The Rimes Trilogy Boxed Set

by P. R. Adams

Rimes opened the restaurant door, and the air conditioning hit him. Compared to the car’s unit, it was divine.

  A waitress seated the two of them in a booth at the rear. They ordered salad, iced tea, and cold soup—tofu, whey, cucumber, and curry—from the menu.

  When the salads and tea arrived, Rimes dug in. He was famished, partly the result of the restoratives. Waiting around wasn’t going to make Kleigshoen less angry.

  Kleigshoen watched him for a moment, then turned to her own plate. She picked at it for several seconds, separating the greens from the other vegetables.

  “Don’t like the salad?” Rimes asked.

  “It’s fine.” Kleigshoen shoved a forkful of greens into her mouth and chewed with her mouth open. “See?”

  “I do,” Rimes said. He smiled despite himself.

  Might as well push her.

  “We’ve got some time to kill … why don’t you finish telling me about T-Corp 72?”

  Kleigshoen froze. She hastily finished what she was chewing and washed it down with a swig of tea. “I already told you, we were interested in the X-17.”

  “You said it was complicated. They were in the compound. They had the gas. You didn’t tell us about it. We could’ve died. How much simpler could it get?”

  She quickly tucked another leaf into her mouth and followed it up with a slice of carrot.

  “We had you suited up in NBC gear,” Kleigshoen said, finally. “We’d already run several satellite scans of the area. We knew …”

  “You knew they’d already used the X-17 when the T-Corp team didn’t show up on your scans. What was the real target?”

  The waitress, an elderly Chinese woman with bowlegs, brought them their soup.

  Kleigshoen watched the woman slowly shuffle away. “The treatment for that condition costs about twenty-five thousand dollars. My grandmother underwent the treatment. It changed everything for her.”

  Rimes’s brow wrinkled. “I’m happy for her.”

  “Your niece, Gina, she has a condition, right?”

  “Cri du chat syndrome,” Rimes said, annoyed. “Why?”

  “You’re still a sergeant. What’s that pay?”

  Rimes frowned. “You know damned well what it pays, Dana.”

  “Around twenty thousand?” She was suddenly remote, analytical.

  “Around.” Rimes shifted.

  “Combat pay, jump qualified bonus, housing, subsistence … all told, that’s half again,” Kleigshoen said. She tasted a spoonful of the soup. “Let’s put you at thirty thousand. Not bad. You probably clear twenty-two. You spend maybe seventy-five hundred a year on rent, utilities, food. You’re both going to school off and on, so probably the same amount in school bills. That leaves you about seven, maybe eight thousand in the clear to cover whatever expenses come up: clothing, uniforms. You splurge every now and then—dinner, a movie.”

  “Fine,” Rimes said. “You’ve seen my financial records. We live simple. We have a few thousand dollars saved up. I don’t get your point.”

  “You recovered one canister from that compound, Jack. We think the genies purchased as many as a hundred. As best as we can tell, they paid five hundred thousand dollars, probably more. Five thousand each.”

  Rimes stared at Kleigshoen, a spoon of soup frozen halfway to his mouth. He could feel his face flushing. He set the spoon back in the bowl.

  “There were twenty-five hundred canisters in the stolen shipment. The street value is in the millions of dollars. As much as we want to recover what the genies stole, we want the rest of the shipment more.”

  Rimes felt his stomach knotting. “What are you getting at?”

  “You’ve given eighty-two hundred dollars to your brother in the last four years. That’s a lot of money, but everything still adds up. As far as we can tell, you’re clean.”

  Rimes clenched his fists. “Clean?”

  “What do you know about the X-17 shipment heist, Jack?”

  “Not much,” Rimes said through clenched teeth. “I was on a Special Security Council mission when it happened. Several people killed, a shipment stolen. No one really knew what it was at the time, just some sort of weapon. We heard most of the shipment was destroyed during the heist or recovered later.”

  “That was a cover-up. The thieves got away with the whole thing. Twenty-one people died, mostly security personnel, former soldiers. It was a phenomenally well-planned and executed operation, and it represented a staggering breach in our security apparatus. An unprecedented breach.”

