He frowned at me, frustration written on his face. “If you’re a spy, you’re the stupidest, most incompetent spy I ever met.”
I gave him a half-smile. “Lucky I’m not a spy, or I might take offence.”
“I don’t believe for an instant that you’re stupid or incompetent,” he said flatly. “So that leaves me with limited possibilities. The first is to accept a ridiculous and improbable string of coincidences. You know how I feel about that. Another possibility is that you’re working deep undercover for our government, and we’re both working toward the same goal of identifying and eliminating threats to national security. That’s equally far-fetched. Both Webb and I have top-level security clearances, and along with our best analysts, we’ve spent most of today and half of last night digging into everything about you. We’ve found nothing.”
I stared at him, open-mouthed. Far-fetched didn’t quite seem to cover it.
“The last possibility is that you’re a super-spy, and you’ve developed a complex plan to manipulate us somehow, for purposes I can’t even begin to fathom. There’s no logic to that possibility, either. Accessing the network right in front of us would be insane.”
“I’m not a spy. Please believe me,” I implored.
He shook his head. “I don’t know what to believe.”
The phone on the credenza rang. Spider picked it up and listened for a moment before passing it to Kane.
Kane gave me a severe look. “Stay here.”
“Yessir, roger that,” I sighed. Kane turned away to his call.
I jerked upright in my chair as a thought occurred to me. “Hey, Spider, if you can pull somebody out of the network by touching them or making a loud noise, why didn’t you just pull me out the first time I went in?”
“We needed to know what part of the network you were trying to access.” He grinned. “We weren’t expecting a bathroom renovation.”
I eyed him curiously. “Here’s something I’ve been meaning to ask. Why did you show up looking like Ensign Expendable in my bathroom?”
Spider looked sheepish. “It’s a quirk of the network. If you don’t consciously control your physical appearance in the sim, then you appear exactly as your self-image dictates. People with a poor self-image look uglier. People with a strong, realistic self-image look just like real life. You looked like yourself, except you were wearing old, baggy clothes.” He dropped his eyes. “I looked like Ensign Expendable because that’s how I feel around Kane when he goes into combat mode.”
“So if somebody identifies themselves strongly with, say, a profession, that’s how they’ll appear,” I deduced. “So Mike Connor was wearing his paramedic’s uniform, because that’s how he sees himself. And Kane was wearing combat fatigues because he really was in combat mode.”
“That’s about it. If you concentrate, you can change your physical appearance, but it’s hard to hold it while you do any other kind of simulation.”
“So if I wanted to, I could be a cute little five-foot-nothing blue-eyed blonde,” I speculated.
Spider frowned. “You could. But... it wouldn’t suit you.”
I laughed. “Thanks, I think. But other than the fact that a brainwave-driven network is cool, what do you use it for?”
Spider hesitated. “Research and development,” he said at last.
“But what good is it?” I prodded. “If your expectations drive the sim, you couldn’t use it for research. You could run a test, but you’d just get whatever result you expected.”
He eyed the table while he ran his thumbnail back and forth along a joint in its surface. I knew I’d pushed the limits, and I was surprised when he finally responded.
“You can create external parameters that remain constant inside the sim regardless of your own input. That way you can physically interact with your theoretical models, and they respond strictly according to the data you’ve pre-programmed.”
He looked up to meet my eyes with a strained expression. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that. This is all classified.”
Kane ended his call and was turning back to us when the phone rang again. “Kane.” He listened, then replied, “Good, I’ll be right down.”
He hung up. “The RCMP officer is here. Everything we’ve discussed here is highly classified. We can’t disclose any details at all to this officer.” His eyes bored into me. “You will recall that you signed a non-disclosure agreement.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll get Smith to bring down the network completely. It won’t be accessible, even to you, Aydan. Officer Peters will conduct your search in the ladies’ washroom. There are no surveillance cameras there, so you’ll have complete privacy. Webb and I will wait outside. The officer will give us your clothing and your waist pouch. Webb will stay. I will take your personal effects to Sandler and Smith for analysis. As soon as they’re done with your clothes, I’ll bring them back to you. Is everything clear?”
