Harry Noor flicked his hand through the air. “I don’t care. I hate explanations.”
O-kay. For such a sweet-looking-little-old grandpa, he was sure rude.
Off to my left, one of the computer nerds snorted his immature amusement. What was this, competitive elementary school?
Harry Noor looked me up and down first, then Chapling, and then came back to me. “You don’t look like a program designer.”
I glanced behind him at the myriad of stereotypical geeks, and then with a shrug said, “You’d be surprised what’s in this brain of mine.”
He barked an overly loud laugh, and everyone jumped a little.
Well, at least I’d amused the guy.
Harry Noor motioned for me and Chapling to sit with the others on the floor. “We’ll start with the first to arrive and end with blonde-brainy and her little friend.”
Chapling and I exchanged a glance. We were the last to go—exactly what we had hoped for. We’d sit back, watch all the others, and then make last second adjustments if need be.
Geek #1 went first. Tall, skinny, bald, glasses. He nervously stuttered his way through his presentation, and five quick minutes later, took a bow.
Chapling looked at me. A bow? he mouthed, and I held back a smile.
Harry Noor shook his head. “You can go.”
As if he’d been expecting the dismissal, Geek #1 hurriedly mumbled his thank you, packed up his stuff, and scurried off.
I wanted to tell him he’d done an okay job, the poor, insecure, nervous guy. But I figured I’d better just keep my mouth shut.
Geek #2 went next. Medium height, heavy, long hair, glasses. A little nervous, too, his presentation lasted ten minutes. A presentation I’d grade about a C. Okay, maybe C+
When he was done, Harry Noor flicked his hand through the air. “You can go.”
“B-but—”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Go.”
Geek #3 went next. Short, scrawny, shaggy hair, glasses. He took the full fifteen minutes, doing, in my opinion, a bang up job.
But, of course, we knew what kind of job he would do, as well as all the others. I had hacked into their computers after all. I knew more about them then they probably did. I even knew their eye glass prescriptions.
Harry Noor motioned for Geek #3 to sit back down. “Stay for now.”
Chapling and I exchanged a slightly worried glance.
Geek #4 and 5 did their thing, and Harry Noor sent them home.
Geek #6 stayed—the one who had snorted when we first came in. The dweeb.
Geek #7 went home.
And then it was our turn. We stood, and knowing we only had fifteen minutes, we plunged right in.
“We’ve traveled all around the world,” I fibbed, “obtaining data for our Combat Thrash Program.”
“She came up with that name,” Chapling happily supplied, and Harry merely looked at him.
Clearing his throat, Chapling gave me a boy-isn’t-he-a-fun-one? look to which I launched right back into weaving my excellent introductory tale to Mr. Harry Noor.
Chapling busied himself setting up the laptops, and when he was ready, he gave me the signal.
We did everything exactly as we had in the conference room yesterday. Using Daisy (that for security purposes we temporarily renamed Darlene), we commanded our laptops to begin the music, video, and animated introduction.
When it finished I asked Geek #6 (the snorter), “Would you mind coming up?”
Geek #6 shook his head. “No thank you.”
“Do it,” Harry Noor commanded, and I couldn’t help but smirk.
We stripped him down to his boney chest and attached the Influence Sway Skins. A 3-D image of his muscular skeletal appeared.
“We’ll measure strapping intensity and cognitive thought processes,” I told Harry Noor, “as he engages in a two minute mock fight with me.”
“What?” Geek #6 squeaked.
With a nod, Harry sat forward in his chair.
Geek #6 and I began our mock fight. Or more like I threw punches and kicks and he yelped and dodged. When we finished, I commanded, “Darlene, percentage of match to excellence, please.”
0.25 PERCENT.
Chapling and I both laughed, we couldn’t help ourselves.
Geek #6 tore the Skins off and threw them to the ground. “Not funny.”
I turned to Harry Noor. “As you can see, he clearly is not suited for fighting.”
Harry smiled. “Clearly.”
