Sleeper Seven

by Mark Howard

  As she attempted what Terry was asking, she reminded herself to study the anatomy of it all later, as she couldn't quite remember what some of these things even looked like. The word she focused on was Terry, but not sure how exactly to produce it, she simply tried pushing some air through. She could hear the result as well as Terry, and it was a shockingly awful noise.

  "Hoooo... OK. There we go. That was...something. Unless I accidentally just stepped on an asthmatic baby duckling. Lets try to smooth it out a bit, perhaps bringing it down an octave if you can."

  She tried again, but all she could manage was something that sounded vaguely like a breathy, wheezy "haaaaiirrr".

  Terry chuckled again. "Alright. That's enough of that. Creepies!" He shook out his hands as though drying them while shivering with mild revulsion. "Don't sweat it though, the best I ever heard was a whisper, cause it's the easiest to do — just need a mouth and some moving air."

  "Oh, here's one last trick I forgot to mention; on the distance thing where you were getting overwhelmed. Well it's pretty common. The farther you get from the physical, the less grounded you are to the bodily method of interpreting reality. Our perceptive organs actually dial down the intensity of reality in the processing of it, and in certain altered states like this, the filters are removed completely, so yeah it can be a little stunning. So now, expand back into your subtle body, and try to manifest a pair of sunglasses to wear. Seriously, I know, right? But just try it."

  She concentrated on a pair of Wayfarers, and as she did so, she found her vision darkening from the tip of her nose to the sides of her head.

  "If you can train yourself to do that, over time it'll go a long way to keeping your awareness present at a distance. Cuts down on the spiritual glare, as it were. And keeps Julian from having a heart attack maybe. OK, that's enough for today, that was some good work, let's pack it up and get an early lunch."

  Jess returned to her own Sec-U, settled back into her body, and groggily joined him outside the chamber.

  "Now, you've gotta tell me how you did that flickering thing, that's a new one on me," Terry inquired.

  "Oh, it's just a thing I do with my nervous system, I'm not sure I could explain it much less teach it to anyone."

  "Well it was pretty powerful, let me tell you, and good to have in your bag of tricks. You did real good!" he affirmed, giving her a hug and patting her back as they walked back up the drive. She had been here only three days, but already this place was feeling like a second home.

  ~ 22 ~

  After lunch, Jess continued her routine of a daily nap, something she was certainly getting used to. When she awoke, she noticed a piece of paper had been slipped under her door. Retrieving it, she found it was a business card, with a name embossed on it: S. Blackstone, Security Analyst, Department of Homeland Security. The other side of the card had Runaway, 4pm handwritten in blue ink.

  Her stomach dropped as a flurry of questions spun through her mind. What could the government want with her? How did they get up here? Was this whole operation connected to the government somehow? That last question, upon reflection of her time with the residents there, she discarded pretty quickly. But what of the others? Should she even go, or just ignore it completely?

  Deciding she would follow this thread wherever it led her — the whole idea of going to this place in the first place — she showered, changed, and headed downstairs to tell Julian she was going to the Runaway for a drink. There were only fancy liqueurs at the Center — no beer — so it sounded like a halfway decent excuse at any rate.

  A few minutes later, she parked in the lot at the Runaway, and with the engine still running, gave herself one last chance to turn around and go back. Shutting the car off, she relinquished that chance, and headed for the entrance.

  Upon entering, she didn't see Kal anywhere, and of the few people there for an early dinner, none of them looked like government folks. Then she noticed in the back, at the bar, a woman waving to her discreetly. It was the chatty, rosy-cheeked woman from the Center. Oh great, she thought to herself while making her way over, What was she doing here?

  "Hi Jess! Sorry for the late notice, but it's tough finding any time to get out of there," the woman said curtly, extending her hand. "Sylvia. Sylvia Blackstone."

  Jess took her hand but was too stunned to shake it. The woman's whole demeanor was different — she had dropped the ditzy act and was now all business.

  "It's never easy outing yourself, I hope you'll forgive me? Nature of the beast I'm afraid." She spoke like a doctor, oblivious to — or unconcerned with — any of the messy emotions she might stir up in others as she plowed ahead.

  "I would appreciate your keeping this meeting, and my identity, to yourself, of course, for obvious reasons. I understand you are quite talented in your abilities at Adams, and we could use someone like you to further our progress in keeping America safe."

  Jess finally had a moment to speak. "Um, are you like, recruiting me or something?"

  "Of course," she said, as if it were obvious. "We need people like you."

  "Is this something that's done here? I mean, have you recruited others?"

  "Oh yes, we're always on the lookout for talented folks. People with special skills like yourself can help us keep America safe, and possibly save thousands of lives — even help us in ending, and preventing, wars."

  Retrieving a silver case from her jacket pocket, she opened it, and removing a cigarette, tapped it on the bar. "You?" she offered as an afterthought, which Jess politely declined. "America's enemies are still out there you know," she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "Remember bin Laden? The CIA told our President there was an eighty percent chance he was living in that compound. Do you seriously think the President risked a shot at re-election on an eighty percent chance? No way."

