by David Archer
The loft had a lot of old hay bales in it, and there were quite a few boxes full of old dishes, knickknacks and other things that the previous owners had probably left behind. Curiosity, while it's not an emotion, was something that did plague Noah at times, and he found himself rummaging through the discards. There were figurines and collectibles of different kinds, none of which, he was sure, had any true value, but some of them just appealed to him, even if he couldn't say why. He emptied one box, and then began putting into it things he wanted to keep, like the many figurines of cats. Cats, he had decided years before, were a lot like himself. They didn't operate on emotion, but rather on logic, and when they were done with you, they were simply done. A cat said goodbye by simply sticking its tail in the air and walking away. Noah thought that was a wonderful example, and tried to follow it whenever he felt like saying goodbye.
He carried the box down carefully, climbing one-handed until he got back to the ground, then took it inside the house and set it on the kitchen counter. Everything in it would need to be cleaned before it could be set out, but he would save that chore for later. He went back outside and began exploring the rest of the little farm.
He found the mobile home that came with it, and saw that Allison was right about it being in surprisingly good shape. It occurred to him again that he could rent it out, but then he decided he didn't really want neighbors that close to him. He wandered over to one of the two workshop buildings, a fairly large one with overhead doors that was big enough to pull a truck into, and the pickup he'd been told about was sitting inside it at that moment, a Ford from the mid-nineties. The building was obviously intended for mechanical work. It still held a lot of old tools, and there was quite a workbench along one wall. Noah enjoyed tinkering with vehicles and machinery, and he could think of several ways to put this building to use.
The other workshop was smaller, and there were some old woodworking tools stacked up all around it. Some of them were older power tools, but there were a lot of hand tools, as well. The discovery appealed to him, since he'd always wanted to try his hand at woodworking but had never had the time.
A path led down to the lake, and Noah followed it. There was a dock at the bottom of the flight of wooden stairs, with a small boat house attached to it. Allison had told him that he had a boat, so he walked over to the boat house and found the key that would open the door so that he could look inside.
There it was. Noah was looking at what he guessed to be a twenty-four-foot cabin cruiser, an inboard outboard that looked like it had been very well maintained. He climbed onto the boat and peeked into the cabin, which was basically nothing but a bed and a very small bathroom. There was a tiny refrigerator and a microwave oven that he guessed would pass for a galley, but there was nowhere to sit down there. Up on the deck, however, there were four bucket seats and a couple of bench seats with a table between them, and a folding top that would probably protect passengers from the elements. It was a nice boat, and he was looking forward to getting it out on the lake sometime soon. He locked up the boathouse again as he left.
He made his way back to the house, and started trying to settle in. The place was fully furnished, and everything seemed to be either antique or of very high quality, so he suspected that the furnishings may have come from the previous owners. The only things that truly seemed new were all the kitchen appliances and the big flat-panel TV in the living room.
Every room was furnished, including the extra bedrooms upstairs and the room full of bookcases that was downstairs. There were hundreds of books on the shelves. Noah glanced at a few of the titles, but most of them he'd never heard of. Still, he did enjoy reading, so he hoped to get time to check them out sometime soon.
He rummaged through a few of the closets, and found a decent stock of bath towels, sheets and blankets. Except for the fact that the dressers and clothes closets were empty, it almost looked like the owners had simply stepped out for a few minutes. The kitchen cabinets held dishes, pots and pans, silverware and everything else he could possibly need. The only thing that was necessary for him to do was make a trip to the grocery store.
That thought made him wonder about his finances, and he reached into a pocket to pull out the envelope Allison had given him earlier. He found the paper that described his bank accounts, of which there were four. Each of them could be checked online, so he grabbed the computer, set it on the kitchen table and turned it on. The house seemed to be wired for Wi-Fi, and the computer already set up for it, because a moment later it told him that he was logged on securely.
Following the instructions on the bank paperwork, he discovered that he had a fairly large amount of money available. Allison had told him that he would be receiving a bonus for coming on board, and apparently it was a doozy. He'd have no trouble stocking up on groceries, that was for sure.
That was also when he discovered that there was a hefty mortgage on the farm, one that he was apparently expected to make the payments on. The mortgage came from one of the same banks he had an account in, so he went ahead and set up an automatic payment. That way he wouldn't have to wonder if it was paid when he was out on a mission.
Noah sat back in his chair and looked around at his new home. Only a few days before, he would have found it impossible to believe that he could ever have any kind of life for himself, but now he had a beautiful home, a fantastic car and the opportunity to serve his country once again.
FOURTEEN
Noah had a life, all right, and it revolved around some of the most intense training he had ever received. While Allison had told him she was going to speed up his training schedule, she had also made it clear that there were certain things he couldn't skip, including working with Jackson on PT and Daniel on weapons, and a special class taught by an actual college professor on the Law of Nations, in particular where it pertained to espionage and assassination.
