by Andria Stone
She nodded, then murmured. “Yes. I believe they were waiting on confirmation of some new information about neural implants before a determination was made on those charges. Your brother, Eric, was on that mission, right? I’m sorry for your loss, Mark. You have my word. We will do everything in our power to bring her down. For Eric and your father.”
Mark collapsed on the couch. A warm rush of vindication washed over him. Finally, he had the answer he needed. His brother plus 151 other military scientists had been added to Beth Coulter’s growing list of victims. From his second day on Luna, when Eva’s friend had pointed to neuroscience, Mark had suspected Beth Coulter of orchestrating the annihilation of all those lives. Now, so did the Terran Military Defense. She would forfeit her life for the ones she had taken. Mark Warren swore he would sacrifice his life to be a part of her demise.
He went upstairs in search of Alpha, his father’s stand-in. Mark found him sitting at the small desk in his parent’s bedroom, looking at a vid screen with multiple views of the outer perimeter of the house. The man turned when Mark entered.
“I can’t afford to screw this up, so I can’t let my feelings toward her jeopardize whatever situation arises.”
“You’re a scientist, which means you have an extensive background in math. Do you play games—like chess or cards?”
In spite of himself, Mark’s lips twisted into a lopsided grin. “Yeah, both.”
“If you’re good at chess, then you know there’s a calculated strategy—tactics, you have to be able to visualize numerous moves ahead. It involves superior problem solving, logical analysis, and undeterred focus. You must employ the ability to be offensive and defensive at the same time to stay ahead of your opponent’s moves.
“Playing poker takes slightly different talents. Reading people’s “tells” and adjusting your play to fit the opposition as well as the situation can catch your opponent off guard. Dumping your ego so you can focus on the game can be just as important as spotting specific patterns.
“Besides, Mark, you have an embedded geolocator, right?” He pressed a finger behind his right ear. “Everyone in my unit does, too. As far as we know, they’re undetectable to enemy scanners. Your movements are being tracked twenty-four/seven. Just so you’re aware—in the event it’s removed, an alarm signal is sent out system-wide. The cavalry, or a shuttle, or a warship will respond. It depends on where you are and what kind of assignment you’re on. Make no mistake, the TMD will come running.”
“How do you see this playing out? Do you three have some sort of game plan?”
“We’re mostly window dressing, to create the illusion of your real family. Your father was injured—not killed. That outcome would have been counterproductive. Coulter initiated a move to let you know she was serious. It’s simple—if you don’t want anyone else hurt, then give her what she wants. She won’t be the one to contact you—for obvious reasons. Since there are two operatives here, one of them will approach you. Whatever communications you have with them will be monitored by Coulter. She knows your personality. You need to maintain the same behavior for her to believe you’re bargaining in all honesty for the safety of your family.”
“You have any idea when this will happen?”
“Soon, I would think. She’s experienced some setbacks. I imagine she needs the data to move forward. That’s what brought her here. She’s not leaving anything to chance this time.”
“I may have to lock myself in a room to get my head straight.”
“It’s not just about your family. It’s for Terra’s future in space, so—no pressure.”
“Well, you might have oversold it with that last comment. I don’t know what playbook you’re working out of, but the welfare of my family plus the future of Terra’s space exploration don't equate to “no pressure.” Mark wanted a drink, but he didn’t trust himself. This was the ultimate high-stakes game. He couldn’t win by playing fast and loose now.
“You worked with her for a year, didn’t you? Just be what she expects. You’ll do fine.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Mark nodded at his father’s stand-in, turned to leave, then a thought struck him. Beth Coulter had deluded, hustled, and scammed him. Because she wanted what was in his head—and Eva’s. If she could have created the formulas, she would have. That gave him the upper hand. Okay—now he was motivated. He descended the stairs two at a time, deciding to check on progress in the kitchen.
The doorbell rang. Mark veered off to answer the front door.
