Intimate Danger

by Amy J. Fetzer

  “Oh hell. Now I’ll never get the bastard, he’ll claim insanity.”

  Mike smiled widely, then held up a finger. The call went through encryption, and Jansen picked up. He gave his report.

  “I’m not invisible anymore, least not here. So it will be slower. The package?” Mike turned away from Gantz.

  “CIA found a chunk of…something in all that you collected in Libya,” Jansen said. “You’ve got just a small piece. Test stats are inside the package, just thought you should have a look-see. The intel on the computers was excellent, but nothing leading to your theater of operation.”

  “Roger that.” Mike felt the package. Whatever it was, it didn’t weigh but a few ounces. “I need a favor, sidebar.”

  “Continue.”

  “There was an American woman in a border jail. As far as I can tell she wasn’t doing anything to get thrown in, but she was near the suspected crash site.”

  “You didn’t interrogate?”

  “No time. But I need some information on her, and firewalls are stopping me. There’s a lock on her job.” She was in the UAV area and traveling under a false passport; that was enough to tickle his internal alarms. He gave Jansen her name. He ended the call and looked at Gantz. “Any weapons?”

  Gantz fished in his pocket, then tossed him the key to the trunk. Mike unlocked it and pilfered.

  “That’s all you’re taking?”

  “I can improvise.” Mike grabbed his GPS, shook his hand, then left.

  “Jarheads,” Gantz muttered as the door slammed after him.

  Francine smiled brightly as she walked into the lab. It was a good day, she thought. She’d already run with some Army Rangers this morning and loved that she had to slow down so she didn’t look so obviously faster. Fortunately, no one saw her slip through the trees and beat them all back to the base. She kicked off her heels and slipped into flats, then pulled on her lab coat, stopping short when she saw Carl already there.

  It annoyed her. This was her domain.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “Observing your primates.” He didn’t look at her, his hands behind his back, feet apart. She wondered if he ever really shed those eagles on his shoulders and became human.

  The thought made her stop in her tracks. She knew the man under the uniform, the recipient of some very attentive sex, but the real Carl Cook was hidden away. She hadn’t cared, she didn’t want a relationship to travel that deep, not yet. Not till she was ready, and her career and this nanopod meant more to her than anything right now.

  Fran moved to Carl’s side and watched the primates going through the mating ritual. Natasha had been introduced to Boris only a day before, and the pair were each just realizing there was another occupant in the giant cage. It was Boris’s domain, fitting for primates, and Natasha was still investigating. Francine flipped on the speakers and heard Boris sound a mating call, the high-pitched shriek shaking the trees. The female barely glanced in his direction and continued picking something off her toes.

  “Not good.”

  “It’s only been a day and actually it is good. This means they are aware of each other and neither sees the other as a threat. Now, if I put a male in there, they’d kill each other for her. She has no idea she’s a hot property today.” Fran laughed to herself and went to the console to key up the series of intelligence games, some that normal schoolchildren took. When they passed those, she’d increase it for the female. Boris’s abilities were already exceeding his baseline potential.

  Cook turned his head. “Why are you moving so fast? In a hurry?”

  She stilled. “I’m not.” At least she didn’t notice. She continued typing. “But I’m anxious to get in the gym for a bit before I start more testing.”

  “Maybe I’ll join you.”

  She didn’t look up, and thought of making an excuse since she’d already worked out today, when a strange feeling rushed through her. Anticipation? She’d run with him before and he always outdistanced her. “Then I’ll see you in an hour.”

  He was prepared for exercise. Francine was beginning the tests on herself. Running with the Rangers she’d held herself back. She could hardly wait to see his face when she smoked him.

  Marianna Salache noticed the man at the gate again. He stared inside, yet made no move to ring the bell. She shifted away from the window, wondering how often he would come by before he tried to enter. Perhaps he was one of Nuat’s people. Another guard.

  She glanced up from the magazine when she heard footsteps, and saw Richora stride through the foyer. “Alejo?”

