Impact (Fuzed Trilogy Book 1)

by David E Stevens

  30

  BIG BANG

  With only a year and a half to impact, Josh knew it was time to figure out when and how to introduce this to the public. He needed to talk to Lopez privately. Broaching any of this at a team meeting would raise awkward questions, like why they were making decisions about notifying the public instead of, say ... the White House.

  Lopez was back in Kansas City recording a TV special. He called her. She told him she’d be finished tomorrow, and they could meet for dinner.

  With his need to get between St. Louis and places like Kansas City, not to mention his broken ribs, he decided this would be a good time to get a car. He loved performance cars, but ended up buying a two-year-old sedan. He just needed reliable transportation that wouldn’t draw attention. Of course, he did manage to find one with a high-performance package. Using cash from Musk’s account, it only took a few minutes to close the deal.

  Sliding gingerly behind the wheel, he tried not to bump his ribs. It only hurt when he moved, breathed or sat still.

  He actually enjoyed driving, particularly this time of year when the leaves were starting to change color. It also gave him time to think, and it was the first time since Antarctica he had a real opportunity to talk to Jesse.

  He spent a couple hours on the freeway running all the program’s critical paths through his head. Finally, he asked, “Hey Jesse, can you talk?”

  He immediately sensed the link and couldn’t help but notice Jesse was almost always available. He probably didn’t get a lot of sleep. “You sure you don’t have access to some amazingly advanced laser technology you want to share?”

  Silence.

  “Just checking.” He smiled and shook his head. “OK, you asked me if there was an alternate interpretation of quantum mechanics. There is. If every time we observed something, a new universe were created, there would be an infinite number of branching universes. Schrodinger’s Cat is alive in one universe and another universe branches off where his cat’s deader than a doornail. Every possible outcome will happen, so no observer is needed to lock things into reality, and our fine-tuned universe might be inevitable.”

  Yes?

  “It’s a great idea. Though, I’m not excited to think in another universe I’m lying dead at the bottom of a cliff.” He paused. “But I was talking to Chandra and there are problems with it.”

  Yes?

  “If a bunch of universes are branching off, we’re still stuck with what initiated the first universe. Even if there are infinite Big Bangs, we have a problem. The very definition of ‘universe’ means it’s impossible to see outside ours. That means the idea of infinite universes is untestable, requiring it to be accepted on what amounts to blind faith.” He paused. “Technically, it’s just another religion.”

  I see your problem.

  “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

  Silence.

  “Thanks. That was really helpful.”

  It was late afternoon when he hit Kansas City. He called Lopez and she invited him to her house for dinner. That was good since Lopez’s celebrity status meant fans sometimes interrupted their restaurant meetings. She promised a new Italian recipe. Despite his pain, he looked forward to dinner. Lopez didn’t do anything halfway, and he suspected she was an exceptional chef. He told her he’d check into his hotel and then come over. In her usual direct manner, she said, “Food’s almost done. Don’t worry about the hotel.”

  Sheri’s house was an imposing but elegant brick home in the best part of town. She met him at the large ornate doors wearing a chef’s apron. The aroma of garlic and fresh bread wafted through the air as she invited him in. On the way to the kitchen, he saw a beautifully decorated home with marble floors, cathedral ceilings and crystal chandeliers. It was immaculate, except the study. He knew she was an author and surmised the study and its explosion of papers were off limits to her housekeeper. As they walked by, he nodded toward it. “Suicide bomber?”

  She shrugged with a slight laugh.

  The kitchen was huge and equally impressive. Beautiful granite countertops and expensive cherry cabinets contrasted the large, commercial gas stove and subzero freezer. This was a cook’s kitchen. There was a formal dining room, but the kitchen had a large island with a wrap-around granite bar. It made sense since most eating and parties ended up in the kitchen anyway.

  Sheri handed him a glass of Chianti and put him to work cutting tomatoes for the salad. Pulling the lasagna out of the oven, she set it on the bar to cool. As she added the tomatoes to the salad, she asked, “How are you feeling? How are your ribs?”

  Dismissively, he said, “They’re fine.”

  She gave him a “yeah right” look, and topped off his wine glass.

  She took the garlic bread out of the oven and pronounced the lasagna ready. Putting plates and silverware out, she motioned him to sit on one of the bar stools.

  Lopez always wore tailored business suits or sports jackets, but as she pulled off her chef’s apron, he saw a different side. Her clothes, while still elegant, were casual and much more feminine. He realized that in the hospital, he viewed her as an obstacle to overcome. Then, later, saw her as a potential ally to recruit. Now, seeing her in a silk blouse and form-fitting skirt, he realized Sheri was a very attractive woman. Opposite to Elizabeth in almost every way, Sheri was dark, petite and voluptuously curvy. Their personalities were also very different. Elizabeth was people-oriented. Sheri was definitely task-oriented, as was he. That similarity explained why he felt comfortable around her. Nevertheless, Sheri really was beautiful. As she sat down next to him, her loosely buttoned top drew his eyes. Suffice it to say, he’d need to keep his eyes above her impressive cleavage and cut himself off after his second glass of wine.

