Krystal Scent (Krystal Vibration Series Book 2)

by Richard Corrigan

  Karen crossed her arms.

  Etheridge said, “I have one other thing to show you. Come over to the shelves.”

  Karen walked to stand next to Etheridge who had his one hand in his pocket.

  “Tell me what you hear, smell, taste, see, and feel.”

  Karen stood still for a moment and then said, “I can hear the birds outside, smell the roses, taste pipe tobacco—”

  “I was smoking my pipe this morning,” Etheridge said. “Go on.”

  “I can see the streaks on the bookcase from the cloth that was used to dust the shelves, and I feel like I’m the main attraction in a freak show.”

  Etheridge cleared his throat, pressed a switch on the remote device in his pocket and said, “Tell me again what you smell.”

  Karen said, “I told you I smelled…”

  “What?” Etheridge asked.

  “Along with the roses, I now smell something, something like wires heating up. I don’t know, and I suddenly have a metal taste in my mouth.”

  Etheridge took the remote out of his pocket and opened his cabinet. Inside there was a tiny burning twinkle light. “The smell and the taste you are experiencing is electricity,” Etheridge said.

  “I wondered…”

  “The agents at the Labyrinth during your time there reconfiguring the security system told us of some of your reactions to certain things. When someone would turn on a stitch for power to electrify a device no matter what it was, they saw you turn and face the area where the mechanism was located even though it made no sound.”

  Karen thought about the electronic listening devices in the Krystal Vision offices and the cabin at Swan Nest pond.

  I smelled the electricity. “I don’t know what to think about this.”

  “I just wanted to let you know that your abilities defy explanation and are beyond anything we have ever encountered. I want you to prepare to leave immediately for the C.R.I., the Israeli Counter Terrorism & Crime Training School in Nevada.”

  “What happens after I’m trained?” Karen asked, gently rubbing the front of her hip.

  “You may have to fly to Europe. But remember, anything you hear or are told or read is confidential. No one is to know. No one.”

  Karen nodded compliance.

  As soon as Karen left the room, Etheridge pressed a button on his phone and was connected to the Homeland Security offices. He asked for his counterpart and said he wanted Cheyenne Hojarea assigned to shadow Karen Krystal in Nevada. He asked to speak to her.

  When she got on the phone, he said, “I want you to go to Nevada. I want you to keep an eye on Karen Krystal as she trains at the Israeli Counter-Terrorism Training School.”

  Cheyenne gritted her teeth and sucked in a breath.

  Etheridge said, “I know you’ve already trained. But I want you to be there and participate in the exercises so that you two can bond. I want her to attach herself to you so that the two of you are inseparable.”

  “She’s a loner. It won’t be easy to gain her trust.”

  “Well, find a way,” Etheridge said and disconnected.

  ***

  A driver took Karen back to her car in Falls Church and Karen went back to the family home to gather her personal things for a one-night stay at the Bellagio. A black sedan followed her all the way. She assumed it was from the agency. She pulled up to the gate and pressed the code into her new phone. The bars swung open and stayed spread just long enough for her to pull in, and then they closed and latched.

  The tail stayed out in the street, parked at a discreet distance yet within eyesight of the entrance.

  Karen went into the house and immediately to the kitchen. The cupboards were charred; the microwave glass was destroyed along with the glass of the double ovens. The refrigerator door was dented. The chopping block had a black, burned spot where the Amanda’s Boudoir package had exploded.

  Karen turned and climbed the stairs to her room to begin packing. Etheridge said that once she reported to the training camp, all her needs would be met including toiletries, undergarments, and outerwear. She packed enough for two nights, just in case.

  Sharon arrived home, entered the foyer and called out.

  “I’m up in my room,” Karen called back.

  After some light conversation about the weather and what to have for dinner, Karen informed Sharon that the repairs to the kitchen would be coordinated by the government.

  That’s when Sharon began pressuring Karen about why she was packing and where she was going.

  Sharon asked, “Why are you so secretive? I’m your sister. You think I would tell someone where you are and what you’re doing if you asked me not to? Remember, I’m the president’s goddaughter?”

  Two terrorists in the abandoned house a mile away moved closer to their speaker to hear the conversation.

  Karen sat down on the wine-colored, crushed-velvet, wingback chair and moaned.

  “Why can’t you tell me?” Sharon asked.

  Karen thought for a moment and then said, “Okay, I’ll tell you. But you can’t even whisper a word of this to anyone. Understand?”

  Sharon sat up straight on the divan on crossed legs, her hands holding her feet, and leaned forward to listen.

  “I have to go to Nevada to train,” Karen said quietly.

  “For what?” Sharon asked.

  Karen hesitated.

  The terrorists listening held their breath.

  “I have to be prepared to maybe fly to Europe.”

  “When?” Sharon asked.

  “I’m not sure. They haven’t told me.”

  “Who’s they?”

  Karen thought for a moment and then said, “National Intelligence.”

  “Did Nathan talk you into this?”

  “No. He had nothing to do with it.”

  “So, what do they expect you to do?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Why do they want you?”

  “I have heightened senses since the Labyrinth.”