“During the creation of the Combat Thrash Program,” I explained to Harry Noor, “my data was entered into the system. We’ll use that for the finale.”
Chapling and I exchanged an excited look.
He pointed his laptop toward the octagon in the center of the room. “Darlene, finale please.”
A hologram of me and Geek #6 appeared in the octagon. We approached each other, or rather I approached him, and basically beat him into the ground while he scrambled his weenie little self out of the way. I had to admit, I looked pretty darn good up there.
The hologram fight ended. I turned to Geek #6 and batted my lashes. He sneered back.
Chapling glanced at his watch. “Sorry, we went over our fifteen minutes.”
Harry Noor waved him on. “No problem. Finish up.”
That had to be a good sign.
Quickly, we explained the rest of the program pertaining to the advisement of fighters during an actual competition. Using the same footage from Russia that we’d used yesterday in the conference room, we showed the dark haired man fighting the red haired one. We illustrated the shoulder lock and demonstrated the success of rolling out at a thirty degree angle versus normal.
When we finished I powered down and turned to Harry Noor. “It’s all based on a person’s unique geometrics and the intermolecular attraction of all elements involved.” I smiled. “And that concludes our demonstration.”
Harry didn’t say anything. The two remaining geeks didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. Chapling didn’t say anything. Everyone just sort of looked at each other.
More quiet seconds went by and still nobody said anything.
Finally, Chapling bowed.
And I held back a smile. Leave it to Chapling. I looked down at him, and he gave me an I-thought-maybe-that’s-what-I-was-supposed-to-do shrug.
Harry turned to the Geek #3 and #6. “You can go.” He turned to me and Chapling. “Congratulations. You’re hired.”
We flew back to San Belden, California late that night and got off the plane. As Chapling and I waited for our taxi, I got that weird sensation, again, that someone was watching me.
I turned to Chapling. “Do you feel strange or weird in any way?”
“I always feel weird,” he answered.
I laughed a little. “I mean, right now, do you feel as if someone’s watching you?”
Chapling looked around. “No. Do you?”
“Yeah, I’ve been feeling this way on and off pretty much since I got back from my last mission. And I keep thinking about . . . well, my sister.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, it could be her.”
I smiled.
“Before this mission you and I both were doing a lot of research, trying to find her, purposefully leaving identity stamps through cyberspace.” Chapling shrugged again. “If she’s half-way computer savvy, she found them.”
I turned a full circle, my heart jumping a little bit. Hearing someone agree with me made it even more real.
Through the dimly lit area, I searched the airport, the people standing, and the parking garage in front of us. My sister. It was almost too much to comprehend.
I smiled into the night, hoping she really was watching. Hi sis, I mouthed.
Our taxi pulled up and forty five minutes later we found ourselves in the conference room surrounded by our team.
We told them everything that had happened. We described the layout of the mansion, the things we’d seen, the people we’d interacted with.
David nodded. “Everything’s right on track. Warrior try outs are in two days. TL and I are going to do some last minute checks with the mission, and everyone else maintain training schedule. Dismissed.”
My team filed out and I purposefully lingered, taking my time packing my things. I wanted to talk to David. Just to say hi, exchange a few sentences, and tell him about my sister—it seemed crazy that I hadn’t had time to do even that. But more importantly I wanted to find out if he was okay. He had to be stressed to the max over this very personal mission to TL.
David didn’t notice me lingering, his focus was so intent on a file.
“Hi,” I softly said, and he glanced up.
I noticed then how blood shot his eyes were and it melted my heart. Poor guy.
I didn’t care we were ‘just friends’. I walked right up to him and wrapped my arms around him. “You okay?” I whispered.
He didn’t hesitate in returning the hug. Squeezing me tight, he buried his face in my neck and just stood breathing me in.
I closed my eyes and inhaled his scent and warmth, too. God, I’d missed this. Him. Us.
Neither one of us said anything for a good long while and sometime later he pulled back. “Thanks,” he said, smiling a little.