  She caught his glance.

  He quickly focused on his lasagna. As expected, she was a phenomenal chef.

  After several minutes of concerted eating, punctuated by compliments to the chef, Sheri started the conversation. “Josh, what’s the story on Tim Smith?”

  Wiping delicious tomato sauce and cheese from his face, he said, “He’s supposed to be one of the best security specialists the CIA has. Why?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard he’s extremely good at what he does. I’ve talked to him a few times. With his job, he has to remain detached, but there’s ... something else there.” She shook her head. “Josh, I’m not trying to be nosy.” She paused. “But his affect is totally flat, and he almost exhibits symptoms of....” She stopped and looked back at him. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Can you tell me anything about his background?”

  “Are you concerned about him, or his ability to carry out his job?”

  “Both. As a psychiatrist, I can tell you our mental health affects everything we do.”

  He nodded. “Smith’s job is to look after and protect the team, guess it wouldn’t hurt to have someone looking after him, and you’re the most qualified.” He paused. “Carl did give me some background. Obviously, we want to hold this in the strictest of confidence.”

  She nodded.

  “Carl said Tim was one of the CIA’s best field agents. His specialty has always been protection. He has a natural instinct and passion for it. When you think of protection, you don’t usually think about killing people, but I guess it’s like an offensive tackle protecting the quarterback. I gathered from Carl, Tim is quite deadly. He’s killed a number of assassins and terrorists over the years.”

  He paused. “About a year ago, he was involved in an operation in Turkey. They assigned him to protect a European Union Commissioner under a terrorist death threat. The commissioner he was protecting was married and neglected to tell Tim he was involved in an affair. Evidently, the Commissioner’s mistress tried to sneak into the house late one night. Dressed in black, she came in through a window, carrying something that looked like a gun. Tim shot and killed her.”

  He shook his head. “Tim was exonerated by the agency, and the entire event was hushed up.”
He paused. “Carl also said that the woman Tim shot had two children.” He shook his head again. “On the positive side, Carl said Tim is raising money for a trust fund for the children. Since he has no kids, he even made them beneficiaries of his life insurance.”

  One of Sheri’s eyebrows went up, but she said nothing.

  “Carl says he’s as effective as he ever was, but, understandably, his heart isn’t in it anymore. He told Carl he was going to retire. They’re friends, and Carl asked him to do this final job. Considering the nature of our mission, Carl thought it would be good for Tim and allow him to retire on a high note.”

  Sheri nodded and softly repeated, “Retire....”

  With a questioning look, he asked, “Does that help?”

  She sighed. “Yes, unfortunately, it does.”

  Frowning, Josh said, “Sheri, I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but with what we have at stake, do you think his condition could endanger the program?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.” She sighed. “Everyone faces tragedies in different ways. I’ll try to talk to him.”

  As he finished his second helping of lasagna, Sheri changed the subject. “OK, Josh, what can I help you with?” With an impish smile, she said, “Relationships?”

  He smiled. “Is there anyone who doesn’t struggle with relationships?”

  “Yeah, dead people.”

  He laughed. “Not even sure that’s true.” Pausing, he said, “Actually, I really need your brain.”

  With a challenging smile, she said, “Just my brain?” Then quickly added, “Of course, what do you need?”

  He caught the innuendo, but said, “How do we prepare the public for the inevitable discovery of a cataclysmic comet?”

  She nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot. I believe we need to leak the information slowly. I have an idea but I need to talk to Musk first. Give me a week, and I’ll give you a plan.”

  He nodded. “You’ve got it.”

  She moved their empty plates to the sink and topped off their wine glasses. Then turned to him and said, “Now, off with your shirt. Let me take a look at those ribs.”

  He said with surprise, “You’re a psychiatrist.”

  Sarcastically, she said, “Josh, hello. Psychiatrists have to go to medical school. I can handle broken ribs.”

  Seeing she wasn’t backing down, he told her the truth. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend. The real reason is I don’t drink much and haven’t been with....” He shrugged. “Well, don’t mean to be crass but you’re seriously hot-looking and starting to look like dessert.”

  “Thanks for being honest and thank you for the compliment.”

  His phone rang. Looking at it, he said, “Sheri, this is Meadows. He doesn’t usually call unless it’s important. I need to take this.”

  “Of course.”

  He stood up and walked around her living room as he talked.

  Sheri smiled to herself. Dessert? She’d been thinking the same thing about him. His confession only made him more attractive, but it wasn’t just his earnestness. He seemed like a tragic Greek hero — throwing himself over a cliff to save another, yet carrying a profound sadness. She had no idea what happened to him, but knew instinctively, and professionally, he’d faced death and carried a secret. He was a psychiatrist’s dream. That mixed with a great bod and a couple glasses of wine.... She didn’t need his confession to confirm he was attracted to her, but there was something bothering him. It was just another challenge and she loved challenges.

  As he returned and sat down, she asked, “Everything OK?”

  He looked surprised. “Meadows just called to check up on me. He asked if I had had my ribs looked at.” Winking, he added, “I told him I’m seeing a doctor.”