  Richora stopped and hesitated before he looked at her. She rose and came to him, smiling. “We have not seen you in a while. How have you been?”

  “Fine. Very busy.”

  His brisk answer put her off and she frowned.

  Richora closed his eyes for a moment, then met her gaze. “Marianna, forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive. Is Nuat still in his offices?”

  “He is.”

  “His face startled you, didn’t it?”

  He nodded. “It is…dramatic.”

  She looked toward the offices. “He is the man I married, inside he is.” Even to herself that sounded unconvincing.

  “And when he is not?”

  Her gaze jerked to his. “He will always be.” He must.

  Richora’s shoulders slumped. “Good day, Marianna.” He nodded once and left the house.

  Marianna rose and kept watching as Richora climbed into his truck. Like her husband was now, he was a pretty man, beautiful warm golden skin and coal-black hair. Yet her husband’s face was created, manipulated. He’d not been an ugly man. Not by her standards. He was simply average-looking. She might not have looked his way when she was young, but it was his intelligence that drew her to him. He was a visionary, with the mind of a genius, and she still admired that he could call up vast amounts of knowledge instantly, yet he never once spoke to her like she wasn’t at his level.

  He always patiently explained things to her, and she felt he took pride in his education. She had been to the university in Brazil, but her education was nothing like Nuat’s.

  She glanced back into the recesses of the house as if she could see him, working on whatever he had been planning these long months. She didn’t ask, almost afraid to know. She had not married a rich man, yet wealth was at her fingertips now. Nuat’s patents provided well, and he had no obligations to anyone except himself and his creative dreams.

  She turned her attention to the window in time to see Alejo pass through the electric gate. She admired him too. He was comfortable in his skin. Whereas her husband was not.

  At least the spying man was gone.

  For the better part of a day Clancy refused to accept that if she didn’t have a Terminator, this was over and she had to back off. In between this rebellious my way streak that was far too familiar, she searched every electronic shop in the small city. She would build it again and considered buying online and having it FedExed to her, but that would mean a credit card and a trace plus customs. Time she didn’t have.

  The nanopods had been inserted for a month already. The first test of insertion into an orangutan had killed it within three days. They hadn’t tried again. Till now.

  Yet after nearly two hours of trying to explain to the owner what she was looking for, she realized that she’d just have to buy entire pieces of computer equipment and strip it for parts.

  Improvise a little.

  Her thoughts went immediately to Mike, and after reliving that kiss for the fifth time today, she thought it was too convenient for him to be in that part of the jungle, alone. Just in time to save her life. Or trail her? If he was following her, then why not take her in? No, she decided, he wasn’t after her, but something else. It was a big city. Avoiding him would be easy.

  Several hours later, Clancy hovered over the desk with a soldering iron that cost more than half the equipment, and as she touched the silver to the chip
she knew it wouldn’t work. She set both down and pulled off the safety glasses.

  She was fooling herself. Create a million dollars’ worth of hardware from parts? Without the electrical engineer beside her like before? She could adjust the components only so far. What she really needed was the equipment to make one, but that was impossible. There wasn’t a college for miles, and certainly no static clean labs. Clancy looked at the piles of computer parts and left the chair, pulling off the headband that held her hair back. She’d have to think of something else. Go back to the basics again, she thought. After washing off the black stain from the wires, she bagged her failure and threw it in the trash. Then she did her most favorite thing.

  She crawled into bed and ordered room service.

  Outside Dr. Figaroa’s office, Ensign Durry sat erect as she waited. She tried not to grip the file too tightly and ruin the newness of it. She knew it was anal, but concentrating on her recent discovery just gave her a headache. As much as she knew she was correct, the evidence said she was dead wrong.

  When Dr. Figaroa finally came out, she practically rushed into his office.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but I need to speak with you, right now. Sir.”

  Frowning, he closed the door behind her. “You said you found something strange in the records. Is it administrative?” He moved behind his desk.

