by Fiona Quinn
The guy spit in Gator’s face. “That wasn’t called for. All right, I guess it’s nighty-night time.” Gator flipped the guy over and bent his arm around the guy’s neck, burrowing the bone of his forearm against the man’s carotid artery. “You’re going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning. But you cain’t say I didn’t warn you.” Gator flexed his muscles, squeezing his arm in tighter. “Just a little tip for the rest of your stay here in Tanzania, though,” Gator whispered into the writhing man’s ear. “You should avoid wearing these clothes again. Blue and black attract the tsetse flies and if they bite you, you can get African Sleeping Sickness. It’s a damned sight worse than what I’m doing to you now.” With the blood flow cut off from his brain, the CIA operations officer passed out.
Gator rolled the man away and jumped to his feet. Davidson was hunkered in the corner his arms covering his head.
“Are you hurt, sir?” Gator asked, reaching out a hand toward Davidson to help him up.
“Gator!” Blaze yelled.
Gator swung around to see that his partner was being held by one of the operatives and the other was pummeling Blaze’s ribs. Blaze could easily kick this guy in the head and put his lights out. But this was supposed to be a dog and pony show. Blaze didn’t have options that wouldn’t seriously hurt the two men. If this were happening in any other operation, these guys would be toast.
Gator jumped over the downed operative. He grabbed the guy using his battle buddy as a punching bag and lifted him up by the belt and the back of his collar and tossed him over the railing. The three watched as he rolled down to the street. One lone CIA operative stood arms wide, hands open. His eyebrows stretched to his hairline as he looked between Blaze and Gator. Gator to Blaze. Over to the two men on the ground. This couldn’t have been part of the plan. They were all supposed to dust off and go home at the end of the day. If Blaze and Gator left the operatives here, the men would be arrested for attacking Davidson. No wonder the guy looked like he was in shock.
Blaze came to the same conclusion. He and Gator went over and grabbed the guy who had taken the full swing of the metal chair. He was sitting, but groggy. Gator snagged him under the armpits, Blaze grabbed his pants cuffs, and they tottered over to the rail and as gently as they could, rolled him over. They waited for a moment while he started the slow slide to the bottom. Then they went back for the second guy and repeated the toss. Before the Iniquus men could right themselves, the last man standing from the CIA’s side jumped over the rails himself and scooted down to the road to help load everyone up and hightail it out of there.
It wasn’t the fabulous movie star choreography that Gator had imagined. The whole thing was kinda spastic, to tell the truth. He was glad it wasn’t caught on tape. He hoped it hadn’t been caught on tape. His eyes scanned the area looking for cameras. None visible. Then he remembered Nutsbe had focused a satellite on them. Gator waved toward the sky then swung his head back toward Davidson. Did he buy it? That was all that mattered.
Davidson had his handkerchief out and was wiping his face when Gator slid the metal rod out of the door, so no one would wonder how the door got jammed.
Blaze had turned Davidson away from Gator’s actions and was asking him earnestly. “Sir, were you injured?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m…” He ran over to the railings and looked over. “They tried to kidnap me in broad daylight.” His face went from tomato red to ghostly gray, giving Gator a scare. He wasn’t sure about Davidson’s heart health.
“They knew I’d be here. I was targeted.” Davidson rubbed his hands over his face and plopped into a chair. “Targeted!” His skin was shiny with sweat. “Just like Derek and Anjie Bowen were. I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.” His fingers pressed against his temples. It looked to Gator like he might have busted some blood vessels in his right eye, but that could have happened before the event.
Gator thought they should probably call in a medic to take a look at this guy.
The door burst open, and there was the food-covered Fire Hydrant and his chauffeuring buddy, hands wide, legs bent like they were going to pounce on someone. Gator had to duck his head to hide his wide grin. Man oh man, they are some kinda ridiculous.