I traced my finger across his brow and down his stubbly cheek, drinking in his handsome, caring face.
He stared into my eyes, and I got the distinct impression he really wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to say it.
Instead, he reached up and caressed his thumb around the curve of my ear.
I swallowed, wanting to say so much, but not knowing if it was the right time. If he would accept my words. If he would reciprocate.
“Thank you,” I said instead, “for the text on the plane. Chapling and I both appreciated them.”
David’s eyes did that sexy crinkling thing. “You’re welcome.”
“Do you know how wonderful you are?”
He took a step back, glancing away in what seemed like embarrassment.
Lightly, I grasped his upper arm. “David, seriously, do you know how wonderful you are?”
He shrugged. “Just doing my job.”
“No, you’re not. You’re doing what’s you. What’s David. You’re thinking of everyone else always, making sure everyone’s fine. You’re amazing. Here you are with this huge stress on your shoulders. My God, TL and Nalani’s daughter, and you’re in charge. And yet you still think to text me and Chapling to make sure we’re okay.”
I tugged his arm a little so he’d look at me. And when he did, I repeated, “You’re amazing.”
David shrugged his embarrassment, and he was so cute I couldn’t help myself, I leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
“David,” TL interrupted, sticking his head in the open doorway. “My office, now.”
David gave me a tender smile, “Thanks,” and then gathered up his things and headed out.
I watched him go, happy I’d lingered and talked with him, and knowing I’d given him a margin of comfort he’d needed.
David did spend a lot of his time emotionally supporting others when he desperately needed that support himself. Sure he got it from TL, but David needed it from me. I’d been so used to him being the strong one, the one in charge, the one with all the answers that I hadn’t fully comprehended the importance of him being able to lean on me. He wasn’t invincible, although he easily seemed that way.
I walked from the conference room, smiling to myself, feeling a boost to my confidence as a person and a woman. I was an equal partner to David, and it had taken me this long to figure that out. And I knew without a doubt in my mind that this ‘friend’ business wasn’t going to cut it.
I wanted him back.
***
Early in the morning two days later, Chapling and I boarded a plane back to Washington. A taxi picked us up, drove us to Teacup, and dropped us at the mansion. The same huge, high-voiced, tattooed man led us through the house and down that interminably long stairwell to the gym.
Everything looked the same.
“Mr. Noor said you should set up,” the tattooed man instructed. “Warrior tryouts will commence at precisely one p.m.”
Again, I thought how this guy’s proper demeanor seemed so out of place in the situation.
With that, he left us, and Chapling and I made ourselves at home. We were the only ones in the whole place throughout the entire morning. I didn’t know what I had expected, but complete solitary was not it.
I guess I’d expected fighters to be training or people to be coming in or out. And where were the prospective Warriors? Shouldn’t they be here by now? Where was my team?
At precisely 1:00 p.m. Harry Noor walked through the PRIVATE archway and into the gym.
“Charlie, Gertrude,” he said, “greetings.”
Chapling and I smiled. “Mr. Noor.”
“All set?” he asked, and we nodded.
He blew a whistle, and from the same archway filed a whole group of men. I would say some big, some small, but even the small ones were big. Halfway down the line I spotted Mystic, and at the end I saw David.
I surveyed the guys, counting twenty in all, and then each fighter had his trainer.
Shirtless, the fighters lined up in a row with their trainers standing behind them—of course, TL with Mystic and Jonathan with David.
I didn’t think I’d ever been greeted by so many shirtless men. So many muscular, shirtless men. And to my surprise, most of them had no hair on their heads or their bodies. Maybe they thought being bald made them look more mean? Not to my surprise, the majority of them had tattoos.
I glanced down the line, noting Mystic, at five-foot-ten, stood the shortest. And then I looked straight at David. Stone-faced, completely in role, he stared straight ahead. TL had shaved his head for his disguise and wore a fake bushy beard. Even though some distance spanned between us, I could tell he’d put in dark contacts. Honestly, if I hadn’t known the man behind Mystic was TL, I wouldn’t have recognized him.
