Momentary Stasis (The Rimes Trilogy Book 1)

by Adams, P R

  The graphics transitioned again, this time showing gruesome images of outbreak casualties before changing to a close-up of T-Corp 72 itself. There were six buildings, each identified by callouts.

  “Thanks to the Eurica agencies sharing intelligence from that previous raid with us, we have two areas of interest. The first is the research building, here.” Kleigshoen circled the compound’s largest building. “The second is the operations center, here.” She circled the next largest building, south of the first. “We believe whatever T-Corp is going after would be in one of those two buildings.”

  Moltke spoke from the shadows again as Kleigshoen stepped aside. The Sundarbans map returned to the screen. Moltke’s earpiece projected an interface in the darkness. His fingers manipulated an application, tracing a trail across the interface, and two helicopter icons appeared at the map’s southern edge.

  “We will receive the standard proactive treatments—general immune system boosters and restoratives. However, this is considered an NBC environment, so we will also be provided anti-viral injectors.”

  “Since it’s not likely that T-Corp team sneaked a nuke in, are you saying that the biological agent’s still a problem, sir?” Martinez asked.

  Moltke sighed. “Biological is our main concern, yes. Please hold your questions to the end of the briefing, Sergeant.”

  Martinez looked at Rimes and rolled his eyes. Rimes tried not to smile.

  “Commander Cross has provided us two 121s. We will proceed north along the Goashaba River.” Moltke traced their path in the air and a line appeared on the map, following along the winding river. “We’ll exit the 121s here, on the northern shore, and proceed on foot. I’ll direct the operation from the insert point.”

  Moltke traced a northern path along a slender river until it reached the curve of a slightly larger one that angled west, then north. He followed the larger tributary with his finger. “You’ll keep this tributary on your left flank, then proceed on the western bank of this second tributary until you reach the target. This route is approximately ten klicks. We’ll have one hundred fifty minutes to cover it.”

  Kirk shook his head. “In NBC gear, sir?” His drawl stretched the question out. He quickly glanced at Stern, then back at Moltke.

  “Hydrate, people. For … political reasons, our insertion can’t happen until 0130. Arriving at the compound after 0400 puts the mission at extreme risk. We will have sixty minutes to clear the compound. The 121s will touch down here, in this old parking lot, at 0500. If the LZ is not clear by 0500, the next opportunity for the 121s to land … will be 0130 the next morning.”

  At Moltke’s hesitation, Martinez and Kirk exchanged a glance.

  Rimes already knew what they were thinking: there would be no second opportunity.

  Moltke always hesitated when lying; it was his tell when they played poker.

  The operation was happening without explicit consent, and T-Corp would pressure the Indian government the second they detected the intrusion. As Bhatia had warned, the Indian government was still among the most corrupt and ineffectual in the world.

  It would buckle at the first hint of pressure from T-Corp, the country’s single greatest employer.

  While Rimes had grown used to the hollow promises and outright lies the military casually told its troops, he’d never approve of it—even though he understood the necessity.

  “That’s it, people,” Moltke said, shutting down the briefing system. “I’m uploading maps and relevant overlays to your systems now. I’ll be running Horus from my position. Take the standard jungle kit: CAWS-5 assault and shotgun mix, six magazines, one frag each, two liters of water, and energy bars. Keep it under twenty kilos, or you won’t make it.”

  Rimes relaxed slightly. Horus—an unmanned reconnaissance vehicle—often made the impossible possible. It carried extremely high-resolution optics and sensor packages and fed real-time data through each soldier’s system. The systems interacted with feedback from each user, constantly updating intelligence and imagery. Paired with their full-blown BASs, the data could turn the tide in an engagement. It wasn't as advanced as the systems he used when on Special Security Council operations, but it was better than anything anyone else used.

  “Any questions?” Moltke looked around the room, no one said a thing. “All right. Report to the dispensary for your injections and injectors. Rest up and hydrate.”