Davidson ignored his security staff and focused on the Iniquus operatives. “Gentlemen, I am duly impressed. You came to the aid of a stranger. You fought two to one against some very strong and determined men. I am indebted to you.” He held out his hand to Gator.
When Gator grasped Davidson’s hand, emotions fought through Gator’s system. Sensations that belonged to his sixth-sense. This man had a connection to the woman Gator wanted to protect. Needed to keep safe. Yes, someone Gator must guard as though his life depended on it — like oxygen and sustenance. That was all he could cull from the sensation. “Gator Aid Rochambeau,” he said, trying to smooth over his reaction “My colleague, Blaze MacNamara, from Iniquus.”
“William Davidson.”
As soon as the man released Gator’s hand, the odd sensations subsided.
Davidson turned, reaching for Blaze’s hand. “Owner and CEO of Prime Global.”
Gator watched Blaze closely, but his battle buddy didn’t have the same reaction. Blaze didn’t take a body slam like Gator did.
Man, he wanted to have a private talk with Lynx. Gator needed a better handle on what was going on. Whoever this woman was who was hanging in his periphery, teasing his senses, riling his nerves, he wanted to meet her now. Waiting for her to show up was a constant adrenaline surge. Whatever this was, it felt dangerous as hell.
Chapter Fourteen
Christen
Thursday, Private jet flying from Sri Lanka to Singapore
Johnna dug through her bag until she brought out a metal box that required a code. She punched it in, and the lid popped open. “Okay we’re going to train you on a piece of technology,” she said taking her seat then looking up to catch Christen’s eye. “You have 20/15 vision.” She reached in and pulled out a contact case. “I’m assuming you’ve never worn contacts before?”
Wow, they read my file thoroughly. Christen focused on the plastic case then sent a quick glance Lula’s way. “I’ve worn them before. In college, I bought some colored contacts just for fun for dates and such.”
Lula bumped shoulders with her. “To make yourself alluring for the boys,” she crooned. This mishmash of childhood friends and spy-stuff kept Christen off balance. She liked clear delineations – mission mode/non-mission mode. Yes, she got it. Lula was trying to get her in the right frame of mind. But this was not how Christen operated. Lula was playing the besties card a little too forcefully. Christen was here, as requested. She was doing her duty, as required. It didn’t mean she liked it. Any of it. Getting spies into her dad’s home, and being away from her own work? No, this wasn’t fun. But if she was giving Lula and Johnna the cold shoulder, this wasn’t going to work at all.
Christen wiggled around trying to relax her muscles, and slapped on a plastic smile that she hoped she could warm up a tad before she had to make that phone call to her father. “Yeah, well, just for fun.” She picked up the contact case that Johnna had set before her, popped the lids and peered at the clear contacts floating in the liquid. “There’s technology in these contact lenses?”
“Yes, hang on let me pull up our technical help.” Johnna opened her lap top, and pulled up an antenna. After a few taps, Christen heard a ding. Johnna slid a code developer from her pocket and tapped the numbers in. The screen lit up.
Hey! She knew this guy. Christen pushed her face forward so she was picked up on the camera. “Hey, Nutsbe.”
“D-day, fancy seeing you there.” He paused. “Uhh, why are you there?”
“I could ask you the same. I thought you were still flying for the air force…”
“Had a mishap. My flying days are behind me. Now I do ground support and live vicariously.” He laughed “Don’t scowl, I love my job. It’s a sweet gig. I’ll recommend it to you when you’re
finally done risking life and limb.”
“Uhm... thanks?” That didn’t sound so good. She wondered what had happened to him. She’d have to ask around when she got back to the base. “If you’re involved, it’s got to be something cool.”
“We’re figuring out the contact lenses,” Johnna interrupted.
“Have you used contacts before?”
“They were just asking me that. Yes. It’s been a while, but I can get them in and out okay.”
