The Siren Project

by Renneberg, Stephen

  She strolled toward him. “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “Watch me,” he retorted, then poured hot water into the cups. “Powdered milk, or powdered skim milk?”

  “Black,” she said, standing close by. “One sugar.”

  Mitch was stirred by her gentle curves, revealing themselves against her silky night clothes. He looked away. “I’ll pass on the powdered milk too.”

  She took the cup he offered, and sipped experimentally. Mitch found he was uncomfortably distracted by her golden hair, and by how firmly the silk of her nightgown pressed against her in several interesting places. He felt he should speak, to fill the void, but the electricity left his mind blank. The longer the silence continued, the more awkward he felt.

  She looked up from her coffee, smiling as her cheeks took on a rosy hue. “You’re making me blush.”

  “I am?” he said confused, certain he'd concealed the first stirrings of passion.

  “I don’t read minds,” she smiled, “But I do sense them, and the signals are loud and clear.”

  “Oh!” Mitch said, suddenly realizing how naked his feelings were before her. He was about to apologize, when he realized there was nothing to apologize for. He put his coffee down, stepped back, as if placing distance between them lessened her powers and pointed his finger at her. “Not fair! Women’s intuition is bad enough, but your secret weapons don’t give a guy a chance.”

  “That’s right,” she replied grinning, putting her coffee cup down. “When it comes to this,” she said, placing one hand around his neck and tapping the side of his head with the other. “I know everything that's happening in there.”

  Her gentle touch on his neck was electric, raising his desire for her to a new pitch. “Everything?”

  “Yes. Every dark, lurid, urge.” She pulled his head down toward her face. “But don’t worry, you’re in luck,” she whispered and kissed him gently.

  He slid his hands around her back and pulled her close to him, feeling the pressure of her curves against his body, and returned her kiss with a surging appetite. His hands roamed over her body, devouring her with his touch, while she melted into the unique psychic pleasure only she knew.

  Chapter 1 5

  The ringing beside her bed roused Christa from a deep sleep. She yawned, luxuriating in the memory of a night of passion as Mitch slept soundly beside her, the bed sheet drawn to his waist. She took him in appreciatively with a glance, as she reached for the telephone.

  “Hello?” she whispered.

  “Christa?” It was a woman’s voice, one she instantly recognized. Christa suppressed a gasp, coming fully awake. For a moment, she was unable to speak, barely able to believe her ears. “Christa, can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “I’m here. I have to see you.” There was a desperate urgency in her voice that twisted Christa’s heart.

  “I thought you were dead . . .” How could she be here?

  “I escaped. They’re after me. Hurry, I need you. I’m waiting for you outside.”

  A lie! The thought flashed clearly into her mind. She’s got to be lying!

  Christa tried to attune her special senses to the woman’s voice and discern the truth, but her emotions were swirling chaotically within, blurring her perception. “Come up here. We’ll meet you.”

  “No. I can’t. I don’t trust the men you’re with. I don’t know them. Meet me down here, I’m just outside.”

  Before Christa could say anything further, the woman hung up. Christa quietly replaced the telephone, glanced at Mitch uncertainly, then slipped out of bed. She pulled on her clothes, went to the window and looked down into the deserted street. It was still dark outside and peaceful, the only visible movement was a solitary dog trotting across the road. She hesitated by the window for more than a minute, debating with herself if she should wake Mitch.

  They would never let her escape!

  If she was telling the truth, Christa could bring her in, but if she saw Mitch, she’d be too frightened to show herself.

  No, it’s a trap. She’s one of them now.

  If it was a trap, she’d be walking straight into it. If it wasn’t and she didn’t go, the woman might be recaptured.

  What is she doing here?

  Christa’s emotions rocked like a stormy sea, but in her heart, she knew she could not refuse the woman.

  They know that! The voice of reason screamed. But she needs me!

  Christa picked up her purse, checking her small pistol as she started for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Mitch mumbled, barely awake.