  Moltke nodded to Cross.

  Cross stood. “Dismissed, gentlemen.” He exited the conference room, followed by Agent Kleigshoen.

  Rimes watched the rest of the team filter out, blushing when Pasqual and Wolford congratulated him, but stayed behind with Martinez and Kirk.

  “Congratulations, Rimes.” Kirk squeezed a pinch of dip into his mouth. He was a few years older than Rimes, but had also trained under Martinez and was considered the natural choice to replace him when he finally moved on. Kirk was a good soldier and a more than capable team lead.

  Moltke circled the desk and approached them, his face a mask. His breath carried the slightest hint of whiskey.

  “Let’s hear it,” he said.

  “Ten klicks through jungle in NBC gear in two-and-a-half hours,” Martinez said. “It seems like a bit much to ask, sir.”

  Stern’s going to have a hard time of it. Barlowe, too.

  Martinez looked at Kirk. They seemed to reach an agreement without speaking. “Especially with the likelihood we’ll be on our own for some time if we run into trouble.”

  Moltke hesitated a moment, then said, “I don’t like it any better than you do. This one’s big, though.”

  “They’re all big, Captain,” Kirk drawled. “They don’t send us in for the little shit.”

  “This is bigger than most. As big as it gets. That facility was built for genetic engineering research before T-Corp had the capacity to get an orbital station up.

  “You heard Agent Kleigshoen: they were designing genies there. It’s the last physical presence on-planet of potential materials of incalculable value.” He hesitated again, his eyes jumping from Rimes to the other two. “You know I don’t have all the details. I’m sharing what I can with you.”

  Rimes’s forehead furrowed. “This is about money, sir?”

  Moltke paused, then rubbed his jaw. “Everything’s about money, Sergeant. When you get down to it, nothing else matters. Currency drives enterprise; enterprise drives politics. In this case, the currency is genetic materials—possibly the secret to the first significantly advanced wave of our genetically engineered friends. It doesn’t get much more valuable than that.”

  Kirk squinted at Moltke. “If it was worth so much, why didn’t we just take it before?”

  “The agreements they signed thirty-six years ago were a mess. T-Corp agreed to shut down the facility and pay a fine. They also helped deal with the outbreak. They probably saved tens of thousands of people and millions of dollars by sharing critical data, too. In exchange, India extracted guarantees from every international body imaginable that the facility would be treated as Indian sovereign territory so long as T-Corp honored their end of the deal.”

  “India would go to war over something like this?” Rimes asked, trying not to sound too skeptical. “What sort of research could be so valuable, thirty years on?”

  Moltke chewed his lip for a moment. “Just about two years before that facility went up, exploration vessels discovered an alien ship around the Epsilon Eridani system. That’s pretty much common knowledge. What isn’t common knowledge is just how close we came to war over that discovery.

  “T-Corp and LoDu got their hands on alien DNA, and they weren’t about to share it. Not with the international science community, not with universities, not with their host nations, not with anyone. And they applied enough economic pressure—threats to send every last asset and job off-planet—to just enough of those host nations to put us all at each other’s throats. They ended up sharing the DNA with ADMP to get them onboard. With those three metacorps making th
reats …”

  “So T-Corp’s violation of the agreements gives us an opportunity to seize this alien DNA?” Rimes already knew the answer, but he had to hear it from Moltke.

  Moltke nodded. “For all we know, they may intend to unleash a weaponized viral agent against someone. So even though the Indian government won’t act, we can and we will. We have key support in this.”

  Kirk hissed a curse. “But not enough to back us if things go wrong.”

  Moltke said, “You three need to get some rest.”

  Martinez muttered his acknowledgement, a signal to Kirk and Rimes to do the same. They headed for the door.

  “Jack,” Moltke said.

  Rimes stopped. The three men looked at each other. Then Kirk shrugged, and he and Martinez left without him.