  She leaned back, paused to light her cigarette, and ignoring the 'No Smoking' sign, took a long drag.

  "That eighty percent figure was the official, top-shelf, direct intelligence. But we provided them with lateral intelligence: at least as accurate, if not more so, but obtained via alternative sources. We had a Sleeper positioned one hundred yards from that compound up until five minutes before those stealth Apaches arrived, guaranteeing our package would be delivered while the one-hundred percent confirmed recipient was home." She rapped the nail of her index finger on the table to reiterate this last point, then sat back to take another drag, as if resting her case.

  "Now, are you interested?"

  Jess was no stranger to being overwhelmed with information lately, but this was a bit too much. Though generally anti-war, she had to ask herself: Was it true that she could use her abilities to save thousands of lives, or even to prevent wars? She was definitely put off by this woman, between her abruptness, insensitivity, and especially her assumption that Jess would jump at the chance she was being offered. But still...

  "So, how does this work?" Jess inquired tentatively.

  "I need to go back to the Center and finish out my week. You go back right now, say: 'Thank you for the experience, it was miraculous and transformational, be in touch', blah blah blah, settle up with them, and return your car to the airport. I'll have a plane waiting for you."

  "A plane waiting? Today? Just for me? Like a Lear jet?"

  "Almost exactly like a Lear jet," Sylvia oozed, smiling out of one corner of her mouth while exhaling a plume of smoke from the other.

  This is too cool, Jess thought to herself, like something from one of those schlocky three-dollar e-books I get on my Kindle.

  Sylvia leveled her gaze at Jess.

  "So you gonna help us get the bad guys, or what?"

  "Yeah," Jess agreed. "Let's do it."

  ~ 23 ~

  After returning to the Center, Jess found Julian and asked to settle up her bill. Julian, concerned, went in the back office, ostensibly for the paperwork, but this was clearly a ruse as he soon returned with Terry.

  "Julian informs me you're going to take y
our leave of us," he said regretfully.

  "Yes...I've had a great time, but something has suddenly come up, and I need to leave." She felt awful for doing it like this, but she wasn't lying.

  Terry looked disappointed. "Jess," he said tenderly, putting his hands on her shoulders as he looked her in the eyes, "there is so much more we need to work on. You know that."

  "Terry, I appreciate all you and everyone has done for me, but right now I need to leave," she replied, with a firmness that surprised even her. Softening it, she added, "I will be back, I promise."

  "Alright then," he surrendered, removing his hands. "This is clearly your path. Good luck to you, Jess, and don't forget about us." Smiling, he opened his arms for a hug, which she willingly obliged.

  Ten minutes later, all settled up, she threw her bag into the back of the Kia and was on her way. It had been forty-five minutes since receiving the note under her door.

  Arriving at the airport, she returned the rental car, then wandered around the terminal looking for the private flight area. She asked a stewardess who had just come off a flight, and was directed towards a plain white door. Entering it, she found it simply led to the tarmac outside. She could see smaller jets about a quarter mile away, so she began walking towards them, her bag slung across her back. About halfway there she noticed a black golf cart speeding towards her, with two men in it, a blue mars light rotating on the dash between them.

  Oh shit, she thought. She had figured it wasn't a big deal to be out here at this small regional airport, but clearly she had been wrong. The cart spun sideways, skidding to a stop a few feet in front of her. The passenger, closest to her, spoke first.

  "Jessica Armitage?"

  "Yeah, how...?" she stumbled, but then noticed this was not airport security, but some private security company. The name PremierJet was embossed in black and gold on the side of the cart.

  "You're supposed to walk outside the fence. There's a whole sidewalk and everything," he said sternly, sliding over to make room for her. "Get in before you get into some real trouble." She squeezed in, holding her duffel awkwardly on her lap as they sped off.

  They skidded to a stop a minute later next to a small black jet, apparently waiting solely for her, just as Sylvia had promised. The two men stepped aside, allowing her to ascend the stairs to the fuselage first, then boarded behind her. The inside was opulently appointed in creamy white leather, with only a few rows of standard seating, two seats per side. In the rear were seats configured with small tables between them, and all the way in the back was a large conference table flanked by custom leather couches.

  She chose the first seat, while the surly guy chose the one across the aisle from her. The golf cart driver had disappeared into the cockpit, and she didn't realize until she heard the whine of the jet engines spinning up that he must be also the pilot. Close-knit operation, she thought to herself.

  "Wow, golf carts and jets, he does it all, huh?" Jess joked. The man turned to her, stared for a moment, and faced forward again without responding. As they ascended into the North Carolina evening sky, Jess addressed him again. "Ummm, by the way, where are we going?"

  He turned again, and this time smiled at her with a row of dazzling white teeth. "Vegas, baby."

  For all its luxury, the jet ride was still, well, a long jet ride. She was provided a granola bar and, strangely, a chocolate milk, dearly missing the food of the Adams Center already. After 'dinner' Mr. Surly Teeth Whitener Guy fell asleep in his seat, so she unbuckled and went back to lay down on the couch. She awoke a short time later to the sound of two dings, and assuming that was the landing signal, returned to her seat and buckled in.