A short, balding older man dressed in khaki from head to foot, looking like anybody’s grandfather, stood on the walkway. He held the leash to a small brown dog.
“Can I help you?”
“I saw the EMS vehicle bring Dave Warren home. I hope he’s all right. You’re his son, aren’t you? Mark, is it?”
Mark stepped outside, closing the door behind him. “Yes, I am. Dad was in an accident.”
“So sorry to hear that. I’m John Sands from up the street. Just out walking Gus here.” He gestured at the bulldog on his leash. “Thought I stop to see—”
Behind him, the door opened a crack. “Mark, Mom needs you.” His sister’s stand-in poked her head out a little.
“Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Sands.” He stuck out his hand. Reluctantly, the man shook it. Mark turned, went back inside and shut the door.
The room chilled. Everyone had gathered with anxious looks on their faces.
“Scan my hand,” Mark whispered. “I didn’t recognize that man. He called the dog Gus, except it was a girl dog. What about the new home surveillance system? Is it working? Did it pick up anything?”
Nazarova produced a utility-sized scanner. She passed it over both sides of Mark’s hand, then flipped on the large vid screen and uploaded the data.
They watched it coalesce into almost a full handprint, which quickly linked to a faceprint taken from the new home security system, plus a DNA match. Seconds later a ribbon ran across the bottom of the screen with the message a neural implant had been detected in the most recent visitor.
“He’s not John Sands. Face, fingers, DNA—all belong to Carson Adelle of Beaverton, Oregon, about seven miles outside of Portland. And he has a neural implant.” Nazarova verified the information, then sent it to HQ in Virginia. As an afterthought, she added, “I’m going to flag his ID. Coulter has a bad habit of killing people once she’s through with them.”
“Bingo!” Alpha, Dave Warren’s stand-in, sounded excited. “Four out of four. A perfect match. Coulter isn’t wasting any time. She wants those files. The old man was sent to make sure you and your family were here. Now she’ll send someone else to threaten you into giving up the data.”
“Oh, joy.” Mark studied the five people around him. “Well, hell, I’ve got all of you to back me up. So what could go wrong?”
Nazarova stepped in front of him, a bit too close for comfort. “Don’t go near the door again until everyone’s in position and we’ve identified the person outside. There’s always the possibility it could be a real neighbor.”
“Roger that, Lieutenant.” Mark backed up a couple of feet. Much to his relief, she turned and walked away.
***
Axel grabbed Mark by the arm, steering him into the teal-trimmed, dark gray downstairs bathroom for a private heart-to-heart. “You’re lucky Nazarova didn’t put bruises on you for opening the door without permission.”
“I’m supposed to know this shit? Nobody told me there were rules.” Mark sounded indignant, he looked lost.
“Damn, Mark. You’re supposed to be the smartest one in the room. You can’t figure that out?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m out of my realm here. I’m a scientist—not a spy or undercover operative. Besides, Alpha said they aren’t here to do anything. They’re just window dressing.”
“Look—your family’s safe—for now, but if you ever want them to come back here to resume their lives after all this is over, then you have to have a plan and sti
ck to it.” Axel tried to get his anger under control. He was losing the battle.
“What if…the next time you answer the door, a stranger injects you with neurotoxin, cuts out your geolocator on the way to the spaceport, then shoves you onto a private shuttle bound for India, or god knows where? In fifteen short minutes, you could be in the wind. How do I explain that to your family? Or my commanding officers?”
Mark slumped. “Just tell me what to do.”
Axel wished Kamryn were here. Her undercover work for the DEA in Vancouver would have been invaluable. Then remembered one of her stories. “Where’s the data chip?”
Mark fished it out of his pocket, handed it to Axel.
“Now, I need a two inch square of black fabric and a stapler.”
Mark left for a few minutes. He returned with scissors in one hand, a black silk scarf wound around a stapler in the other.
“Take off your pants.”
“Wait, what?”