  With a disgusted smile, she shook her head. “Josh, he’s right. You really need to have them looked at.”

  He folded his arms and shook his head.

  She poured him another glass of wine. As she handed it to him, she said, “Tell you what. If you’re good and let me examine your chest,” she gave him a mischievous smile, “who knows, I might return the favor.”

  He unfolded his arms and with a smile said, “Been a long time since I played doctor.”

  As she started unbuttoning his shirt, her professional intuition made her say, “May I ask you a personal question?”

  He nodded.

  Watching him closely, she asked, “When was the last time you talked to Elizabeth?”

  He looked down. “June 10th.”

  Bingo! She caught the flicker of pain that crossed his face. Here was one of his internal contusions. Some of her colleagues looked down on psychiatry, but diagnosing and treating this type of injury was often harder than fixing broken bones. Using the classic listening technique, she repeated, “June 10th?”

  He nodded. “Right after we set up the meeting with Musk.”

  She stopped unbuttoning his shirt. Tapping one finger to her lips, she said, “Right after ... we had dinner.” She realized indulging in “dessert” might cause serious complications. She sat back and asked, “Josh, did you try to contact her after that?”

  “Yeah, I sent her a check in the mail about a week later.”

  “A check?”

  “Yeah, paying her back for some money she loaned me while I was reestablishing my identity.”

  “You wrote a note with it?”

  “Of course, I thanked her for everything.”

  “You thanked her for everything.”

  He nodded.

  “That was it? That was all it said?”

  Looking worried, he said slowly, “Yes....”

  “Josh, have you called her?”

  “Several times but she never answered.”

  “Did you leave messages?”

  “No, except for the last time. A couple weeks ago, I finally left a message asking if she was all right. She texted me back.”

  Sheri raised her eyebrows in question.

  “She said she was fine.”

  “Fine?” She couldn’t help but give him the “flinch” look — the one you give someone who just missed the nail with the hammer and hit their thumb.

  He sighed. “Fine doesn’t mean fine, does it?”

  She shook her head and said softly, “Josh, may I make an observation?”

  “Please.”

  “When you were in the hospital, I gave you a battery of mental and psychological tests. You have some amazing abilities.”

  He shook his head, but she held up her hand and said, “Your IQ is off the top of the chart, and you have a photographic memory, don’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “But as a psychiatrist, the thing that impresses me the most is your EQ or Emotional Quotient. You have outstanding people skills.” She paused. “As a celebrity, I’ve had the opportunity to work with people who have exceptional talents, but I’ve rarely come across someone with all of this in one,” she smiled, “rather impressive body. Do you have any idea how rare it is to have your IQ and EQ? Particularly, in a man?”

  He laughed. “You’re building me up because you’re about to say I’m totally clueless with regard to Elizabeth.”

  “See? You’re very perceptive and absolutely right. You’re a complete blockhead with regard to Elizabeth, and I think totally missed the boat.” Gently squeezing his arm, she added, “Don’t be too hard on yourself, you’re only human.” Only partly joking, she added, “You are human, right?”

  “Yeah, but your assessment of my EQ must be wrong.”

  “Not at all. You’re exceptional at reading everyone except yourself. Don’t feel bad, no one can do that. If they could, I wouldn’t have a job.”

  “But I obviously can’t read Elizabeth either.”

  Laughing, she said, “Part of it is simply that you have a handicap — you’re male.” More seriously, she added, “Your real challenge is that you’re emotionally attached. You’re too close. It’s like trying to read yourself.”

 
He frowned, shaking his head.

  “Josh, it’s like looking out through a window at night. You can see outside clearly until you turn on the light inside. That light is emotion. Once it’s on, you can’t see outside anymore. In fact, the only thing you can see clearly is your own reflection.”

  He nodded.

  She had planned to let him stay — and not in the guest room — but looking at her watch, she said, “I didn’t realize how late it was. Josh, you need sleep to heal.” She started re-buttoning his shirt. “Can we talk more tomorrow? You’re staying in Kansas City tonight, right?”

  He nodded, looking surprised at the sudden transition. “Yes, at the airport Holiday Inn.”

  “Great, I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”

  He stood up and thanked her for dinner.

  As she walked him to the door, he moved slowly, obviously in significant pain. Poor guy, hurting inside and out, and she might have had something to do with the inside. She knew what she had to do, but as she closed the door, she shook her head with a slight smile. “Too bad.”

  31

  RECOVERY

  Josh was reading when he heard a knock on his hotel room door. It was almost midnight. With a slight smile, he realized there was only one person who knew he was here.

  Setting his tablet on the bed, he opened the door expecting Sheri.

  It was Elizabeth!

  Stunned, he just stood there.

  Finally, raising her eyebrows and gesturing inside, she asked, “May I come in?”

  “I’m sorry. Of course!”

  As she entered, she held up a small black bag. “I’m here on business. I heard about your accident at the South Pole.”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “YouTube.”

  “YouTube!”

  “I’m kidding. Sheri called me. She said you refused to let her examine you and knew you wouldn’t see a doctor.” She went straight to the bathroom sink and started washing her hands. “So, let’s get that shirt off and have a look.”