  They began to descend, and a few minutes later the chirp of the tires announced their arrival at McCarran International airport. A few more minutes of taxiing, and they finally stopped as the engines powered down. The pilot appeared, and the two men led her off the jet to a black SUV that was waiting for her. Why is it always black with these guys? So obvious, she thought to herself. The surly man handed her duffel off to the driver who was leaning against the truck. Stowing the duffel in the back, he returned to greet her.

  "Hope you had a pleasant flight. Welcome to Las Vegas. Please," he entreated, opening the back door and motioning for her to get in. She felt like a celebrity, and not wanting to ruin the moment by revealing her ongoing ignorance of their destination, kept her mouth shut and got in.

  It was prime time in Vegas, and as they inched through bumper-to-bumper traffic, Jess observed the masses of humanity flowing up and down the sidewalks from one casino/bar/show to another. I was one of those people, once, she thought to herself. The driver, like the other two men before, remained silent. Were they instructed not to speak to me? she wondered. If so, was it because they knew about her, or just because they were told she was a VIP?

  Turning off the strip, the driver meandered on the service roads behind the casinos, finally emerging onto the circular drive of the grand entrance to the Mirage. The volcano out front was attracting a crowd at this time of the night, and she wistfully recalled the last time she stood at that fence a few years prior, until the driver stopped the SUV and turned to her.

  "Here's your room key, this is where I drop you," he announced, passing her a small envelope. Then, leaning out the passenger window, he motioned to a waiting porter, and while whispering something to him, slipped him a fifty-dollar bill. She got out while the porter retrieved her bag from the back seat, and after stowing it on a push cart, he led her into the hotel lobby. Passing through the entrance, she navigated around a group of drunken young women heading out to celebrate someone's 21st birthday. A part of her wanted to run and join them, without a care in the world, as she turned and rushed to catch up to the porter.

  The small envelope holding her keycard was unmarked, and as they waited for an elevator, she pulled it out. Turning it over in her hand, she found 'PS One' embossed in gold on it. Once in the elevator, the porter pressed the button for the top floor. Penthouse Suite! she thought to herself.

  And indeed it was: the size of a large apartment, it contained separate kitchen, dining, and bedroom areas, along with an expansive view of the strip below. The porter gave a quick but thorough tour of each area, and then closed the door behind him before she could even rifle through her bag for a tip.

  It was strange there was no one to greet her — after all this careful chain of custody, she was now apparently dumped here and left to her own devices. A creeping thought niggled at her: this was all going to cost her, somehow — monetarily or otherwise.

  Pushing that thought away, she collapsed on the king size bed and grabbed the room service menu from the side table. Unsure if someone would come for her tonight, she didn't dare leave the room, so she ordered a substantial dinner. It was just as well, considering she was too exhausted to even consider going out. Before long, she lay passed out on the bed amongst an array of room service plates in various states of gluttonous dishevelment.

  Vegas, baby.

  ~ 24 ~

  Rising above the mountains over Lake Mead to the east, the Sun's rays streamed through the floor to ceiling windows, and slowly made their way up the bed and onto her face, awakening her. There still had been no visitors, no notes slipped under doors, not even a phone call. She checked her phone and found Gavin had texted, asking how her trip had been. Long and strange, she replied, then perused the breakfast options on the room service menu.

  As she waited for her food, she watched a parade of Bail Bondsman, nightclub, and liquor store ads on the wall-mounted flatscreen until a knock at the door signaled breakfast had arrived. Opening the door, she expected to see a waiter with a tray, but instead found a tall dark-haired woman in business attire standing before her.

  "Jess. Holly," she said abruptly, grabbing Jess' hand and squeezing. "Good to finally meet you. We've heard a lot about you, and we're looking forward to seeing what you can do for us. Come on down to breakfast with me."

  "Actually
I just ordered room service..."

  "That's alright, they'll just leave it in the hall," she replied with a joyless smile as she held the door open for her.

  "OK, but I haven't even showered or changed yet, I'm sorry, but I didn't know what was on the agenda today."

  "Plenty of time for that later, right now it's time to get to work," she said, then added somewhat awkwardly, "for the country." The woman led her back down to the lobby, explaining in the elevator that they shouldn't talk in her suite, for obvious reasons. Jess wasn't sure what was so obvious, but didn't question it.

  After foraging through the breakfast buffet, Jess returned to the table, her tray piled high with pancakes, eggs, and various cooked meats. Holly had collected only a slice of buttered toast and coffee, and gave Jess a sideways glance after seeing her tray. Lack of self control, Jess could almost hear her mentally noting to herself. After taking a sip of coffee, Holly got down to business amidst the bells and clangs of the nearby slot machines.

  "There was a bit of a rush to get you here, I know. And I apologize. But there is something happening in town today, and we wanted to test out your abilities in gaining certain information. This is a situation we are particularly concerned with regarding certain materials and business transactions in the Far East having to do with national security. Two parties are meeting today just down the street at the Wynn. What we are looking for are product numbers, quantities, and especially dates of shipment and delivery. What's your range?"