  Rimes looked down at his bowl. His vision was blurring, his hands shaking. “Dana …”

  “Only a few people could have pulled off something on this scale, with this level of success. It’s exactly the sort of thing Commandos train for.”

  Rimes shook his head.

  No. It’s just more of your mind games.

  “Did you know Captain Moltke has a gambling problem? He’s more than thirty thousand dollars in the hole over the last two years. Sergeant Martinez’s wife ran up nearly twenty-four thousand dollars in debt shopping. He just paid it off. Did you know that?”

  Rimes stared into his soup.

  “Sergeant Wolford purchased a three-thousand-dollar diamond ring for his fiancée. Sergeant Kirk, six thousand on a racing motorcycle. Corporal Stern, three thousand lost on investments. Barlowe spent five thousand dealing with his mother’s addiction to bliss.”

  “No.” Rimes looked at Kleigshoen, tears forming in his eyes. “You’ve got it completely wrong.”

  Kleigshoen reached for Rimes’s hands; he pulled away. “I’m sorry, Jack. I told you it was complicated.”

  Rimes stood, unsteadily at first, got his balance, and walked to the door. He paused a moment outside, leaning against the splintered, peeling wall, trying to find strength.

  There wasn’t any to be found.

  He wiped away a tear and walked for the car, finally coming to a stop at the passenger door. Heat radiated off the exterior. Rimes pressed his hand against the door handle and grimaced. He pressed his forehead against the car roof, letting the heat burn away the doubts.

  She’s telling the truth. I’ve refused to see what I found unpleasant. If I’m going to be mad at anyone, it should be me.

  Rimes pulled away from the car. His skin burned where it touched the chassis.

  Why am I doing this? Why is she doing this?

  He looked back at the restaurant door, half-expecting Kleigshoen to charge out and …

  And what? Yell at me for living in denial? Mock me for missing obvious signs? Console me because I’ve had my little fantasy destroyed?

  Sweat trickled down his back, and he cursed beneath his breath. He suddenly realized that, regardless of intent, Kleigshoen had probably done him a favor. If he was successful pulling memories out of Kwon’s brain, he would almost certainly run into something implicating the compromised Commandos.

  I’m a marked man if I succeed.

  Kleigshoen opened the restaurant door and stepped into the heat. She was neither angry nor consoling as she approached, and she said nothing. Instead, she paused before opening the driver’s-side door.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  She seems to be asking me that a lot lately. He thought for a moment, then said, “Yeah.”

  “You still want to go through with this?”

  Rimes closed his eyes. No. No more closing your eyes. He looked at her and wondered what was truly going on in her mind, if this was the last game she would play with him or if there was something more yet to be revealed.

  “Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “I can’t turn back now.”

  30

  8 March 2164. Darwin, Australia.

  * * *

  “What do you see?” Chin asked. His voice sounded like it came out of the dark clouds overhead.

  Rimes looked at his hands, his pants, his shoes. “I’m me. I mean, I see me, down to the jeans and shirt and sneakers.”

  “And around you?”

  Ri
mes glanced to his left, then to his right. He stood on a natural-looking rock structure rising roughly thirty meters above a dark plain. The sky was dark, formless, and inky. Lightning pulsed dimly in the far distance.

  “It’s dark, mostly. I’m on an outcrop above some … plains. There’s lightning way off in the distance.”

  “Lightning?” Kleigshoen’s voice echoed off the rocks.

  “Yeah. I think. It’s not what I expected.”

  Chin grunted. “What were you expecting?”

  “I don’t know. Something more surreal, dream-like, indistinct?”

  “Okay,” Chin said. “What about now? Any difference?”

  Rimes couldn’t see any change. He moved down the outcrop until he had a better view. Details—boulders, rocky hills, shallow canyons—suddenly revealed themselves in the area below. Lightning flashed again, this time slightly closer.

  “I can see the ground below me better now. There’s more detail. The lightning is closer, coming a little more frequently.”

  Chin’s channel clicked like he was tapping a fingernail on his desk. “I don’t understand the lightning. Dr. Michaels didn’t say anything about that. Can you make your way to the ground? Can you move easily?”