  “Go back to sleep. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Before Mitch could inquire further, she was gone. He started to drift back to sleep, but something in her tone made him uncomfortable, a brittleness he'd not heard before. He forced his eyes open, blinking himself awake as he sat up. A glance told him Christa's clothes and purse were gone.

  Her gun was in the purse!

  * * * *

  Christa hurried down the stairs from her room, knowing Mitch would not be far behind. She pulled the front door’s window curtain back, enough to steal a look outside, seeing the street was deserted, with only the first hint of dawn breaking the darkness. She tried calming herself, so she could reach out with her perception, searching for other presences beyond the door, but her emotions blinded her. She pulled the front door open cautiously, setting the entrance bell tinkling as she heard Mitch’s heavy footsteps above.

  A woman, almost thirty years older than Christa, peeked nervously around the corner of the building and motioned her to approach. Christa felt her stomach knot as she saw the woman. She'd convinced herself the woman was dead by now, or at least dead to everything she'd been. Now an impossible apparition stood before her, enticing her out.

  She couldn't have escaped! Christa told herself as she started toward the woman tentatively, looking around for signs of others. Her heart beat rapidly as her mind screamed powerlessly in her ears, You can't trust her!

  She fought to regain the inner composure she needed to focus clearly, as the older woman stepped out from behind the building, raising her arms welcomingly.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” Caroline said as she hugged Christa warmly, holding her close.

  Christa relaxed, giving the older woman a loving embrace. “I’ve missed you too,” she said, then as her emotions calmed, she sensed the forced aspect pervading the other woman's nature.

  “We must hurry. We have to get away from here.”

  “How did you know I was here?” she asked, easing herself back to study the older woman’s face.

  “It was the credit card you used to pay Mr Ackerman with. They traced it. You've used it before, in other places you’ve been, and he verified your photograph. They know you’re here.”

  “We must warn the others,” Christa said, as the veil drawn by her tumultuous emotions lifted. Instantly she knew, the older woman’s mind had been forced to conform to a pattern alien to its true nature, a nature Christa knew better than any other mind. “You’re one of them,” she whispered heartbroken.

  Caroline smiled, realizing Christa had regained her emotional balance, and with that, her inner sight. “Yes, dear. It’s really not so bad, not as bad as you might think. You’ll see.”

  “No!” Christa yelled, twisting free of the older woman and stepping back.

  “You’ve improved. I thought it would’ve taken you a few more minutes to see me.” She smiled knowingly. “You’ll be better than I ever was.”

  Caroline darted forward and attempted a restraining hold on Christa, who blocked instinctively, but didn't counter attack savagely as she'd been trained to do, choosing instead to surrender ground. With surprising strength for someone with such a slight build, the older woman threw a punch at her stomach, trying to knock the wind out of her, but again she blocked and retreated. The older woman launched attack after attack, but each time Christa blocked, but couldn't br
ing herself to strike back. Even as they fought, she remembered the countless' times they'd trained in this way, always with the same result, always the older woman had won, the master triumphant over her student. But now there was a difference in their sparing, the older woman was not pulling her attacks, she was striking with real purpose.

  Christa leapt back out of reach and stood en guarde. “Come with me, we can help you. We’ll find a way!”

  “There is no way.” Caroline said, darting forward and feigning an attack, catching Christa’s hand as she blocked. She tried to break free, but the older woman flowed with her, throwing her off balance. Expertly, Caroline caught her free hand and pulled her close so she couldn't escape. “We need you, Christa, my darling. They know how special you are. That’s why they haven’t attacked the hotel yet. They couldn’t risk killing you, not now, not knowing what they know about you.”

