Stemp nodded slowly. “Very well. Tactical or intelligence?”
Aha. Now I knew the buzzwords.
“Both,” I said firmly.
“All right. I’ll email you a list of the currently available courses. If you need something that’s not listed, send me the course details and we’ll discuss it.”
“Thanks.” Heart thumping, I scurried out.
Shit, it was that easy? Why the hell hadn’t I thought of this before?
I hissed out a breath between my teeth. Because I had foolishly thought I’d be able to go back to my ‘real’ life, that’s why. The peaceful rural existence I’d dreamed of for so long…
My throat tightened, and I shook the thought out of my head.
Not an option anymore. Let it go.
I determinedly swallowed the lump in my throat and strode downstairs to tackle my next challenge: the time-delay chamber to the secure underground labs.
“Claustrophobia is irrational,” I reminded myself under my breath as I leaned in for the retinal scan.
The heavy steel door released and I stepped into the cramped chamber, holding my spine straight. The door thumped quietly closed behind me, and I stepped forward to trigger the next retinal scan, the profound silence of the small enclosure giving me an eerie sensation of deafness.
Thirty seconds. I could do this. No problem. The walls weren’t closing in. The ceiling wasn’t lowering to crush me…
I counted down the time, keeping my gaze glued on the door. When the latch released after the longest thirty seconds in human history, I stepped through it with my best imitation of composure before hurrying down the narrow featureless concrete stairs.
Concrete above me, below me, all around me…
Breathe.
I pulled open the door at the bottom and stepped into the sterile coolness of the underground corridor, seeking out the serenity of the white walls and the reassurance of fresh air moving past my face.
Breathe. Just breathe. Perfectly safe down here. Not trapped.
I squared my shoulders and headed for the Weapons lab with a determined stride.
Outside it, I hesitated. I’d never been inside the lab, and I didn’t even know if my fob would give me access. Stemp hadn’t said anything about it, so maybe he’d already added me to the clearance list…
Shrugging, I waved my fob at the prox pad just as a white-coated bald man with a giant black beard strode up behind me. The door latch released and he gave his fob a cursory swipe over the reader, too, before holding the door for me. I stepped inside only to be confronted by a blank wall and a choice of left or right down a short but featureless corridor.
The bearded man, presumably a researcher, hurried off to the right without a backward glance, and after a moment of hesitation I followed him.
The corridor led into a large open space dotted with counters laden with unrecognizable equipment, and I rounded the corner in time to see the researcher greet a man in a wheelchair.
“Reggie, you lazy bastard, stop lollygagging around in that chair and get on your feet. What the hell’s your problem?”
The man in the wheelchair turned toward him and my stomach lurched. Both legs were missing below the knee, the empty beige trousers pinned up neatly. All that remained of his left hand was a misshapen lump of shiny flesh with a pincer of one finger and thumb, and the left side of his head and neck was disfigured by scar tissue puckered around a slit of a mouth, a featureless hole for an ear, and what was obviously a prosthetic eye.
The undamaged side of his mouth twisted into a grin made horrible by the devastation beside it, his remaining eye snapping with wicked humour under shiny black hair. “Fuck you, Sawyer. I ran a half-marathon this weekend and my stumps are hamburger.”
Sawyer grinned. “Hope you won at least.”
“Goddamn right I did.”
Sawyer socked the man on the shoulder in brotherly approval and strode away, and the ravaged face turned toward me. “Well, well, who do we have here?”
Powerful shoulders bulged as the man popped a wheelie in the high-tech chair before jockeying expertly over to screech to a halt inches from my toes.
Thankful for the moment I’d had to recover, I kept my tone casual. “Hi, I’m looking for Dr. Chow…” I trailed off involuntarily as a flicker of movement caught my eye.
A black spot moved on his trousers, a startling contrast against the beige.
A spider.
Crawling up his thigh toward his crotch…
I jerked my gaze back up to his face.