  Rimes bent over and touched the rock beneath him. It was solid, steady, and smooth to the touch.

  Colonel Weatherford had connected them with Dr. Michaels, who had set them up with software and interfaces, but Michaels had left Chin running the connections. He’d assured them Chin’s experience was just as good as anything he could provide, since there was no one with practical experience.

  His words hadn’t improved Kleigshoen’s mood.

  Below him was a sheer drop, then a path. The rock, while smooth, offered handholds. He’d navigated worse in training. He squatted, then carefully began the descent to the path.

  “I’m descending. It’s …”

  The world shifted, twisting and collapsing with dizzying speed.

  “What?” Chin asked. The clicking over his channel came quicker, as if the drumming had sped up.

  “I’m … I was climbing down to a path, then everything changed. I'm on the ground now. I don’t know what happened.”

  Chin whistled. “One moment, right? I want to check your connections again.”

  Rimes could hear the sounds of cable harnesses squeaking from kilometers away, echoing through the heavens.

  “Everything checks out.” Chin’s voice rolled like thunder. “It’s just that all we see on the displays is a steep-walled canyon. You’re sure it looks like an electrical storm in the distance?”

  “Yeah,” Rimes said. “And it’s getting more intense.”

  “So what just happened?” Chin asked.

  “I don’t know,” Rimes admitted. “I was climbing down. I guess I wanted it to be over. And suddenly it was, and I was on the ground.”

  “And now, what do you see?”

  Rimes looked around him again. The outcrop was behind him, as expected, but the plains were now surrounded by shallow canyon walls. Lightning flashed again, closer.

  “I’m in a canyon,” Rimes said. “Not very deep.”

  “Okay,” Chin said. “We can see where you are on the display now. These are the areas where Kwon still has functionality. Dr. Michaels says the more detailed the features, the stronger the coherence. He thinks these are Kwon’s most recent memories, but he’s not sure. What do the canyon walls look like?”

  “They’re brown with a hint of red to them.” Rimes squinted at the walls. “There’s an amazing amount of detail, actually. I can see … I think that’s quartz? Something’s reflecting the lightning. And there are striations in the stone.”

  “Good.” Chin paused. “Can you sense anything out of the rock itself?”

  “What?” Rimes turned around in a circle with his hands out. “Like heat or something?”

  “I don’t know; Dr. Michaels wasn’t clear,” Chin said, exasperated. It sounded as though he took off his earpiece for a moment; his voice went faint. “Thoughts? How is he supposed to feel thoughts? These notes make no sense.”

  The world shifted again, and Rimes was standing less than a meter away from one of the canyon walls. He flung his arms out instinctively, trying to balance himself. The disorienting motion stopped as quickly as it had started.

  Rimes shook his body as if that would drive off the sensation. He looked at the wall and took a cleansing breath, then placed both hands on the stone and concentrated.

  Nothing happened.

  But it reminded him of running for the wall with Pachnine slung over his shoulder, in Singapore.

  Suddenly, he could see himself struggling to lift the big Russian up to where Tendulkar could reach his limp arm. The view spun, and he was running through the Pei Fu Complex, bleeding from a wound in his side, tasting blood—not his own. Then he was flying over the compound wall and into the forest.

  He wasn’t Rimes anymore.

  Rimes pulled away instinctively. “I-I think I just found a memory.”

  Rimes’s hands shook as he placed them on the canyon wall again. He thought of the motel room in Darwin, of Kwon being tranquilized. Voices came to him in darkness. Familiar accents, smells of Indian takeout, the sound of gunfire.

  Rimes screamed as something shattered his neck.

  Rimes heard movement, and Kleigshoen called nervously from the distance. “Jack?”

  He took his hands off the wall and put one on his neck. Nothing.

  “What happened?” Chin asked.

  “I felt the bullet that took out his spine.” Rimes’s voice shook. “I’m fine. I’m moving down the wall. Are the memories sequential? Do I need to move a greater distance to find an older memory than a newer one?”