  Mitch burst through the front door of the hotel and pulled up sharply. He leveled his gun at the older woman as he moved slowly toward them. There was something familiar about the woman's face, but he couldn’t recall where he'd seen her. A bullet hit the wall of the hotel with a crack of shattering wood. Instinctively, he dived to the ground, searching for the sniper across the road as a second shot was fired. This time he saw the gunman. It was Cousin Floyd, kneeling beside a building on the other side of the street. Mitch took careful aim from the ground, and fired three shots in rapid succession. The third shot felled Cousin Floyd, then Mitch jumped to his feet, aiming at the head of the woman restraining Christa.

  The older woman looked at him and smiled. “I wouldn’t shoot if I were you. You might hit Christa.”

  “Don’t count on it!”

  “Don’t shoot Mitch!” Christa yelled.

  Mitch studied the narrow angle to the woman's face, easing himself into a perfect, two handed firing position. “I can make the shot, Christa. Trust me!”

  “Don’t shoot her, please,” she begged as tears formed in her eyes.

  Mitch hesitated, confused, then he remembered where he'd seen the older woman’s face. It had been in the video at the Newton Institute, while she was being conditioned. “Let her go, and you can walk away.”

  The older woman shook her head. “I can’t.” And Mitch realized it was literally true. Her programming would not allow her to release Christa.

  Mitch heard the sound of a vehicle approaching, coming from the side street beside the hotel. “If I have to choose between you and Christa, I will shoot you dead, no matter what she says. Last chance.”

  “Mitch! No!” Christa screamed, twisting to position herself between Mitch and Caroline. “Don’t you see?” She pushed her face close to the older woman’s. “She’s my mother!”

  Mitch froze, recognizing the similarity of features the two women shared, almost identical except for the years that separated them.

  “Don’t you see? She taught me everything. We’re the same. The same . . . abilities. She’s the only one like me.”

  “Caroline Malleson was your mother,” the older woman said, “But that identity is dead to me now.”

  The sound of the approaching vehicle was loud now, almost upon them. Mitch sighted carefully. “Get out of the way, Christa. She’s a robot. She’s not your mother, not anymore.”

  Christa ceased struggling against her mother, and moved to cover her as fully as possible. “There’s got to be another way, Mitch. You’ve got to find another way!”

  Ackerman’s tow truck appeared with the grizzled old man behind the wheel. He leaned over and pushed the passenger door open. Caroline pulled Christa toward the truck, exposing herself for a clean shot. Mitch had her sighted, finger on the trigger, certain of his aim, but he saw Christa’s pleading eyes looking back, and he hesitated.

  Caroline dragged them both into the tow truck as Christa yelled. “Find another way, for both of us.”

  With the passenger door still open, Ackerman planted his foot on the gas, spinning the tow truck’s rear wheels as it raced away. Mitch kept the gun on the tow truck, crippled by uncertainty, as it skidded onto the road and picked up speed. He lowered his gun and kicked the ground in frustration while Christa’s words echoed through his mind: Find another way, for both of us!

  He knew they were taking Christa away to condition her, to destroy what she was, just as they'd destroyed her mother.

  * * * *

  Mitch levered open the padlock, securing the local TV station's garage, then pushed the roller door up. He stepped inside, searching for an alarm system.

  “There!” he said, pointing to a panel mounted on the wall.

  Mouse and Gunter ran to the panel, silently counting seconds. Gunter used a motorized screwdriver to remove the bolts securing the numeric keypad, then pulled the cover away, giving Mouse access to the exposed wiring. Mouse attached clips to the wiring, then his computer began analyzing the control system, eating valuable seconds.

  “It's only got a ten second delay!” Mouse called as soon as the computer displayed its findings. Millions of combinations began flashing across the screen as his program tried to crack the eight digit security code with brute force, but he already knew the computer was too slow.

  Mitch ignored the cars, painted with the TV station’s lettering, and went straight to the small truck with the dish antennae mounted on top. He tried the door, but it was locked.

  Mouse watched the number of codes tested by the computer pass ten million, and still no solution. “We're not going to make it!”

  Mitch drew his gun, fired a single bullet into the truck’s door lock, then wrenched the door open. He reached in under the steering wheel, feeling for the ignition wires.