“Alright, let me walk you through the technology,” Nutsbe jostled his computer around, pulling it closer so his face took up most of the screen. “You have two contact lenses, but you only need to wear one at a time. As a matter of fact, you should only wear one at a time. The other is back up in case you lose one or it gets damaged.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Don’t lose these or let them get damaged. Seriously, they’re like a bajillion dollars a lens.”
“Okay,” Christen said with a grimace.
“These are video cameras and can also take still shots if you’re focusing on something important like a contract or a photo or… I don’t know, a symbol on a building, for example. The camera switches on and off by how you close and open your eyelids. We’re going to practice until we know you’re comfortable. It would be a shame if you thought that you were taking an impression just to find out you’d turned everything off.”
Christen nodded.
“There are sensors that are programmed to detect the length of time you close your eye. It can distinguish blinks and involuntary movements from voluntary movements. And while this technology is new, and few people know about it, you still want your voluntary movements to seamlessly integrate with your facial expressions, so it doesn’t look like your sending Morse code messages out.”
“Why not just leave it on all the time?” Christen asked. “Is there a problem with memory? Is the memory in the contact? That seems improbable – well as if any of this seems probable.”
“There might be times when you might want a private moment.”
Christen wrinkled her brow. “Why?”
“Using the bathroom, having a sexual encounter… private stuff.”
“I’m not here to do private stuff. If I go to the damned bathroom fast forward. You’re not a perv. And I’m not here for sexual gratification. I’m on a mission.”
“I hear you, D-day. And if you’re more comfortable leaving everything on, I’m cool with it. I’m just letting you know you have an option. As to the memory, we’re going to give you a bracelet and a phone. They are conduits. They take in and encrypt the information then send it on immediately. If there’s no receptor for any reason, it’s still encrypted and hidden beneath other images. It would look like a music video to anyone downloading the data. If someone were to steal either piece of technology, the phone or bracelet, there would be nothing concerning for them to find. Nothing. So that’s not a worry for you.”
“Got it. But I imagine that it’s weird to watch a video with my blinking black dots into the film.”
“The software automatically erases the black spots it interprets as blinks. Otherwise, yeah, it would be kind of nauseating. For that same reason, it also corrects for tilted images and can get rid of some of the blur if there’s eye gunk on the aperture.”
“Ewww.” Christen wrinkled her nose.
“Until you’ve tried to decipher faces through an eye gunk covered video, you can’t realize how nice this advancement is. Go wash your hands for me, please, then try them on.”
Christen went to the sink and scrubbed herself clean, then gave a flick without using a towel so she wouldn’t pick up any lint. Lula and Johnna sat quietly out of the way, letting Nutsbe train Christen one on one. If they sensed that Nutsbe was a calming, equilibrium restoring factor, they were right. When she sat back in her place, Christen scooped up a contact, balancing it on the pad of her finger while she held it to the light. “Ah, this is crazy! Is this for real? I can’t see a thing!”
“That’s the point. No one can know you have this technology. You, by the way, are the first time we’re trying it in the field, though we’ve played with the technology around Iniquus Headquarters.”
“Oh, you’re working for Iniquus now? Golden reputation. Great gig.”
“Agreed. I’m glad to be here. Glad to be anywhere to tell you the truth.”
Christen nodded and wondered what took him out of the military. Nutsbe had lived and breathed the Air Force. He was a fabulous pilot. Christen had always thought he’d do his time then go on a teach at the Air Force Academy or fly with the Thunderbirds.
“Can you go ahead and slip the right eye contact into place?” Nutsbe asked. “You are right eye dominant according to your file.”
“Uhm, yeah.” Christen glanced around.
Lula got up and fetched a hand mirror and then held it in place. The airplane hit a pocket of turbulence, and Christen waited for things to smooth out before she pulled her lid back and tilted the contact against her iris.
She blinked, and her eye watered, but it was comfortable, almost imperceptible. “Does this record sound as well?”