His eye narrowed. “Yeah, so I hit an IED in Afghanistan.” His tone was a belligerent challenge. “Lost both legs below the knee. Most of my left hand.” He shoved his pincer-like hand at me with an angry gesture. “Half my face. And yes, to answer your unspoken question, my cock still works but my left nut is prosthetic. Take a good look. Like what you see?”
Horrified, I gulped, my face fiery and my voice coming out in a papery whisper. “I… I didn’t mean… I’m sorry…” Pulling myself together, I added, “I didn’t mean to be rude. Thank you for your service and… sacrifice.”
I heard the door open behind me, but I couldn’t look away from the bitter venom in his gaze.
“Yeah, my sacrifice.” His remaining black brow drew down. “What the fuck do you know about this kind of…” His deformed hand described an up-and-down arc from wheels to head and back again. “…sacrifice?”
“N-Nothing.” I swallowed. “I can’t even imagine. And I didn’t mean to stare, I just… It’s just that, um…”
The spider was still crawling. Unable to help myself, I glanced at it again, half-gesturing toward his crotch.
“You ignorant bitch!” he barked. “You think I’m a fucking sideshow? I went through this shit to protect your lily-white ass. The least you can do is look me in the eye!”
His contempt stung my already-raw emotions and hot anger bubbled up.
“I didn’t intend to be rude earlier.” My voice was hard and level. “And I’m genuinely grateful for your service. But since you’re being such a dickhead about it… which nut did you say was prosthetic?”
His mouth dropped open at my effrontery, then snapped shut. “The left,” he ground out.
“Well, that’s good, because there’s a spider on it.”
A dangerous silence swelled between us. Then his gaze flicked sideways, focusing behind me.
“Chuckie,” he snapped. “Get this bitch out of my lab.”
His lab?
Oh, shit.
Apparently I’d just met Dr. Chow.
Stemp strolled up, halting beside me with a quizzical glance. “Is there a problem?”
“Hell yeah, there’s a problem,” Chow growled. “I gave this country my legs and blood and suffering and I damn well deserve respect, not gawking and stupid-ass cracks about a spider on my nuts. Get her out of here before I-”
I started to speak, but Stemp silenced us both with an upraised hand and addressed Chow coolly. “Agent Kelly has given her share of blood and suffering for this country, though her scars are not as visible as yours. I suggest you drop the attitude and offer her the respect you wish for yourself. And there is indeed a spider on your testicles. Or perhaps on your penis, if you happen to be hanging to the left today.”
The damaged mouth had slowly fallen open under Stemp’s rebuke, and Chow stiffened. “Seriously, Chuckie? You’re gonna get in on this fucking grade-school prank, too?” He pitched his voice to a mocking chant. “Hee-hee, made you look! Let’s all laugh at the fucking gimp-”
Stemp interrupted, “There is an arachnid on your crotch. I don’t care whether you deal with it or not, but Agent Kelly needs her briefing, so stop wasting her time.” He gave us a crisp nod. “Excuse me; I have business with Dr. Sawyer.”
As he strode away, Chow’s gaze bored into me for a long moment before wavering and slowly dipping to his lap as if against his will. Then he let out a yelp and smeared the unfortunate spider across his pan
ts.
“Fuck, I hate spiders!” He scrubbed his hand vigorously against his pant leg as if to wipe off any remains. “Fucking creepy little bastards!”
“Sorry,” I offered tentatively. “I just… I couldn’t not look at it. I really wasn’t staring at your…” I trailed off with a vague gesture.
Chow stared up at me open-mouthed for a moment, then burst into laughter. I shuffled awkwardly, not sure whether to laugh with him or try another apology.
He sobered and extended his hand. “Shit. Okay, let’s start again. I’m Reggie Chow. Aydan Kelly, I presume?”
“Yeah.” I shook his hand.