“I meant what I said about burning my underwear,” I told him.
“I’ll make sure that’s not necessary.”
I sighed. “Okay.”
Kane picked up the phone again and dialled. “Sandler, it’s Kane,” he said. “Have Smith bring down the network now.” He hung up and turned to us. “Let’s go.”
I hid my nervousness as best I could. A strip search. Fabulous. What a great way to end my day.
The RCMP officer was mercifully quick and competent. She had even brought a blanket for me to wrap up in while we waited for my clothes to be returned. We made stilted conversation, but Sandler and Smith were quick, too, and Spider tapped at the door in short order. The officer handed me my clothes and tactfully withdrew so I could get dressed.
Once clothed, I hovered in the bathroom for a few seconds. This was embarrassing. Everybody knew where that officer’s hands had just been.
I shook myself and squared my shoulders. What the hell, it wasn’t like I had anything none of them had seen before. Except maybe Spider. I smiled to myself at the thought and stepped out of the bathroom. Spider blushed and averted his eyes.
“I need to walk Officer Peters down to the lobby,” he mumbled. “You’ll need to come, too, because I can’t leave you alone.”
“Okay, no problem,” I replied, and followed them down the hall.
By the time we saw Officer Peters out the door and walked back to the meeting room, Kane had arrived bearing my waist pouch.
“All clear,” he said with obvious relief. “Now we can concentrate on figuring out what’s really happening here. Aydan, you can go for now. This network access issue isn’t dead, but I need to track down some other leads. Webb will walk you down to the lobby.”
As we rose and moved toward the door, he spoke again. “Oh, one more thing, your car will be released tomorrow afternoon from the police impound lot in Calgary.”
“Great, I’ll go down on the bus tomorrow morning.”
He nodded, and was on the phone before we left. “This is Kane. We need to look at Ramos’s place again.”
In uncharacteristic silence, Spider walked me to the lobby to turn in my visitor’s badge. As I opened the door to leave, he burst out, “Aydan, I’m sorry about... about... today. I believe you, I just don’t know what’s happening or how to make it right.”
I gave him a smile, warmed by his vote of confidence. “Thanks, Spider, that means a lot to me. Call me if you need me again. I’ll help any way I can.”
The icy air took my breath away when I stepped out onto the sidewalk. The chinook was over and the temperature had dropped rapidly while I’d been inside the building. I shivered my way to the truck. Its engine turned over reluctantly before firing.
At least it wasn’t snowing. I turned the heater to high and blasted it all the way home, shivering with reaction after my harrowing afternoon. On my way into the house, I checked the thermometer. Minus 20. And dropping fast, by the feel of it. I scurried inside and locked myself in.
Chapter 22
I cre
pt miserably out of bed the next morning at five A.M. I hadn’t slept well, and I wasn’t looking forward to waiting for the bus in the frigid darkness. A glance at the thermometer compounded my self-pity. God, minus 30. It was March, for chrissake. We were supposed to be done with this crap.
I pulled on long johns under my jeans and layered a T-shirt under my sweatshirt. My truck started easily after its warm night in the garage, but I knew it would be different story when I came to pick it up later.
When I parked at the gas station and coffee shop that doubled as the bus pickup point, an opaque mist of exhaust from the idling vehicles rose in the dark air. I scooted into the building and bought a one-way ticket to Calgary.
The bus arrived promptly at six A.M., and I climbed aboard carrying my small backpack. As usual, the overnight passengers sprawled across the pairs of seats, heads and limbs protruding into the aisle. I threaded my way through the maze as carefully as possible to find a vacant seat.
The Silverside-to-Calgary route was a milk run, stopping in every little town along the way. I tried to doze, but failed. Every time the door opened, a blast of arctic air blew across my ankles and the smell of diesel coiled my stomach into a queasy ball.