“I’m going to staple a small pocket to the inside of the zipper on your pants. Put the chip in there, then staple it closed. If a scanner is passed over you, the chip is hidden behind the zipper. It won’t be detected. Kamryn did this. She said it worked perfectly.”
Mark grumbled as he followed Axel’s orders. The bathroom wasn’t small, but the movements of two large men made it feel like a closet.
“Put these back on.” Axel handed the black leather pants back to Mark. “You may have to sleep in them for the next few days because you can’t afford to be caught without the chip if something happens in the middle of the night. You’re going to start sleeping in your vest, holster, and gun, with a knife in your boot.”
Axel pulled a folding knife out of his right boot, offered it to Mark. “Ceramic blade. Wood handle. One hundred percent unscannable.”
“Now, listen to me. This is what they drill into us if we’re taken prisoner in combat: escape, memorize your surroundings, resist. Try not to eat or drink anything—it’s drugged. To maintain your sanity, repeat a mantra, some word, phrase, or formula. As far as interrogations go, it’s like answering a kid’s questions about sex. Only tell them what they think they want to hear. So man up.” Axel power-punched him in the arm, and not playfully. “Let’s go have dinner.”
As they headed to the kitchen, Mark asked. “If you’re my wingman, won’t you be coming with me, wherever I go?”
“I’ll try like hell, but it normally doesn’t work that way. If a single person comes to contact you here, he may just leave with the chip. The TMD will track it then close in on her when she tries to access the data. One operative isn’t going to take a chance on abducting two people. Besides, two of us means one will be tortured and used to coerce the other—guess who gets mutilated.”
The kitchen was empty. A double layer chocolate cake with chocolate icing sat on a special plate in the middle of the breakfast bar. One wedge had been removed.
“Beta thought you might like a taste of home, since your family wasn’t here.” Axel helped himself to a bowl of chili with a fat slice of warm toasted garlic bread. Mark did likewise, didn’t eat much and was quiet.
***
Nazarova burst in the back door. She grabbed both men by the shoulders, propelling them into the living room. “Someone’s approaching.” She flipped on the vid screen to monitor the activity picked up by the new surveillance system.
The image of a tall, dark-skinned man using a cane limped up the walkway, and rang the bell.
Axel and Nazarova disappeared into the dining room.
Mark tried to mentally prepare himself for whatever was about to happen, remembering Harben’s orders to “bargain with the devil if need be.” He opened the door a crack.
“I’m sorry to bother you. Looking for the Warren’s residence.”
“You found it.”
“I have a message for Capt. Mark Warren. Would that be you?”
“Yes.”
“May I come in? It’s rather personal.”
Mark turned, checked to make sure the vid screen was off, then opened the door enough for the man to enter.
They stood several feet apart, assessing one another. The stranger wore shades of brown, with a herringbone plaid cap covering his salt-and-pepper hair. As opposed to the earlier dog walker, this man was relaxed, confident, meeting Mark’s gaze without wavering.
“I’m just a messenger—an intermediary, if you will. My instructions were to tell you there won’t be any more problems if a compromise can be reached. If you’re in possession of the information and are prepared to give it to me, life will go back to normal, everything will be fine. If not…there will be additional consequences.”
“The person who sent you here knows I’m not stupid. You don’t get a damned thing unless she can figure out a way to assure me no one else will be harmed.”
“Well, in that case. I must tell you the amount of one million credits has just been deposited in your account. A rather excessive amount for a captain in the military, wouldn’t you say? The TMD will, no doubt, be extremely interested to know how you came by those funds.
“Again—blackmail? It wasn’t enough she had my father assaulted. Now she’s threatening to ruin my reputation, plus have me arrested for conspiring with the enemy.”
“It’s entirely your call, but you did say you weren’t stupid.”
“Don’t move.” Mark rushed into the kitchen, removed the data chip from its hiding place and returned to the stranger. “Here.” He held out his fist, opened his fingers.