Physical training, for Noah, was mostly just fun. By the time he'd been in the organization for a month, everyone was trying to keep up with him on their daily runs, and he was finding new obstacle courses to put them through every day.
Weapons class was almost as enjoyable, especially since Daniel was running them through various types of specialty firearms. Noah had never realized that there had been so many different types of guns invented strictly for the purpose of getting them past any kind of security so that they could be used for assassination. There were guns that looked like ink pens, smoking pipes, walking canes and umbrellas, the types that were sometimes seen in spy movies, but there were also other kinds that Noah doubted most people had ever heard of. Those were the ones that were built into coffee mugs, spray cans, cell phones, and dozens of other things that no one would ever expect.
There was one that looked like a beer can, and had a single-shot straight barrel concealed within it. It was to be offered to the intended target, who could open it and tip it up to take a drink. The act of opening it would release a spring inside, so that when it was tipped up the first time the hammer inside would be cocked. When it was tipped a second time, however, a weight would release the hammer, and a forty-five-caliber bullet would be fired straight through the brain of the target. Noah enjoyed the logical ingenuity behind all of these devices, and was already thinking of ways to design some of his own.
Equally fascinating were the amazing number of guns that could be carried right past even the most sophisticated metal detectors, and even be missed by gun-sniffing dogs. Some of them were made of high-strength ceramics, others of plastic, but it was the ammunition that was so surprising. One of Noah's favorites was a revolver that was essentially a miniature rocket launcher, because the slugs that left its barrel were propelled by a chemical reaction involving hydrogen peroxide and iron. Peroxide rockets had long been used in special cars going after the land speed record, cars that weighed many tons. These little rockets propelled a slug that weighed only a few ounces, and at speeds that outclassed many conventional bullets.
On the firing r
ange, Noah displayed the same incredible talent that had amazed his military instructors, hitting the targets perfectly after only a couple of preliminary shots to get the feel of the weapon. Once he knew the gun, there was almost nothing he couldn't hit with it, and his ability to move from target to target, seemingly without even looking at them, caused rumors to make their way through the ranks of his classmates. His own personal favorite was the one that said he was an android, a machine designed to look like a human. He thought that was so close to the truth that when a terrified classmate finally asked him about it, he simply smiled and walked away.
The one class he didn't care a lot for, however, was the one Allison told him was most important. This was the law class, where he learned about all of the ramifications of what he would be doing, and what would happen if he were ever caught. He had always thought that line about how Tom Cruise and his secret agents would be disavowed if they were caught had been just a part of the script, but he knew now that it wasn't. If he or any of his team should be captured while on foreign soil, there would be no rescue. They were all expendable, despite the fact that small fortunes had been spent on training them, because if the government ever acknowledged sending such people into another country, it would start a war.
Professor McCarty was widely touted as one of the leading experts on the Law of Nations, and he had been engaged over the years to speak at schools all over the world. Noah would've been more than happy to let him go back to any of them, preferably somewhere on the other side of the planet, so that Noah wouldn't have to listen to him anymore. Unfortunately, he was teaching in a small classroom there on the compound, and there was no way out of it.
“One of the most famous cases,” the professor said, “was that of Francis Gary Powers, the pilot of the U2 plane that was shot down over Russia. Mr. Powers was charged with spying, and it took all of the efforts of the State Department and diplomatic corps years to convince the Russian government that the plane had merely strayed off course. Mr. Powers was imprisoned in Russia for almost two years, subjected to intense interrogation that included various kinds of torture, and he eventually confessed to being a spy. In the end, he did finally get to come home, but it should be understood that this is the exception, and not the rule. Had Mr. Powers been captured on the ground, without his U2 spy plane being involved, it is highly doubtful that our government would've expended any effort whatsoever on his behalf. You see, it wasn't Mr. Powers that they were trying to protect. It was the fact that his plane had been shot down exactly where it was, because that's exactly where they had told him to be. If we had ever admitted that, Russia could have claimed that sending the plane to photograph their cities and military installations constituted espionage, and therefore was an act of war.”
For three hours each day, Noah had to listen to Professor McCarty drone on and on and on. The only benefit was that, as a side effect of his PTSD condition, he had an exceptionally good memory. Almost everything he heard, he could remember at any time he chose. That, at least, saved him from the tedium of having to take notes.
There were other classes he found quite fascinating, however. One of those was the class in chemistry, which was so far beyond the things he had learned in his high school chemistry class that it was like being in another world entirely. While there was some foundation in what he had learned back then, the chemistry he was involved with now revolved around an entirely different kind of chemical reactions. He learned a great deal about how to make explosives, sometimes from common household items, as well as the creation of, uses for and ways to survive an incredible range of poisons.
Then there were the martial arts classes. Some of the things he was learning would have seemed impossible to him not that long before, but the physical training that he was getting was toning and strengthening muscles he hadn't even known he possessed. If anyone had told him, back when he was a kid in MMA classes, that he would one day be capable of doing a back flip and kicking three separate opponents before landing back on his feet, he would've laughed. Suddenly, though, it was a move that he was practicing every day, along with dozens of others he never would have dreamed of.