  “They want to use you.”

  Karen stood up and walked to the window. “I suppose that’s true. But I feel obligated. And…”

  “And what?” Sharon asked.

  “I’m hoping I’ll get some answers about who killed Dad.”

  “I think you’re setting yourself up for disappointment. When do you fly to Nevada?”

  “Tomorrow. Let’s make something to eat.”

  As the girls walked out of the room and down the stairs, the voices faded and a terrorist in the abandoned house picked up the phone.

  ***

  Cheyenne drove back to her apartment and immediately began packing for her trip to the Nevada training center. But she really didn’t want to go through the rigor of the sessions again.

  The downstairs door opened and she heard James climb the stairs. He entered the bedroom and seeing her packing asked, “Where’re ya goin’?”

  “I’m being sent to Nevada.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  James flopped onto the bed and said, “Why?”

  “To connect with that Krystal chick.”

  “Why’s she goin’ ta Nevada?”

  “To attend the Israeli Counter Terrorism School.”

  “You already went there. You have to do it again?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you?”

  “I’m going,” Cheyenne said with a scowl on her face.

  James rolled over to the phone and began dialing.

  “Who you calling?”

  “Lance.”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  James quickly hung up the phone and opened the nightstand drawer and said, “Let me show you something.” James held up a photo of Lance, naked. Then James said, “Well?”

  “Give me time to pack, then call him.”

  Within an hour, Lance was in the apartment.

  CHAPTER 18

  Karen arrived in Las Vegas and settled into her agency-arranged
room at the Bellagio Hotel. After freshening up, she went down to the lakeside, Picasso Restaurant and ordered a small Lobster Salad and a glass of Pouilly Fumé from the over 1,500 European-vineyard choices in its wine cellar.

  She then ordered a Sautéed Filet of Halibut with grilled Green Asparagus and Hollandaise Sauce along with another glass of wine. She refused desert, put the meal on her room tab which was being covered by the U.S. Government, and sat sipping her wine and looking at the lake through the window.

  She had never been to Las Vegas. She had no desire to try her luck at a casino. If she were to gamble on anything, she wanted to be in as much control as possible and have the odds definitely in her favor.

  She used to lead a somewhat predictable life, working at her father’s firm, Krystal Vision, and then the new company, RL2—filling her free time with soccer, reading, exercising, flying, and sporadic dating.

  Her secure and conventional routine never returned since the government involved her with the Labyrinth. It was the first time she had ever been faced with a life or death situation.

  Her pacific life was now replaced by sporadic danger. Karen took a last sip of her wine and returned to her room. As soon as she closed the door, her new cellphone rang. It was Sharon.

  “There’re here at the house. They want to install some equipment before they make repairs to the kitchen,” Sharon said without providing any other explanation. “They came to the gate and said it was critical that they be let in.”

  “Why would you let anyone in?”

  “President Burke called and told me to.”

  “Who’s there?”

  “They say they’re from the NSA and Homeland Security. The NSA guy says he’s going to sweep the house, whatever that means. He’s upstairs, now.”

  “They must be checking for electronic listening devices.”

  “What?”

  “Bugs. You know, spy stuff.”

  “The other guy’s installing some sort of equipment on the phone. He says it’s encoding equipment.”

  “Let me talk to him.”

  Sharon called to the man and handed over her cellphone.

  “Yes?” the man said.

  “I’m Karen Krystal. That’s my house you’re in. What are you doing?”

  “Just a moment.” He motioned to the other man to come to the phone. “We need a voiceprint comparison.”

  The NSA person pulled out a small device and clamped it over the earpiece of the cell.

  The other man said, “Ms. Krystal could you repeat what you said?”

  Karen responded a little more sternly, “I said, that’s my house, and I want to know what you’re doing.”

  The NSA man looked at the voice recognition device and nodded his head.

  “Orders from Director Etheridge are to have us check the house for hostile apparatuses and equip your communications system with encryption capability so that anything going out is encoded.”

  “Why didn’t Etheridge let me know yesterday that he was going to do this so that I could tell my sister?”

  “If there was already alien equipment in the house, he didn’t want it spoken that he was installing equipment or having the house swept.”

  Karen hesitated for a moment and then said, “Why is Swan Nest Pond…?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Let me talk to my sister.”

  The man handed the phone back to Sharon.

  “Is everything all right?” Sharon asked.

  “Yes, it’s all okay. Just realize that from now on, Big Brother’s listening.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “The training is supposed to last three months. I’ll try to shorten it. Stay safe.”

  Sharon said the same and they disconnected.

  Karen walked to the window of the hotel room and looked down upon the tourists ambling through the streets. She sighed and laid out her clothes for tomorrow, all the while thinking that ever since the Labyrinth, her life has not been her own and would never be as long as she was involved with National Intelligence.

  She didn’t know whether to look forward to each day or dread each morning’s dawn. She didn’t know if she had the mindset, the heart, or the fortitude to see this through. But, she was being driven by the murder of her aunt and uncle, the maiming of her cousins and the assassination of her father.

