." Agent Farris turned too Wendell. "And you will monitor Matt's every move remotely and provide live virtual assistance."
"I got it," Wendell said. "I'm the man in the chair. Sounds fucking cool to me."
"I've assigned agents to get both you and Reba up to speed on X9 protocol in general, and your duties for this assignment specifically. For that reason only Mathew departs tonight. You two will reconnect with him in Saint Jean approximately thirty-six hours from now."
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