“Just the visual.” Nutsbe replied. “The sound comes from redundant locations because while the visual is important the audio is crucial. Red, did you give her the bracelet yet? I need that in place, so I can synch the two.”
“Coming up, just a second.” Johnna moved over to the black duffel at the other end of the galley.
“Nutsbe, I’m imagining while we’re on this mission that there will be times when my phone isn’t in my hand. How far away can I be to gather the contact lens data?”
“I’d try to stay within fifty feet or so. You can swim in these. Carefully. They may not be the best look, but if you have to go into the ocean, you don’t want to be popping the contact in and out. Try to wear a snorkeling mask or a pair of goggles. Or if it doesn’t cause suspicion, just hang out on the beach. If you absolutely must go in the water, make sure your eyes stay closed.”
“Wilco.”
“These are thirty-day lenses, the one should last the entire mission no problem. And like I said, if you have a problem you have the back up.”
“Wait – a couple of questions.”
“Shoot,” Nutsbe said as he lifted his coffee mug for a swig.
“If someone gets hold of the lenses couldn’t they tell that they have technology?”
“If they put them under a microscope, yes. But this is cutting edge, and you’re going in as yourself to your father’s gig so, no. That’s a miniscule possibility.”
“Okay what about sniffing the air for information?”
“Hackers can do that. But they won’t know the source of the information they’re sniffing, and they won’t be able to read it. It’s encrypted, you’ll remember.”
“Encrypted from its point of origin, not at the point of reception?”
“Affirmative.”
“Okay, that’s good. But there are places where we’re going that there are no cell towers. The island. As I remember it, the mansion has satellites for regular reception but in stormy weather it’s ham radio, if anything at all. And while this is considered the dry season, climate change has made all kinds of unusual weather patterns pop up. If we lose satellite, for example, what happens then?”
“The phone and the bracelet know what to do, you don’t need to worry about it. I don’t want to disclose more than is required. But the data is safe and will be passed along.”
“Huh,” Christen said, completely unsatisfied.
Nutsbe sat still, his eyes focused to his right, and she heard a door close and a female voice say, “Nutsbe, do you have a second?”
“Grab a cup of coffee, Lynx. I’m almost done here.” He focused back on Christen and blinked. “I lost my train of thought, what was I telling you?” he finally asked. “Oh, yeah! Thirty-day lenses, they should last the whole mission without a hitch. Obviously with this level of technology, we don’t want daily rubbing to clean them
or daily changes because that would not only be expensive, but it would leave too many opportunities laying around for the bad guys to get hold of this.”
Johnna handed Christen something that looked like a fit bit and then a smart phone. “All set up for you.” She smiled. “The bracelet works like any exercise information. You can plug it into your phone or computer and find out how many steps you took, your heart rate, and how active your sleep was.” After Christen clasped it into place and clamped the safety chain, Johnna gave it a tap. “It should never come off once it’s locked into place. You can wear bangles, or what have you, to hide it during more formal events. As fit as you are, this will make sense to everyone. This is your travel phone. Your phone story is: You always grab a throw-away when you travel to a new country. It just makes life easier and you don’t worry about having your everyday phone lost or stolen, you just have your calls forwarded to the new one.”
“Is that true?”
“Yes, why? Would you rather that not be true?”
“If I’m playing with bad actors, I’d rather them not have any way to access my personal phone. I don’t want any malware to find its way to my phone.”
“True. Okay. I’ll fix that,” Johnna said.
“I can get it from here. Two secs.” Nutsbe tapped at his computer. “All clear.”
“Fit bracelet and phone. Not a poison lipstick or a dagger pen?”
“Too old school. Here’s one more.” Johnna uncurled her fingers to reveal what looked like a very expensive ring, of a size and embellishment that Christen would never wear—well, she never wore rings period— but the style would fit in perfectly with a socialite persona.
“GPS?” Christen guessed.
“Bingo, we have trackers in all three,” Nutsbe said.
“You think I’m going to go missing?”