  “Dr. Michaels said no one knows,” Chin said.

  “I’ve turned around a bend,” Rimes said. “I’m trying again.”

  Rimes placed his hands on a rock. This time, however, he concentrated on nothing in particular, a point in the darkness above him. Lightning flashed as sensations struck him.

  A young woman lay on a ceramic table, a bone saw, blood jetting, screaming, other women, more screaming, raw flesh in his mouth, release.

  Rimes pulled back and fell to his knees, then vomited.

  The sky came alive with piercing alarms and warning beeps.

  “Jack!” Kleigshoen shouted.

  Rimes forced himself to calm down, and the machines went silent. Someone wiped his face. It was disorienting, feeling himself in two places and yet not fully in either.

  “I … I found … he …” Rimes shook himself and stood. “Inhuman bastard.”

  Rimes concentrated on the opposite side of the canyon, and was there in a flash of lightning. He placed his hands on the stone.

  He was in a bar, looking at Nakata. A small, stainless-steel table separated them. Amber alcohol danced gently in a glass near Nakata’s hand.

  Nakata wore stylish civilian clothes. Music played. Japanese techno. Nakata watched androgynous forms dancing, grinding against each other beneath strobing lights.

  Kwon slid a card across the table. Nakata watched two forms kiss each other and took the card without acknowledging Kwon.

  Kwon slipped out of the bar, stopping only long enough to pull one of the dancers after him.

  Rimes pulled away.

  Nakata.

  He moved along the wall again, vaguely aware of a wind blowing through the canyon now. A mist began to drift down.

  He somehow knew where he was supposed to place his hands next.

  He—Kwon moved through a distinctly American bar—flickering beer signs, a deer head mounted on a wall, a tattered pool table. Women in skin-tight clothing watched hungrily from booths. One finally caught his eye, a dainty, young Thai in a HuCorp T-shirt. Kwon settled at a booth with the woman, not looking at the other occupants. The seats smelled unpleasantly of sweat and cigarettes.

  Moltke leaned out of the shadows across from Kwon to lift a glass of beer, the
n gently tapped the napkin the beer had been resting on.

  Kwon lifted the napkin, pulled a data card from within, wiped his face with the napkin, and slid another card into it.

  The booth’s other occupant pulled the napkin into the shadows for a moment before shoving it back.

  Moltke returned his beer to the napkin top.

  Rimes pulled his hands away from the canyon wall.

  “What’s happening?” Chin asked anxiously. “There’s a great deal of electrical activity showing. I don’t know what that means. I’m getting some very strange readings. Can I disconnect you?”

  Rimes’s voice sounded distant in his ears. “One more thing, and I’m done here.”

  Rimes moved along the wall, hands lightly brushing the stone. He could sense memories now without having to concentrate. A sensation washed over him. He planted both hands on the wall and let the sensation expand.

  Kwon sat cross-legged on the floor of an apartment. His eyes were closed; his breathing was slow and measured. Somehow, he was also in the Sundarbans, moving through the T-Corp 72 complex.

  Rimes looked around the apartment, confused. Kwon’s eyes were closed, but he was able to see. Rimes/Kwon was able to see Kwon completely, as if through his own awareness.

  How?

  Abruptly, he was back in the canyon. Thick raindrops and ice were pounding him. Booming thunder assaulted his ears. Rimes pushed back into the memory.

  Kwon moved through the complex in the Sundarbans, making his way through each of the buildings, identifying the critical computer systems that would need to be brought back online. He marked each step that would need to be taken to overcome the T-Corp security, to gain access to the data. Kwon visualized, memorized, traced and retraced, generated overlays and milestones, coded the data extract and decryption algorithms, gauged the storage required, planned for opti—

  Rimes screamed as lightning flashed in the canyon. Electricity shot up his arm. His body convulsed and twisted. Current hummed across the bench surface.

  Rimes tried to pull out of the connection, to abandon Kwon.

  He couldn’t.

  There was another presence in Kwon’s mind, and it wouldn’t release Rimes. Lightning struck again. Rimes spasmed. Spittle rolled down his cheek. He tried to scream but failed.