  The ten second delay expired, then an alarm began to warble, shattering the morning silence. Gunter gave Mouse a sour look. “Too slow!”

  “It’s this prehistoric computer!” Mouse complained bitterly, tearing the connecting clips off the keypad. “Who the hell has a ten second delay? Jeez, you’d think this was Fort freaking Knox.”

  Mouse and Gunter ran to the rear of the satellite truck, as the engine roared to life. Gunter pried open the lock, letting Mouse climb inside with his computer, then slamming the door shut, locking him in. He ran back out to their four wheel drive, and got it started as Mitch crunched gears and sent the truck careening out of the garage. Gunter followed in the four wheel drive, through the TV station's grounds, past the unconscious guard at the gate, as a confused security guard ran out of the main building to see what had triggered the alarm.

  Mitch picked up the telephone mounted to the right of the steering column. It rang several times, before Mouse picked up. “Tell me we’re in business.”

  “It's strictly domestic technology, but I’ll have it doing Vulcan mind melds in no time.”

  “I'll take that as a yes,” Mitch said, and hung up.

  A few minutes later, they were speeding in convoy toward the west, racing for the dirt road turn off towards the Eagletail Mountains. Every second raised Mitch’s anxiety, wondering if they’d strapped Christa into that machine yet. His mind was wracked with questions. How long did she have? How much preparation time did they need? How quickly could they get her up there?

  He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and dialed one handed. When the call connected, he said, “Lamar, this is John Mitchell.”

  “Mitchell, where the hell are you? I’ve got a hundred agents looking for you.”

  “In all the wrong places, I bet. You check that melted piece of junk I gave you?”

  “We’re looking into it. The FBI lab tells me it'll be months before they can figure out what it was, but they've confirmed it was no loud speaker. They also took a look at that metallic filing you sent me yesterday. They don’t know what that is either.”

  “That’s what I figured. Did you tell the general?”

  “What do you take me for, Mitchell?”

  “I’m hoping you’re an angry son of bitch, too stubborn to follow orders.”

  Lamar chu
ckled. “You got that right. By the way, you didn’t have anything to do with a couple of charred bodies found in Jersey, did you?”

  “Charred bodies?”

  “A warehouse over there went up in flames the same morning I picked up the melted junk pile you left for me. There were traces of the same juice used to torch the convention center, and two bodies. One with a bullet through the head. We’re running dental and DNA checks on them right now, but so far, we got nothing.”

  “Was there any trace of the other speaker?”

  “Nope.”

  “Check military records to ID the bodies, and treat the rest as destruction of evidence.”

  “Military, okay. Anything else?”

  “Have you got a tail on Gray and Fraser yet?”

  “I'm working on it. Getting approval to investigate a US senator and a high ranking general isn't easy.”

  “Talk to the Vice President.”

  There was a stunned silence at the other end. “Of the United States? . . . Do you expect me to believe that you know the Vice President?”

  “Tell him you're dealing with the same people responsible for what happened to Prescott. He'll understand, and he'll back you. You can trust him, but no one else.”

  Lamar realized Mitch was serious. “I’ll keep it in mind. Are you going to tell me where you are?”

  “Everyone trying to kill me already knows. You might as well too. Got a pen?” Mitch pulled the crumpled piece of paper from his wallet and read aloud the latitude and longitude of Sincom One.

  “What’s that?” Lamar asked as he wrote down the coordinates.

  “A secret military base, maybe so secret even the regular military doesn’t know it exists. If you don’t hear from me again, that’s where I died. It’s worth telling the Vice President. He might be able to do something with the information, like nuke it.” Mitch stuffed the paper back in his wallet. “One more thing Lamar, and this is important. If you ever get down here, don’t fly over the base, they’ll shoot you down. Nothing electrical works, unless you can use that polymer I sent you to insulate your electrical systems. Otherwise, you’ve got to walk in.”