I glanced around for Bruiser, before remembering girlfriends weren’t allowed in tryouts, only in the actual fights.
No introductions were made. Harry Noor simply nodded for us to begin. So much for a warm and cozy start.
Chapling and I busied ourselves pasting the wireless Influence Sway Skins on each of the fighters for the baseline reading. I headed straight for David.
Not even glancing at me, he maintained his rigid posture and stoic expression. I took my time putting each Skin on him, slowly smoothing them into place. I wasn’t flirting or teasing, don’t get me wrong, this was so not the time to flirt. I just wanted him to feel my touch, to know I was here.
It worked, because as I smoothed the last Skin into place, he brought his eyes down to my face. His expression remained blank, but his eyes spoke volumes. Appreciation, warmth, affection, longing . . . love?
I tried hard to show him those same things before turning away and getting down to work.
When we finished taking baseline readings of each man, I turned to Harry Noor. “We’re ready for the mock fights.”
Harry blew his whistle again, and from the PRIVATE archway came six gigantic men. No, gigantic didn’t fully describe them. Enormous. Massive. Gargantuan. Colossal. None of them under six feet five, and every one of them solid, beefy muscle, bone, and skin.
I blinked a few times, trying to make sure I was seeing what I was actually seeing, and noticed our greeter, the high voiced guy. To my surprise, in the line up, he stood the smallest. And that guy was huge.
I chanced a quick look in Mystic’s direction, and he swallowed as he took in the site of the current Warriors.
It hit me then. Oh my God, Mystic and David had to go up against these guys? That was so not good. Not good on too many levels. I didn’t want Mystic and David to go up against these guys. Not even with the Combat Thrash Program and Bruiser’s coaching did I feel confident Mystic and David would succeed.
Heck, succeed
? Survive was more like it.
Harry Noor gave instructions that each fighter would go up against a current Warrior in a two minute round. During that time, Chapling and I would continue taking data, and after the two minute mark, would have a percentage of excellence. After all tryouts were complete, we would commence with the hologram portion of the afternoon, and Harry Noor would make his decision.
“What are you looking at, you freak?” someone yelled, and Chapling and I whipped around.
The fighter standing beside Mystic towered over him, his face stuck right in Mystic’s. “Get your eyes off me,” the fighter growled.
To Mystic’s credit, he took a step toward the fighter, not away, inching his face even closer. “You got a problem?”
The two just stared at each other, and I knew what Mystic really wanted to do was apologize, discuss peace, and turn the other way.
And then it dawned on me as I watched them face-to-face, that Mystic was searching the fighter’s eyes, looking for a possible Zandra clue.
“Men,” Harry Noor grunted. “Save it for the octagon.”
Mystic and the fighter slowly turned away from each other, giving that whole I’m-meaner-than-you-I’m-top-dog look.
Warrior #1 stepped up onto the raised octagon and motioned fighter #1 to join him. With his Skins still on, fighter #1 cockily strutted over and up. The two men went at it, while we recorded data. They threw punches and kicks, jabs and strikes, and within thirty seconds fighter #1 had been knocked out.
“I doubt he’s going to be chosen,” Chapling mumbled through the side of his mouth, and I held back a smile.
On and on it went, each Warrior going up against a fighter. Some of the fighters held their own, some not so much. So far only fighter #1 had been knocked out.
Halfway down the line, it was Mystic’s turn. He stepped up onto the octagon to face a Warrior just as horribly huge as the others. I crossed my fingers and toes and said a prayer to the fighting gods on behalf of nonviolent Mystic.
Mystic closed his eyes, probably channeling the same gods, and to my surprise pulled a Bruiser. His eyes shot open as he simultaneously lunged forward, feinted left, dodged right, leapt up, and jabbed his elbow in a meridian pressure point on the Warrior’s shoulder.
Fight to the Finish Page 12
