by Joni Hahn
Straightening the belt at his waist, Cyrus confirmed his uniform matched Xander’s to a tee, from the baton, handcuffs and pepper spray, to the two-way radio and surgical glove case at his belt.
He spoke to the clone. “Speak as little as possible, cooperate, and do not let anyone touch you.” Cringing, Cyrus rummaged in the bag further, retrieving a blade and syringe. “We don’t want to take back disease to the fold.”
“Yes, sir.”
Xander held open the cell door for Cyrus. He stopped in the doorway and turned around. “We’ll get you out of here soon. Once we retrieve Dr. Hamilton, there will be no stopping us.”
***
“Dr. Hamilton?”
Looking up from the electron microscope, Teague shoved an errant hair out of her eye and smiled at the petite woman standing a few feet away. Many of the agency women were beautiful in one way or another, which put her into the fat chance slot on the dating barometer.
Except for that year or so in college, she’d spent most of her adult life in the lab rather than dating. Men just weren’t interested in a woman that could debate politics, write her own software applications and discuss genetic medicine with intelligence. Most sought a woman that was creative and responsive in bed, nothing more.
Too bad none of them stuck around to discover that facet of her character.
“Yes?”
“I’m Jocelyn Chalmers, one of Clint’s associates. We’ll be working together.” Leading Teague out of the room, she said, “My fiancé is d’Artagnan Naylor, one of our super agents.”
“Super agents?” Teague said, before taking a sip of her morning coffee. The D.I.R.E. cafeteria had the best latte she’d tasted in a long time.
Jocelyn glanced at her with a frown. “Clint didn’t tell you about our enhancement program?”
Teague smiled at a passing technician pushing a metal cart. He did a double take and returned the smile.
“We discussed Matheson’s genetic enhancements,” Teague said. “Is that what you’re referring to?”
Shaking her head, Jocelyn pushed open a door. Clint and Mitchell stood before a wall of windows, a blonde woman beside them.
Teague frowned. Why did she feel the need to brace herself?
Clint greeted her with a smile. “Teague. You’re about to be initiated into the world of D.I.R.E.”
She glanced at each of them, wariness niggling her stomach. “So, I should consider the gun battle on the beach just a bit of hazing?”
The room erupted in chuckles.
The blonde said, “Good comparison. I’m Hope Powers, the Powers Technology liaison to the agency.”
Waving Teague forward, Mitchell said, “Hope is engaged to agent, Jaydan Rose. You saw some of his handiwork in the mansion foyer.” He nodded at Jocelyn. “You’ve met Jocelyn. You’ll be working closely with them.”
While the women gave her an enthusiastic welcome that warmed her heart, she couldn’t afford to get close. She had every intention of betraying them, and then leaving.
“We’re ready, Mitchell.” Dylan’s deep voice came over the room’s speaker system.
Goose bumps sprouted on her arms. She took a sip of coffee to warm her insides.
Mitchell said, “Teague, we’re putting up McCall against St. James and Rose, two of our top agents, in a close quarters combat training exercise. This is one of many tests to determine the best scientific enhancement for his skills. In addition to your work on the genetics technology, you’re going to be working with Clint to get Dylan up and running.”
“Scientific enhancement?” she said, walking over to the windows.
A maze of makeshift buildings and doors filled the yard below, mannequins and other obstacles dotting the course at intervals. Gun in hand, Dylan stood in an open doorway in the far corner, two armed men hiding in the walls, ready to spring. Each wore copper and gold armbands like the one strapped to Dylan’s arm - the straps missing.
“And, what do you mean by up and running?” She glanced at Mitchell, before settling her gaze on Clint. “What purpose do the armbands serve other than communication devices?”
With a boyish grin, Clint shoved the shaggy, blond hair from his forehead. “I’ll answer all of your questions after the exercise. Trust me, you’ll have more.”
She looked back at Dylan whose deep frown and creased forehead spoke of concentration. He hopped in place, cocking his head from side to side, loosening his muscles. He took a deep breath and blew it out, before settling a large gun at his shoulder.