  “Look, Jack,” Moltke said. “I think you’re ready for this mission. You have high potential and top marks. You’ve proven yourself in the field over and again. You’re a by-name operator for the Special Security Council. Even so, I’m assigning the most experienced operators to your team. I expect we’ll be relying on your team pretty heavily.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Success opens doors. You have a lot of doors ahead of you. You’ll have to start making decisions soon. I know you’ve got some pretty big plans.”

  Moltke considered Rimes for a moment. He gave a satisfied grunt, then left. A hint of whiskey lingered in his wake.

  Rimes’s head buzzed. He desperately needed to talk with Molly. You have a lot of doors ahead of you.

  6

  20 February 2164. USS Sutton.

  * * *

  There was nothing to do but wait as the Sutton’s communications system synchronized with the civilian network, so that’s what Rimes did. From what the tech had said, the ship’s connection was fine; the difficulty was in dealing with an overloaded civilian Grid circuit.

  “Sergeant Rimes?” The crewman’s thinly-mustached face reappeared in the vid display.

  “Good news, Chief?”

  “You should be good to go,” the tech said. “Give it a few seconds.”

  “I owe you,” Rimes said.

  The tech scratched his mustache. “Not a thing, Sergeant.” He signed off.

  On Rimes’s display, a digital clock counted down: three, two, one … the earpiece made a few clicks, and then another display opened.

  Molly’s face came into view. “Jack?”

  Rimes smiled. He could see sunlight streaming through the apartment’s kitchen window in the background. Molly had her hair up in a bun; several frizzy, coppery strands sprouted out defiantly.

  She looked tired. She wore a tattered cleaning shirt that hung loose on her lean frame, and the glow in her green eyes that made it impossible for him to look away was missing.

  His throat tightened. “Hey,” he said, unable to get out anything further.

  She squinted, trying to make out the background behind him. “Are you at the airport? I thought you wouldn’t be home for a few days.”

  “No, not at the airport. I wanted to call as—”

  Molly closed her eyes for a second, then stared at him. “They canceled your leave again?”

  Rimes broke eye contact. Tears were threatening, and he wasn’t about to break down in front of her and anyone who might see him from the common area.

  “You know how it is,” he finally managed.

  She bowed her head to hide wiping a tear away. “I should’ve known. Karen said Chris was pulled off a plane in London.” She looked at him, her lips pressed together. “So when are you coming home?”

  Rimes winced at Molly’s casual reference to Moltke and his wife by their first names. They all shopped at the same stores, went to the same events. Molly had never accepted the military’s officer and enlisted separation. It chafed at her even more than it did Rimes.

  “No more than a few weeks. I’ll let you know the moment I know. It won’t be long, and we’ll be rotating back soon.” Six months forward-deployed, six months back at Fort Sill. That’s how it worked—in theory.

  Molly knew better.

  Her image broke up for a moment.

  Rimes squinted. “You there?”

  The image returned.

  “Molly?”

  “I’m here.” Molly said. She wasn’t even trying to hold back the tears now. “I was gonna make it a surprise, Jack. I had planned …” She wiped her face.

  Rimes sat back in his seat. His heart accelerated. Every time he talked to Molly, every time he saw her … he was always braced for the inevitable breakup message.

  Most Commandos’ marriages ended in divorce. The statistics ran through his head. He’d always hoped he might be one of the lucky ones, that Molly’s strength and love would see them through the hard times. Despite the constant separations, his marriage had been like a dream.

  “Molly, wait—” his voice failed him.

  “I’m—we’re—pregnant, Jack.”

  Rimes flinched at the last moment, almost missing Molly’s actual words in his fear of what she might say.

  Finally, he muttered, “Pregnant? How far along?”

  Molly looked at him as she would a simpleton. “Well, the last time we spent any time together was in Italy, Jack. You figure it out.”

  Rimes relaxed. A baby was life changing. It would be a serious financial drain. It would delay her degree.

  It was still better to look forward to than a messy divorce.

  “How … ? When did you realize?”