At nine-thirty, I levered myself out of the uncomfortable seat and limped into the Calgary bus depot, trying to stretch out my cramped muscles. My car wouldn’t be released until after four, so I bought a transit day pass and took the bus downtown.
I treated myself to a toasted bagel with cream cheese and a cup of herbal tea at the downtown mall’s food fair before heading for the bookstore. Happily ensconced in the Mystery section, I browsed through the shelves, reading the first couple of chapters of each potential purchase.
The day dragged, and I did my best to fill it by dawdling over lunch and planning the convoluted bus route that would carry me to the impound lot. The weather had warmed marginally, so I wasn’t too chilled by the time I finally arrived at my destination.
I was glad to get my little car back, and at least they’d cleaned off the blood spatters. I mourned the bullet hole in the trunk, though. When I started to drive, I discovered to my chagrin that a second bullet hole on the driver’s side below the dash created an unpleasant draft on my leg.
Creeping along bumper to bumper through rush-hour traffic, I reflected that this was why I had such a potty mouth. The snarled-up mess was enough to make a saint blaspheme. Maybe I’d manage to swear less once I’d lived in the country for a while.
By the time I finally parked in my driveway just before six o’clock, I was starving and if I’d had to choose between air to breathe or beer to drink, it would have been a toss-up.
I growled aloud in sheer irritation. I never drank and drove. I’d developed a permanent allergy to impaired drivers. But I really, really wanted a beer.
I locked up the car and left it in the driveway. What the hell, I was warmly dressed and it was only a short walk to Kelly’s.
I dropped my backpack on the floor between my feet and sank gratefully into my usual spot on the broken-down sofa, my back to the wall. Alanna, the waitress, stopped at my table.
“What’s this?” she asked. “It’s not Saturday, is it? You’re totally messing me up by coming in on a Tuesday night!”
I grinned back at her. “You’re right, I’m just messing with you. Can you grab me some hot wings and a Corona, please?”
“Where’s the rest of the gang? You want to wait for them before you order the rest of your meal?”
I shook my head. “Just me tonight.”
“And you’re having a beer? I’m shocked!”
“I left the car at home.”
She smiled and made an ‘Aha’ face before heading for the bar to put in my order. She returned in seconds with my beer, and I savoured the first few crisp, delicious swallows while I scanned the room, seeing none of the Saturday regulars.
I relaxed into the couch and stretched out my legs while I sipped, trying not to overdo it when my stomach was so empty. Nevertheless, I was a bit buzzed by the time my wings arrived. I set the beer aside and switched to water while I finished the wings, giving them my full attention.
When I came up for air to survey the patrons again, I hid my sudden pang as a man wearing an outback hat sat down at the other side of the room. Robert used to wear a hat just like that. This man’s heavy build didn’t look anything like my husband, but I felt melancholy all the same.
Usually I enjoyed my solitude, but I suddenly felt very alone. I couldn’t tell anyone the truth about what had happened to me, and I couldn’t think of any plausible lies. The good guys thought I was a spy, and as far as I knew, the bad guys, whoever they were, were still looking for me. And I really didn’t want to stay at my house alone again. I frowned and pitched the last chicken bone into the basket.
Alanna hurried over to remove the plate. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine. I’m just struggling with the momentous decision of what to have for supper. How about a Monte Cristo?”
“Good choice. Do you want another beer yet?”
“No, thanks, but you could bring me a fresh one when my sandwich is up.”
I slouched back on the couch and finished off my bottle. The man in the hat talked busily on his cell phone. I pulled a book out of my backpack and started to turn pages, but the story didn’t draw me in and I put it away without regret when my food and beer arrived.
I ate the delicious sandwich without giving it the attention it deserved. Even my beer didn’t seem as tasty as before.
Alanna cleared away my empty plate, and I nursed the last of my drink. I didn’t want to go out into the cold and darkness, and I didn’t want to go back to my house. I pulled out the book again with a sigh.