  “No, sir.” She opened the file and laid out four separate sheets in front of him. “The left is the men’s physicals and testing from six months ago. The one on the right is a few weeks ago. Look at the fitness testing.”

  Dr. Figaroa stared at her for a moment, thinking he’d never seen her ruffled and she was fighting it with everything she had. He looked at the data sheets, leaning over and running both fingers down the two columns. Then he stopped.

  “That’s not possible.” Scowling, he pulled a ruler from his desk drawer and realigned the pages. Then following the ruler, he looked again. “Can this be a misprint?”

  “No, sir. I verified it on the encrypted disk.”

  “That’s a large increase. One number off and it would be only a few degrees.”

  “Taken alone, sir, that would be my estimation, but coupled with all four Marines having relatively the same percentage of increase in strength, intelligence, speed, and accuracy…no. All toxicology is negative for all substances. All. Yet, these men could win the Olympics by themselves.” She lowered herself into the chair.

  “Didn’t you find one drug that would do this?”

  She smiled. Dr. Figaroa was already used to her thoroughness. “Many street forms of speed would, but not at that decimal.”

  Figaroa said, “I have to agree. It would even take months of steroids to increase strength, but they don’t do a thing for the intelligence.”

  Figaroa sat now, reading again and comparing it to the previous month’s testing before the men were given the all-clear for duty status. “Jansen needs to see this.” He stood, abruptly, then moved around his desk, laying the files down long enough to strip off his white lab coat and tell his receptionist he’d be gone for a while.

  Durry was relieved he believed her. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re coming too, Ensign.”

  He steered her with him, and she snatched her cover off the table. He rushed her so fast she felt like she was running. “Doctor?”

  “We’re leaving the building.”

  “Going where?”

  “The Pentagon.”

  Barbara thought, Oh God, what have I done?

  Clancy woke instantly, her spine feeling tight.

  She’d experienced it before. It was as if someone shook her, yet she remained still, opening her eyes in time to see a gloved hand come down over her mouth. She screamed as his heavy weight pushed her into the mattress, his knees pinning her arms. He bent close, his mouth near her ear.

  “Go home, McRae.”

  A chill ripped over her. Oh God.

  “It will get worse.”

  She struggled beneath him, pushing against his weight, and for the first time she felt completely helpless. She hated it and bucked, unseating him, and when he struggled to right himself, she drew up her knee, knocking him in the nuts. He grunted in pain, but held tight, and she pushed her knees against his chest.

  “Get the hell off me!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. He tried to cover her mouth as she twisted wildly on the bed, shoving and kicking until she planted both feet dead center on his chest and thrust. He went flying backward, hit the desk, then rolled around and darted out the still-open door.

  Clancy shot off the bed, looked around for a weapon, then grabbed a thick glass ashtray and followed. “Oh, I’m so going to hurt you.”

  She rushed down the hall, moving back and forth away from the doors, then flew to the staircase, overtook half, then paused at the window. In the center of the night, the city was awake and brightly lit, and she searched the crowd till she saw a man running against the edge of the buildings. Gotcha, she thought. Her rapid steps drummed in the stairwell and she pushed through two doors and out onto the streets. Her bare feet slapped the concrete as she ran after him. It was a block before she faced that she’d lost him and she turned back. She heard a catcall and looked up. Around the outdoor bistros and in front of shops, people stared at her, and a couple of rude remarks blistered the air.

  Oh, this has got to be one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, she thought, backing into the hotel while holding down her T-shirt. Since that’s all she wore.

  Inside and moving down the hall, she let her anger simmer, yet when a door opened and a man in his pajamas appeared she snapped, “Oh, so now you come to see what happened?” He retreated into his room.

  She hurried past. Inside, she threw the lock, drew the chain, then braced a chair back beneath the knob. Holding the ashtray defensively, she checked the room, then laid it aside and plopped into a chair.

  She covered her face. I’m in way over my head.