  Molly wiped away more tears. They were down to a trickle now. “I missed my period, then started feeling sick—terrible heartburn, y’know? I finally went in a few weeks ago.”

  Rimes decided it wasn’t the time to question protection. He hadn’t used any; he’d just assumed she still was. “We’ll visit Cleo and Alejandra when I get back. We’ll tell them together. And your mother—”

  Molly sniffled. “She already knows.” She smiled. “She says it’ll be good for me.”

  “You’ll need to push back your PhD.”

  Molly shook her head; now, anger made her eyes sparkle. “Rejected again, anyway. Thirteen positions, only two went to Americans. Six Chinese students, three Indian, one Russian, one Vietnamese. Charging foreign student rates means a higher profit. I’ll never get in, not without changing my nationality. And after I finally get the degree, it’s not like they’re knocking down doors hiring social scientists. It’s so damned broken, Jack.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Rimes could see she was on the verge of crying again. “Look, you’re going to be a little too busy to worry about it for a while, right? You have your Master’s. That’s going to open doors, eventually.”

  Molly nodded. Tears welled in her eyes again. She looked at him, fighting them back. “Life’s what you make of it, right?”

  Her image broke into static for a moment, returned, then broke into static again.

  Finally, the connection stabilized.

  “Jack?”

  “Bandwidth,” Rimes said. “I’ll send you notice when I have a firm return date. Love you, Baby.”

  Molly blew him a kiss. With the light from the kitchen washing over her, she was angelic. “Come home to me,” she whispered. “Come home to us.” She tried to disconnect before breaking into tears again but failed.

  Rimes sucked in a lungful of air and exhaled. He was mostly alone in the room; four sailors—a young woman and three men of varying age—were caught up in their own communications sessions. Rimes quickly exited the common area, stepping through the hatch into the corridor before anyone could make eye contact.

  In his haste, he nearly bumped into someone standing immediately outside the hatch. He turned.

  “Jack! Was that Molly?” Kleigshoen, wearing a form-fitting black T-shirt and battle dress pants, stepped back, then leaned against the corridor wall to his left. Her hair was slightly damp and smelled of sandalwood shampoo.

  She smiled, but it was more like that of a hungry predato
r than an old teammate.

  Rimes took a quick breath. “Yeah.”

  “Don’t worry.” Kleigshoen poked him mischievously. “I wasn’t spying on you, I just heard you as I was hanging up on my father. I haven’t talked to him in a month—you remember how he gets. You have it easy with Cleo and Alejandra.”

  Rimes took another step away from her and felt himself relax. “Sure.”

  “How are things, Jack? I didn’t really get a chance to talk to you before. It’s just been so crazy, you know?”

  “Dana …” He sighed quietly. “Things have been good, thanks. I’ve moved on.”

  “Married,” Kleigshoen replied, looking at his ring. “I’m happy for you. I should be, right? She’s pretty.”

  Molly was pretty. He knew that. Everyone knew that. But she was a candle to Kleigshoen’s sun.

  “Thanks,” Rimes said. “You?”

  Rimes wanted to leave, to catch a quick nap, but his window of opportunity was shrinking.

  Kleigshoen held up her hand, wiggling her fingers. “Nope. I told you, career first. I meant it.” She smiled again, cutting through his defenses. “I hope you’re not still mad at me? To be fair, you were the only person to ever make me reconsider … everything.”

  Rimes shook his head. “I’ve got a really good thing going.”

  Kleigshoen raised an eyebrow. “That is so wonderful. I don’t know how you could do it. How long have you been married?”

  Rimes struggled for a moment, summoning memories from an infinite abyss. He was tired and she was in his head, destroying anything that remotely resembled reason and control.

  “Two years next month.”

  “You’ve been in Spec Ops the whole time. You two really must have something special.”

  “Molly has the patience of a mountain.”

  “I’d say. So what’s your plan?” Kleigshoen tilted her head, exposing her long, soft, smooth neck.