He said, “Let’s do this.”
Clint spoke into a headset. “Saint, Rose, ready to roll?”
With affirmations from the men, Clint set off a buzzer. With light, sure feet, Dylan made his way through the maze, gun at the ready. He picked off targets as they sprang up, much like he did on the beach. His reflexes were lightning-quick, his muscular legs lithe and steady.
He took out targets with expert precision, never missing a beat. His gun remained ready to fire, his feet never flat on the ground. The bulky agent burst through a wall, sending wood and sheetrock flying in all directions. Her heart leapt in her chest.
“Good God…”
Dylan dropped to the ground and rolled, firing up at the agent without breaking his rhythm. Paint sprayed the agent’s shirt with bright pink splashes. Dylan backed out of the debris, gun firing.
A wooden target sprang behind him. He whipped around and fired, before rushing further into the maze. The other agent crouched behind a door, ready to spring. Running down a corridor at full speed, Dylan planted a foot on the opposite wall and ran across a few steps, firing down at the agent through an open doorway, missing him. The agent held his hands facing Dylan. The gun flew from his arms and into the agent’s hands.
Teague gasped. “How did he do that?” she said against the glass, her heart pounding.
Dropping to a low squat, Dylan swung out a leg, knocking the agent off his feet. Grabbing something from his rolled up shirtsleeve, Dylan threw it down at the agent’s chest. Pink paint splattered the agent’s shirt before Dylan ran through another doorway. With a knife to a mannequin’s throat, Dylan scaled a wall in two, long strides, before dropping onto the other side. He hit the finish button.
Questions bombarded her brain. Her mind told her she didn’t see the agent bust through the wall like newspaper, or the gun fly from Dylan’s hands of its own volition.
Yet, she had seen it.
Mitchell stared at his timer before glancing at Clint. He gave a wide grin. “We know why Cyrus wanted his genetics.”
Teague glanced back and forth between the men. “So Cyrus Matheson kidnapped Dylan to gain his athletic ability and create clones in his image?”
Mitchell gave a brief nod. “Based on intel from Hope and Jaydan, they don’t necessarily have to look like him to have his abilities.”
Hope’s low voice matched the solemnity in her round eyes. “I also saw a clone that looked exactly like my brother, Riordan. So, Cyrus could manipulate the genetics at will.”
Teague’s mind whirled. If the clones were made to protect Cyrus’s best interests, they wouldn’t rest until he was released from prison.
“So, these clones could be anyone, and be anywhere?” she said.
Mitchell nodded. “We have no idea how many he created or how long his operation existed before we discovered it.”
Jocelyn said, “His grandfather was a founding partner in the Eugenics Master Race initiative back in the nineteen thirties, so he has a family history of manipulating the human race. My father worked with the program as well.”
Jocelyn had to be younger than her own nearly thirty years. There’s no way her father could’ve worked with the initiative.
Frowning, Teague gazed at her. “Your father?”
She nodded. “Yes. In his arrogance, he thought he could change the outcome of World War II and bring the plan to fruition.” With a quick glance at Mitchell, she said, “Thank God, Mitchell and Dar put a stop to i
t.”
Glancing around the room, Teague wondered if she’d stepped into a dream, or some type of mind control chamber. Did Jocelyn honestly think Mitchell Jacobs had played a role in World War II? The man wasn’t alive at the time.
With all of the talk about clones and twentieth century wars, she wondered if she worked for people that were mentally unsound. If they used some kind of brainwashing techniques, she wouldn’t fall victim to them.
She backed toward the door. “I think all of you are mad.”
With furrowed brows, Clint spoke with a note of challenge in his voice. “No scientific curiosity, doctor? You’re just going to walk out, certain there are no rational explanations?”
She’d seen some kind of tremendous powers down there. Yet, logic told her she couldn’t trust her eyes.