“Sorry, I was out of line. I’m pissed off because I can’t wear my legs today…” He glanced at my carefully neutral expression and elaborated, “I normally wear prosthetics but I’m training for the Paralympics and I pushed too hard yesterday. Now I have to let my stumps heal for a few days, but I hate using the chair because people stare at me like I’m a fucking brainless lump of meat when I’m in it. So I started the day with a chip on my shoulder, and when I thought you were staring…”
“It’s okay,” I said hurriedly. “You don’t need to-”
“Yeah, I do,” he interrupted. “I usually do a little orientation with my coworkers. Tell them what happened…” he hesitated, then grinned. “Well, except for the nut. That was a little more information than I usually share. But I like to get it out in the open so people don’t feel like they have to pretend I’m not fucked up.”
“Well, we’re all fucked up somehow,” I ventured cautiously. “Yours is just easier to see.”
“Huh.” He grunted sour amusement. “Yeah. Anyway, here’s your orientation, so listen up. I was in a jeep in Afghanistan in a supposedly safe zone when we ran over an IED…” He glanced up. “Improvised Explosive Device. ‘Homemade bomb’ to you civvies. I was the only survivor. Blew my feet off and that would have been bad enough, but the blast knocked me out and threw me into a fire. That’s what happened to my face and hand.” The remains of his lips twisted. “Out of the IED into the fire. My nickname should be ‘Lucky’. And guess what took out my nut? You’re gonna love this.”
I shook my head, afraid to say anything.
“One of the shoelace hooks from my boots. Docs took one out of my ass and two out of my guts, too. They must’ve been flying around like hornets from hell.” He snorted. “Everybody bitches about how the army busts their balls; well, they really did bust mine.”
I opened my mouth, hoping something tactful or appropriate would come out. Nothing did, so I closed it again.
“But you’re right,” he said as though I had actually spoken. “It could’ve been worse. When I woke up in the hospital and found out I still had a cock and a right hand, I just lay there and cried from sheer fucking joy.”
He might have been joking, but I wasn’t sure how to respond. I kept quiet.
“So I had a bunch of reconstructive surgery,” he went on. “They’re still working on my face but it probably won’t get much better. But I’m getting a prosthetic ear, and they’re gradually stretching my scalp so I’ll have hair on that side again.”
He ran his fingers unconsciously through the thick glossy hair on the right side of his head and continued, “I already had a master’s degree before I went over so I worked on my doctorate while I was recovering. When I finished it, I applied here and they damn near tripped over their hard-ons to hire me. Hell, I’m a one-man politically-correct employment demographic. Injured vet, and Asian to boot. The only way I could’ve made their ratios look better would’ve been if I’d been an aboriginal female injured vet.”
Stemp happened to be passing by on his way to the door in time to overhear the last sentences. “We hired you because your doctoral thesis was outstanding,” he corrected. “And you had invaluable practical experience and glowing references from all your senior officers. And we promoted you to head of weapons research because you are far and away the best person for the job.”
Chow turned a one-sided smirk on him. “Aw, Chuckie-baby, I didn’t know you cared. Does this mean you’re gonna invite me to the prom?” But he sketched a salute and I could see his appreciation.
Stemp nodded acknowledgement and continued down the corridor, and Chow turned back to me. “Cat got your tongue?”
I shrugged uncomfortably.
“So what’s your story?” His good eye examined me with unnerving intensity. “Where did you serve?”
“I didn’t,” I mumbled, willing the heat out of my cheeks at the mere thought of comparing my experiences with his. “I’ve never been in combat.”
“Oh, yeah? When Chuckie told me you were coming down for a briefing, I pulled your mission reports-”
“You knew who I was all along,” I interrupted indignantly.
“Of course I knew. This is a fucking classified weapons lab. You really think I’d let somebody wander in here without checking them out first?”
At my sheepish ‘No, I guess not’, he added, “Yeah, I knew who you were, and I figured I’d like you after I read your reports. That’s partly why I was so pissed when I thought you were an ignorant bitch.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, blushing all over again.
Even though I was studying my toes, I could feel his penetrating scrutiny. “So you were in a firefight with thirty-odd terrorists in the jungle in the middle of the night. That sounds like combat to me.”