A shadow fell across the pages. The man in the outback hat stood in front of me, silhouetted against the lights behind him. “What’s a pretty lady like you doin’ drinkin’ alone?” inquired a gravelly voice.
“Hellhound?” I asked in surprise, shading my eyes against the glare.
“None other, darlin’. But I’m just Arnie tonight. It’s too cold for Hellhound.”
I grinned up at him, feeling ridiculously cheered by a familiar face, ugly as it was. “Actually, I’m eating alone. The drinking is incidental. What are you up to? I didn’t know you came here.”
“I’m workin’ tonight,” he said. “Mind if I sit down? I’m watchin’ somebody, an’ it’d be less obvious.”
“Well, sure, pull up a couch,” I invited. I didn’t ask who he was watching, and he didn’t volunteer the information.
He sat down on the sofa beside me, his back to the wall. “Best seat in the house. Now, darlin’, am I interruptin’ anything? Are ya meetin’ somebody?”
“Nosy, aren’t you?” I teased. “No, I’m by myself. Just sitting here with all my friends tonight.”
He smiled back at me, flashing those even white teeth. “I can’t believe ya got no friends.”
“No, I have friends. Just none I can talk to at the moment.”
“Talk to me, then, darlin’. I got time to kill.”
I sighed. “Things have gotten... complicated... since the weekend.”
“What could be more complicated than gettin’ chased across hell’s half-acre by some fuckin’ nutjob?”
I sighed again. “I can’t tell you. Like I said, it’s complicated.” We sat in silence for a few moments. Then I turned to him. “Arnie, have you ever done something where you didn’t even know you were doing it, but you found out later it was really, really bad?”
“Darlin’, that’s the story a’ my life,” he chuckled. “What’d ya do that was so bad?”
“I can’t tell you. But it was really, really bad. Kane arrested me.” My voice trembled a bit on the ‘arrested’ part and I slugged back a swallow of beer, not looking at him.
His voice was cautious when he spoke again. “Kane arrested ya? When? What charge?”
“On Sunday.”
“How long were ya held? Ar
e ya out on bail?”
“No, he didn’t take me to jail. Yet,” I said uncertainly.
“Then ya ain’t been arrested, darlin’. Ya hafta go in an’ get processed, fingerprints an’ photographs. Did that happen?”
“No, but he said what I did was a crime. And he said I could call a lawyer. But I didn’t mean to do what he said I did. I didn’t even know I was doing it. I’m not making any sense, am I?”
I dropped my head into my hands. “This is why I didn’t want to talk to anybody. And I’m not allowed to talk to anybody, anyway.”
His tone was still cautious. “I got a friend, hadta sign a non-disclosure agreement ‘cause a’ somethin’ he got involved in with Kane. But he can’t even talk about the agreement, let alone the stuff he got mixed up with.”
I looked up at him. “How close is this friend?”
“Close.”
“I have a friend like that, too,” I said, and hung my head again.
Hellhound reached over to lift my chin with gentle fingertips. “Darlin’,” he said gravely, “You’re right, it sounds complicated. But if Kane didn’t take ya to jail, then ya ain’t been arrested, and if ya ain’t been arrested, then he doesn’t think you’re guilty.”
“He knows I’m guilty,” I burst out. “My guilt has been observed and recorded and replayed repeatedly in front of an audience! The only question is whether he believes I really meant to do it or not.”
“Did ya kill somebody?” Hellhound asked.
“No!”
“Then anythin’ else can be fixed.”
“I don’t think this can,” I whispered.
“Trust me, darlin’. Kane’s the best. He’ll find out what really happened, an’ you’ll be fine.”
I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to wipe away the despair. “I hope so, Arnie.”
Alanna arrived at the table and appropriated my empty bottle. She turned to Arnie. “Would you like a drink?”
“Just coffee,” he replied. “I’m drivin’.”
Never Say Spy (The Never Say Spy Series Book 1) Page 14