Her back hit a hard barricade, the smell of sweat and paint blanketing her in doubt. Whipping around, she found Dylan behind her, shirtless and so overwhelmingly male he stole her breath. A rocky wall of hard muscle and sinew, his ripped body gleamed with dots of perspiration, his powerful arms and shoulders blocking the open doorway like a mountainside.
His blue-green eyes shone with contempt. “You can’t tell her anything, Robinson. She’s a world-renowned geneticist. She knows it all.”
The other men walked around him to enter the room, also shirtless and reeking of paint.
Rising on tiptoe in her high-heeled wedges, she stared up at him through her glasses. Anything not to ogle his six-pack abs. “Look who thinks he knows it all.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, making his shoulders appear enormous. “Hit a nerve, Hamilton?”
“Rose…” Mitchell’s voice came out on a sigh. “Show her your armbands.”
The big, hulking man left Hope’s side and approached her. Holding his arms in front of her, he flipped them over. The armbands fused to his flesh.
Her heart racing, she grasped one arm and studied the fusion site. Flipping it back over, she looked at the blank screen. Her gaze went to Clint, before landing on Rose’s smirking face.
He said, “I have a microchip that works with a capacitor in my head to emit stored electricity through my central nervous system and accelerate my muscles. My strength enhancement is powered by carbohydrate intake to my brain.”
Teague’s heart pounded against her ribs, her mouth dropping open.
“Saint…” Mitchell said, nodding toward her.
With a quick flip of his arms, he showed her his armbands. “My hands can create north and south magnetic poles. I can attract, repel or bend any ferrous materials I choose.” His voice rang with pride. “I have a solid hydrogen energy source that powers a control module integrated with my hands to read my brain activity. If I think it, it happens.” Pulling a knife from an ankle strap, he attracted and repelled it between his hands.
She could do nothing but stare, her mind on complete overload. Clint Robinson and Mitchell Jacobs had turned these men into some kind of… superheroes. They’d manipulated their bodies, integrated science and technology with the human form to create super humans.
Staring at Mitchell, she said, “You’re no better than Cyrus, manipulating people for your own purposes.” She willed away the guilt that nagged at her conscience.
His hard glare dared her to balk. “My purposes are to keep the world and its people safe. I’m not trying to change the human race or annihilate those I deem unworthy. If you can’t see that, perhaps I’ve given you more credit than you deserve.”
“Credit?” she said, “How can I give you credit when you speak of helping the outcome of World War II? That’s madness.”
Jocelyn’s low voice broke the tense silence like a shot in the dark. “My fiancé has the power to time travel. If you look up my birth records, Teague, you’ll find I was born in nineteen twenty.”
Her chest tightened like the onset of dysesthesias, a MS hug, squeezing her diaphragm to near closure. Shaking her head in disbelief, she backed against Dylan. He caught her shoulders in his hands, sending jolts of arousal darting through her veins. Flinching, she whipped around to stare at him.
“It’s the truth, Teague. Drop that rational wall of pride and think about it.” His genuine smile made her pounding heart gallop. “It’s pretty damned cool.”
Time travel, super powers and World War II? Good God, these people were playing God. Changing history, the laws of time and physics… changing the world, as she’d always known it.
“You’re asking me to believe in the impossible.”
His twinkling blue-green eyes dared her to relent. “Is it really impossible, or have you only been told it’s impossible?”
“Teague…” Clint held out his arms to encompass the people in the room. “Didn’t you go to work for Cyrus in search of a breakthrough? New technology? Your work with synthetic DNA and genetics has put you on the cutting edge in your field. Doesn’t the opportunity to combine both medicine and physics turn you on just a little?”
She glanced up at Dylan. It did. God above, it excited her like nothing she’d felt in a long time. Combine her work with Dylan’s irresistible appeal and she was near orgasmic.
Inhaling deep, she let out a breath, hoping to relieve the tightness in her chest. She couldn’t lose sight of her true agenda. Short-term thrills could not outweigh a healthy baby.