“No.” I nudged my toe at a scuff on the floor. “We only engaged half of them and it was just a rainforest, not a jungle. And I only shot one guy before I fell off a roof-”
“Under fire,” he interrupted.
“Well, yeah. But my partner dragged me to safety and it was basically over after that.”
“And another time you took out two enemy operatives and rode down in a burning plane…”
“The burning plane was my own stupid fault,” I muttered.
“And you infiltrated an enemy installation and blew it up.”
“That was just a barn with three old men in it, in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, guarded by one pimply-faced rent-a-cop and his dog…”
“Kelly, shut the fuck up.”
The unexpected command jerked my head up to meet his one-eyed gaze. “You don’t have to apologize for being in one piece,” he said. “You served. You’re all right by me.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, even more embarrassed. “Can we get on with the briefing now?”
“Yeah… but your records said you’re not in active service. How’d you pull courier duty?”
I dropped my gaze to my toes again, trying to hide my surge of fear at the thought. “I’m requalifying tomorrow morning.”
“You sound pretty sure you’ll pass.”
“Yeah.” I scuffed at the floor again. “I’ve been doing the tests about once a month. It makes me feel safer to know I’m in top shape. Dr. Rawling suggested it…” I trailed off, cold realization washing over me.
He’d set me up so Stemp could back me into a corner.
A wave of anger stiffened my spine and clenched my fists. “Rawling. That fucking bastard.” My voice rasped in my throat. “He played me.”
“Well, yeah. Army shrink. Never trust those fuckers.” Chow eyed me with sympathy. “They’ll help you get better, but you have to remember their ultimate goal is to get you back in action.”
I stood seething in silence, and after a moment Chow spoke again.
“Not looking forward to going active?”
I drew a deep shaky breath and told the truth under his steady gaze.
“I’m scared shitless.”
Chapter 14
“Then don’t go back.” Chow’s good eye burned with intensity. “Tell ‘em you’ve got PTSD. Make shit up if you have to. You’ve done your time and you owe these bastards fuck-all. Take an honourable discharge and get the hell out.”
“I… can’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
“It’s complicated.” I sighed. “And c
lassified. Can we just do this briefing?”
He studied me in silence for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.” He spun his chair and I stepped over beside him. “Other side,” he commanded, gesturing toward his right, and as I moved to obey he added, “I’m blind and deaf on the left, and I hate it when people stand there.”
“That must suck,” I said without thinking. “It’d drive me nuts to know somebody could sneak up on me-”
I bit off the words, berating myself for my tactlessness, but Chow just grunted agreement. “Tell me about it. But…” He wheeled rapidly away, tossing over his shoulder, “Come look at this.”
Screeching to a halt at one of the equipment-laden counters, he snatched up a pair of glasses with fashionable unisex frames. “Check these out,” he said proudly. “These are just about ready to go into production. Complete three-sixty-degree real-time audio/video coverage in a heads-up display. For spooks like you it’ll be like eyes in the back of your head, but I’m working on a specialized set for myself with an audio feed from my deaf side into my right ear, and the full HUD on one side only.”
“Cool!” I leaned close to examine the glasses without touching them. “They’re so sleek, you’d never know they had cameras and microphones in them. How do you power them?”
“Power supply is always the tricky part,” he agreed. “Let’s just say…” He smirked. “We found a way. They’re completely self-contained, no external gear at all, and up to twelve hours recording capability between data dumps.”
“Wow.” I glanced around the lab, spotting the bushy-bearded Sawyer along with another man and woman busy at their respective counters. “So is it just the four of you down here inventing stuff all day long?”
“No, we’ve got several other-”
His words were cut short by a cry of outrage from the woman. While we’d been talking, she had crossed to stand behind her male counterpart, and now she accompanied another enraged shriek with a smart slap to the back of his head.
“You pig! How dare you bring that sick twisted porn in here…”
The Spies That Bind Page 11