  The only person who could possibly know where she was or what she was doing was Colonel Cook, and that was a couple of days ago. He had to keep it quiet or his career was over for authorizing the insertion. If she knuckled under to this warning, he’d win.

  The Marines would lose.

  She wasn’t going anywhere, least of all home. She jumped up and went to the closet, dragging her flight bag to the bed and throwing her few things inside. She’d hide, get far away from this hotel.

  But first, she needed a gun.

  Nine

  Mike stared at the small black chunk of plastic the size of a walnut.

  The diagram and photos were on the seat beside him. They told him little, but like the colonel, he wondered what this was doing in Libya. The solid black material had gold in the grooves. It meant nothing to him but a bunch of squiggles and lines, and they were still trying to make something out of it. It led him nowhere and he slipped it into his pack and left the truck. A few feet away, his satellite phone rang.

  Jansen. “I’ve got the background on the woman. How well do you know her?”

  “Very little.” He ducked out of sight and explained.

  “Clancy Moira McRae, four years in the Navy, then transferred to the Pentagon. Computer Intel Division. Honorably discharged, college, graduate study at Cornell.”

  “And?”

  “She’s one of ours, Mike. Military contractor.”

  That meant she was hired by the Department of Defense to do something. “Is there a reason you’re giving me this piecemeal?”

  “That’s it. I can get more on her, but not on her job. No details. There’s a permanent lock on her job.”

  That could mean anything from NSA to Homeland Security. “Clearance?” Mike asked.

  “Class A.”

  Mike’s brows shot up. His was class A.

  Jansen said he’d look into it, and Mike was about to sign off when he heard a woman scream, then another panicked shout.

  “Later, sir,” he said as he hurried t
oward the sound and rounded a corner overgrown with vines and flowers. He saw the heavy stainless steel cart rolling down the street, the slope of the road sending it barreling toward the low side of the street.

  There was nothing to stop it. Except a child—and Clancy.

  Mike bolted, but Clancy was fast, grabbed the child, tucked him to her body as she spun out of the path so fast they fell.

  The cart shot past and crashed into a parked car. Plastic taillights went flying and people converged, yelling as a woman pushed her way between the people to the boy. She yanked him into her arms, then helped Clancy up in almost an afterthought.

  The boy thanked her, shaking her hand, but when his mother scrubbed her hands over his face and shoulders, he clung to her.

  Clancy leaned against the nearest wall, shaken.

  The owner of the cart rushed to apologize, claiming the rope broke, then had to deal with the man’s wrecked car. Mike’s gaze shifted to Clancy as she walked to the vendor cart, took a slushy drink tottering on the edge, then rubbed it over her forehead before she drank.

  Mike remained hidden and walked on the opposite side of the street, out of the sun and away from her; then he stopped in the spot where the vendor cart had been. Covertly, his gaze followed the path, the bumps in the road from the iron loops in the stone walls for securing cars or animals. Necessary in the steep area; even the sidewalks tilted. Accident, he decided, then bent to grab the rope and let it slide through his fingers to the end. He started at the tip.

  Okay, maybe not.

  Fifteen minutes later, Mike stood outside her hotel room door. She was gone. The maid was in the room, her cart blocking the door. Mike pushed it aside and entered, and scared the maid in the middle of stripping sheets off the bed.

  He asked anyway.

  “Sí, in the middle of the night, senor.”

  “Do you know where she went?”

  The maid shook her head, and Mike moved in and looked around. The young girl remained perfectly still, only her eyes following him. He thanked her and headed to the door, then stopped and went to the trash can. It was filled with boxes. Then he noticed more boxes in the maid’s cart. He expected to find a receipt, or something to lead him to her. But electronics? he questioned, pulling out tangles of wires and chips. There were parts he recognized and most he didn’t, but a DVD player, a cell phone, and a soldering iron? Christ, Clancy, what are you doing? Traveling under a false passport, a lock on her job, tearing apart the insides of computers. She was building something.