Giving Dylan’s body a swift once-over, she grabbed his armband. It strapped to his arm with metal bands.
“You’re going to receive an enhancement?”
His eyes swirled beneath heavy-lids. “Yes.”
“Why would you allow them to do this to your body?”
He gave her a half grin. “Teague, I’m a Jarhead, a third-generation Marine. Fighting for freedom, fighting to make the world a safer place is what I was born to do. The opportunity to work for D.I.R.E. is an honor. I believe in their mission.” Lowering his voice, he said, “But, make no mistake, I want it for personal reasons, too.”
“And, they are…?”
“To make sure that technology you’re studying never sees the outside world. I won’t rest until Cyrus and his clones are wiped from this earth.”
***
Luke Powers paced his office as he waited for Mitchell to answer his videoconference call. He teetered on the edge of lunacy, his mind unable to concentrate on anything other than the betrayal of his father and wife.
“Luke.”
Whipping around, Luke stared at the arrogant sonovabitch on the screen. A hard ass of the third degree, Mitchell Jacobs was as egotistical and straightforward as they came. Luke really didn’t like the former SEAL commander and head of D.I.R.E., but he was his son’s boss and his daughter’s new business associate. He’d suck it up and make the best of it.
“Mitchell,” he said, feigning a cordial smile. “Thanks for taking my call.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to San Diego to meet with you in person. We’re neck deep in work. My time is valuable.”
As head of the largest technology company in the world, Luke understood that. He shouldn’t be spending valuable time obsessed with issues involving people that were dead.
At least… they were dead today.
“Mitchell, I’ll get straight to the point. You have access to time travel technology that I’d like to use. Name your price.”
Mitchell gave him a hard stare. “It’s not for rent.”
Luke slumped his shoulders. He’d expected resistance. Mitchell never made anything easy. He was a lot like Luke’s father, Seth - the conniving, two-faced, dead bastard.
“Mitchell, I have a serious situation-“
“I know all about your situation, Luke.” Sitting up in his chair, he said, “You’re not going to use our time travel technology to inflict revenge on your father or your wife.”
Running his fingers through his hair, Luke glared at Mitchell on the large screen. “It isn’t your technology, Jacobs. My father financed Nathan Chalmers’s time travel machine. It doesn’t belong to you.”
“That time machine exploded, Powers. You know that.”
He gave Mitchell a bitter smile. “You have the second one. The machine the opposition built during World War II.”
Mitchell gave an adamant shake of his head. “No way in hell.”
Curse words rolled through Luke’s head like scattered marbles. People always had a price. Mitchell just held his cards close to his vest. Luke needed to feel him out and see what he coveted, other than his beloved wife.
“Jacobs, you know what its like to be betrayed by your wife…”
The former SEAL leaned forward in his chair, his eyes blazing with blue fury. “Is there anything else, Powers? If not, I have better things to do than talk about my personal life. Least of all with you.”
“Shit, Mitchell, I need answers.” He paced the length of his conference table, wearing a path in the plush, tan carpet. “I have to know if Cyrus’s information is true.”
“You have the documentation you need,” Mitchell said. “Your father’s files are the proof.”
“My father had so many legal documents altered and destroyed I don’t know what is real.” Rubbing his forehead, Luke said, “I need to see for myself if she had an affair with my father.” Looking away, he growled in frustration. “I need the truth or I’ll go mad.”
Mitchell said, “What would you do if you found her in bed with him? Anything you’d do would alter the future. I can’t allow that to happen.”
He whipped around to glare at Mitchell. “Who the hell made you guardian of the freaking time portal?”
His calm voice irritated Luke to no end. “Chalmers and Von Fussenhoffer, when they landed the time machine in my backyard. As for Clint’s technology, it is property of D.I.R.E. so I am guardian of the freaking time portal, whether you like it or not.”
Rage pounded in Luke’s ears, his vision clouding behind a crimson haze. “Go to hell, Mitchell.”
“I’ve already been there, Powers. The key to yours is finding your own way out.”