This training schedule had been rearranged to allow the insertion of his team. Sarah, Neil and Moose were with him in most of his classes, although Neil was excused from the PT class. Being tall, clumsy and skinny, the administrators had decided that his value was in his computer expertise, making them reluctant to risk him suffering any injuries.
Both Moose and Sarah performed well in PT, and Moose managed to stay close to Noah on their daily runs. All three of his teammates were proficient with many weapons, and did well in the weapons class and on the firing ranges, but they simply put in appearances in the chemistry and law classes.
For Noah's part, he was amazed at the quantity of information that was being crammed into his head. Once again, his almost photographic memory came in handy, because he had to memorize quite a list of poisons and their antidotes, as well as recipes for making them on the fly. He learned tricks and techniques for deploying poisons, including orally, in the air, and through the skin, and was taught which were most effective in various scenarios.
So many things were changing in his life. He had gone to see the cosmetic surgeon, just as he'd been ordered to do, and now the face that looked back at him in the mirror seemed somewhat unfamiliar. Noah was adaptable, though, and within a very short time, he was able to visualize his new face as easily as he had always done with his old one.
Allison had been right. The changes were subtle, but sufficient. If he ran into someone who had known him before, it was highly doubtful that they would recognize him, though they might feel that they saw a resemblance to someone they used to know. Ironically, they probably wouldn't even be able to remember who it was this stranger reminded them of.
Noah was drilled in his new history. If asked where he was born, he would instantly reply that it had been in Torrance, California, but that he had grown up on a farm outside of Paxton, Iowa. He had been homeschooled, but received a diploma through an accredited online high school, with exceptional grades. He had gone into the Army not long after, planning to use the G.I. Bill to finance his further education after his term of service.
In the Army, however, he had become an expert in security technologies, both physical and digital. Upon his discharge, he had been recruited by a consulting firm out of Washington, DC, and now traveled the world as a security issue troubleshooter.
Everything was documented; everything was backed up in databases all over the country. His school record, military record, birth certificate, even the death certificates of his parents who died in a tragic accident while he was serving his country—all would stand up to any scrutiny.
Besides training time, and at Allison's urging, he had begun spending personal time with the other members of his team, actually inviting them to his home on a couple of occasions. They showed up when they were supposed to, but it seemed to Noah that the only one he got along with was Neil. The skinny kid seemed to enjoy his company, and Noah began to suspect it was because he could get away with being even more sarcastic than usual, since Noah didn't always realize what was being said to him.
Sarah would occasionally join in on some of the banter, but he could tell there was something reserved about her, some reason she didn't want to open up to him or anyone else. He didn't care that much, because he wasn't interested in any kind of relationship with her other than a professional one. His only concern was that the distance might cause her to be untrustworthy when he needed her.
Moose, on the other hand, would sit there and refuse to even join in the conversations. Unless he was asked a point-blank question that pertained to his position in the team, he had nothing to say. Noah recalled Allison telling him that he needed to find a way to break through that wall, but so far, he didn't have any ideas along that line. Moose didn't like him—that was obvious. Noah didn't know what to do about it.
The boat occupied some o
f his days off. It had a big Mercury V-8 engine tucked into its stern, and would move along at a pretty good clip. Noah had learned to waterski a few years earlier, and began thinking about buying a set. All he needed to do was find someone to drive the boat for him, but so far, he wasn't having any luck in that regard.
Some evenings he spent alone, but occasionally he would wander down to Charlie's for a beer. He wouldn't let himself drink much, because he didn't trust himself not to get into trouble. A couple of early experiences in drinking, as a teenager, had showed him that he had as little common sense when he was drinking as he had emotion when he was sober.
Charlie, despite his near-toothless appearance, had turned out to be quite an intelligent person. He and Noah had several very interesting conversations, ranging on everything from politics to religion to the debate over which pile of crap might be best to put into the White House for the next term. So far, they hadn't come to any real conclusions on that one, but the debate was still ongoing.
To sum it all up, Noah was slowly going stir crazy. It was time for Allison to either put up or shut up, in his opinion—either give them a mission and let him determine whether his team could properly function, or else split the team up and reassign everyone. He had done everything he could think of to try to win them all over, but as far as he could tell, they were just as raw and fragmented as they had been the day they met.
He sat down at the bar, and Charlie set a bottle in front of him automatically. “Hey, kid,” Charlie said, his habitual greeting.
Noah smiled. “Hey, Charlie, how goes it tonight?”
The two of them talked about the usual things for a few minutes, but then Noah got more serious. “Charlie,” he said, “I've got a question for you. Let's say you've got this group you got to work with, people that are assigned to you, so that you're their boss. One of them seems to like you, one acts like she's afraid to let you get too close, and the third one just plain hates your guts. How in the world can you turn them into a team?”