The man picked it up with a handkerchief and put it in his shirt pocket.
Mark took two long strides to the door, yanked it open. “Now get out,” he fumed.
“Have a pleasant evening.” The man turned, shuffled out the door and down the steps.
Behind him, the vid screen came on, showing the outside surveillance of the stranger lumbering off into the distance. Axel and Nazarova came out of their hiding place in the dining room.
“I hope one of you recorded all that audio because I sure don’t want anyone ever accusing me of selling military secrets.”
“Don’t worry,” Nazarova said. “We have video and audio of everything.”
Mark sank to the couch, physically drained. He was happy the hand-off had transpired without a hitch. He still felt apprehensive. “I have a weird feeling about this, guys. Have you ever heard of Merton’s Law of Unintended Consequences? Sometimes a strategy works…and sometimes it backfires.”
Chapter 17
Mark hadn’t known Nazarova was under orders to put the interior of the Warren residence under surveillance, as well as the exterior. In retrospect, he might have opposed the move. Now he was damned glad it had been done.
The lieutenant sent copies of the meeting to HQ in Virginia. “This time we only found one fingerprint with DNA from the doorbell, but enough to match with a confirmed faceprint. The scans also produced evidence of a neural implant. It identified the newest operative as one Otto Vickers, who lives about ten miles across town. So far, the records show no connection between the two agents, except being from similar age groups. I flagged his ID, too, because we can’t afford to lose track of these people.”
The three Warren stand-ins had come downstairs to view the vid replay. Alpha patted Mark on the back. “Good job, Captain. You’re a natural. I wish they were all this easy.”
It hadn’t felt easy. There had been a war going on inside Mark. He had to fight the urge to grab Vickers around the throat and squeeze until the man passed out—or worse. He kept telling himself it would have been instant gratification. Satisfying, yes, but counterproductive to the goal of capturing Beth Coulter. “Will we be notified when she tries to access the data?”
“Possibly,” Alpha said. “Or, they may wait until she’s apprehended. Her whole network has to be dismantled. All the operatives must be identified and incarcerated, and the cyborgs neutralized.”
“Can I contact my family—check on my dad?”
“H
Q will contact you as soon as it’s safe. When the threat has been eliminated.”
Mark disliked his answer. “No. I want to talk to them. Today.” He took a step closer to Alpha. “The TMD hired this woman. Stuck her in my lab. This is all their fault. I’ve been shot. Sent off-world. My research—hell, my whole life—has gone down the toilet. My father was damn near beaten to death. Now my family has been taken away, and their lives have been put in mortal jeopardy.” Mark had reigned in his rage for hours. His fury was on the verge of exploding. He took another step closer to Alpha. “Today. I will speak with my family. Today.” He took a half step forward, just inches from Alpha’s face. Anger colored Mark’s body language and tone. “Or, somebody here isn’t going to like what happens next.”
Everyone froze, while neither man gave ground.
“Mark.” Axel approached him from the side, touching his shoulder. “Why don’t we take a walk? Give them time to see if something can be arranged.”
He grudgingly allowed Axel to drag him away from Alpha, through the house, and out the back door.
“You’ve got a lot of balls. That spy you just chewed out in there could probably kill you fifteen different ways without mussing up his hair.” Exasperated, Axel shoved Mark, hard, making him stumble back a few feet.
Mark came at Axel in an instant, returning the shove with the same fierceness. They stood a yard apart, fists clenched, glaring at each other and ready for a fight. Until Mark took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. A waning crescent moon climbed above them. He could see Mars off in the distance. It was twilight in the Pacific high country. The weather had chilled. A thick scent of Christmas trees hung in the cold evening air.
“I’m not married. I don’t have children. I had my work and my family, that’s all. Now Beth Coulter has taken both of those away. Hate is eating away at me. I have dreams of killing her, Axel. With these.” Mark held up his hands; fingers spread wide. “And I’d gladly suffer the consequences.”