  Karen followed Etheridge’s orders, and in the morning arranged a cab and reported to the Israeli Counter-Terrorism Training School. It was run by a former soldier of the Israeli Special Forces. Attendees were sometimes State Department employees, Air Force Special Operations teams, OSI, NCIS, CID, International Police units, SWAT, DCIS, USMC, MARSOC teams, U.S. Special Forces, Law Enforcement, and first responders.

  Normally, the CRI School offers two-day training courses that combine to last up to six months. Etheridge wanted Karen to experience both the novice and expert instruction programs which combined into twelve weeks of intensive schooling.

  Karen sat down in the briefing room next to a tall, athletic-looking woman who immediately held out her hand and said, “Hi, I’m Bornea.”

  Karen reciprocated but said nothing more before Bornea began to unravel a monologue about the training school.

  “Nevada isn’t the only anti-terrorist training school, ya know. There’s others all over the world. The most highly respected is the Yamam. They only take applicants between the ages of twenty-two and thirty.”

  Bornea pulled out a slip of paper from her pocket and read off her continued explanation of the Yamam School. “Each attendee is scrutinized for his/her accountability, influence, decisiveness, motivation, physical fitness, stability, teamwork, communication, trustworthiness, judgment, maturity, and intelligence.”

  “You carry that with you?” Karen asked.

  “I want to see if this place meets up to Yamam.”

  The CRI indoctrinator entered the room and everyone hushed. He butted out his cigarette, and with a chain-smoker’s voice he began:

  “Welcome to the Israeli Counter-Terrorism Training School. I’m Captain Tucson. In the next weeks, you’ll be trained in multiple shooting methods that’ll be used by you depending on the circumstances you’re confronted with. You’ll repeat and repeat segments of the course so that they become second nature.

  “You’ll learn procedures and counter responses to threatening confrontations that will first feel uncomfortable, but by the time you leave, will become instincts. If for some reason they don’t, we’ll pull you out and send you back where you came from so that you won’t be a danger to yourself or someone who depends on you for security and safety. Do you understand?”

  The group of seventeen trainees acknowledged with a weak yes.

  Karen leaned over to Bornea and said, “I’m sure those cigarettes have done him a world of good. He croaks like a frog.”

  Bronea suppressed a laugh.

  Captain Tucson blasted to the back of the room with his voice, “I SAID, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

  The students understood completely and yelled back, “YES, SIR.”

  “Smell the tobacco?” Karen said.

  Bornea laughed again.

  Captain Tucson said, “Good. When finished, you’ll be proficient in the Glock 17 and 19 pistols and back-up weapons along with the Colt Commando, the Remington 870 Combat Shotgun, the Para Micro-Uzi, the Benelli M4, and both the PGM and SR-25 Sniper rifles along with the AR-15.

  “You’ll be exposed to the shooting technique perfected by the Israeli Special Forces. Their ‘Iron Dome’ and anti-terrorism training are considered the best counterassault defense in the world.”

  “Not good enough,” Karen said under her breath while looking down and shaking her head in a slow determined fashion.

  Captain Tucson looked at the photo images on his roster. He straightened up and called out, “Ms. Krystal, is there something wrong? Something you want to say?”

  Karen looked up and said, “No sir, just anxious to eliminate those terrorist bastards.�
��

  “You’ll get your chance,” the captain said and continued with his explanation.

  Bornea’s cellphone vibrated. She discretely brought it to her ear. She whispered, “How bad is it? Okay, I’ll meet you at the hospital.” She raised her hand.

  The Captain stopped and acknowledged her.

  “My dad’s been rushed to the hospital.”

  “Heart attack?” the Captain asked.

  “My mom says it was a stroke. She’s going to need help.”

  “You can reenroll next year; your deposit’s good for twelve months.”

  Bornea turned to Karen, wished her luck, and walked out.

  Captain Tucson explained that the organizers of the CRI School suggest that all attendees be between the ages of twenty-two and thirty years old with exceptions made under certain circumstances. Because of Karen’s heightened senses, Etheridge assured them that her thirty-two-year-old age was equivalent to someone ten years younger, and her reflexes were that of someone just beyond teenage years.

  ***

  Cheyenne Hojarea arrived at the training facility and hesitated before walking into the exercise room. A stamina class was moving through its routine. Etheridge had told her Karen was supposed to be at the school.

  She scanned the room through the windows of the double doors. Karen wasn’t there. Someone asked to get by to enter and Cheyenne followed behind, walking to the far left. She set down her bag and stepped into the back of the line.

  She hated the idea of going through the training again. One time was enough. And today was extremely tough since she had spent last night in a ménage-à-trois with her boyfriend and his buddy. She was exhausted.

  She knew if Karen showed, she would eventually be spotted. She hoped it wouldn’t be today. She was too tired to put on an act. Tomorrow would be better. She would confess that Etheridge had sent her to train but that he had said nothing about anyone else from the agency being in Nevada.

  ***

  The next day, Karen entered the training room and took a seat near the front. She was dressed in the fatigues provided by the school. Everyone looked the same except for their hair, gender, build, and faces. The instructor gave an overview of what the trainees could expect and what was expected of the participants.