The Mainframe (The New Agenda Series Book 3)

by Simone Pond

  “What if it was him? Or Dickson? If they’ve resurfaced, it’s possible they could have already uploaded into human bodies to carry out their retaliation.”

  “Anything is possible. Which is why you must be trained. Again, I bid you good day.”

  It was obvious Director Faraday was a dead end. What was more disturbing was Ms. Atwood suddenly turning against her. She was the one who approached her after tryouts. She had witnessed what happened with Grace inside the mainframe. If anything, she should be campaigning for Ava to get to work on the searches. Something was wrong; she could feel it in her bones. She chimed Ms. Atwood’s assistant to arrange a meeting.

  *

  The restaurant where Ava was meeting Ms. Atwood was located in the historical part of Silicon Valley. The high-end décor of the charming spot was inspired from a time when people sat around by candlelight, imbibing fine wines and overindulging in sumptuous foods. Some might call it lavish, but Ava thought it was over the top for her meeting with Ms. Atwood.

  The hostess—a tall brunette in an elegant black dress—looked Ava up and down. Ava was underdressed for the place. “Your party hasn’t arrived yet. You can wait over there,” she said, pointing to a dark corner.

  Ava decided to hit the restroom to fix herself up before Ms. Atwood arrived. She pulled back her auburn hair and put on some lip gloss. The woman next to her was busy slathering shimmer onto her cheeks. Ava thought about asking for a drop to enhance her skin, but decided simplicity would have to do. She removed her bulky jacket and unbuttoned the top of her blouse to loosen up. There was nothing she could do about her boots.

  She returned to the hostess, and the woman quickly reached for her jacket and tucked it away. “Your party has arrived.” She led her to the back of the restaurant where Ms. Atwood was seated in a corner booth. The candelabra almost took up the entire table. Ms. Atwood looked like royalty. Her white hair was slicked back and she had on an elegant black dress. Ava was embarrassed for not being more attentive to her own appearance.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Strader.” Ms. Atwood stood up and kissed Ava’s cheek.

  “The sommelier will be here soon.” The hostess spoke with a soft allure.

  “Thank you, my dear.” Ms. Atwood gently stroked the young woman’s hand, which Ava thought was strange. She smiled at Ava. “They take excellent care of me here.”

  “I can see that.” Ava sat down. “Now, Ms. Atwood, I’ve asked to meet with you because…” Ava started to speak when a gentleman wearing a black suit approached the table, holding a wine menu.

  “Good evening, Ms. Atwood,” he said, bowing.

  Ava was growing impatient with all the pretentious ceremony. She wanted to get down to business.

  “Good evening, Robert. We’re having steak. Why don’t you bring a bottle of my favorite Cabernet?”

  Robert bowed again. “Indeed, ma’am.”

  “Hope that’s okay with you, Ava. May I call you that? It’s such a lovely name.”

  “Of course. However, I’m sorry to say, I don’t eat steak.”

  “Oh, dear. We’ll just have to order you something else.” She held out a menu, which Ava ignored.

  “Actually, I won’t be staying for dinner. I don’t plan on taking too much of your time.”

  Ms. Atwood reached over and held Ava’s hands. “I’m honored to share my evening with you. It gets quite lonely at the academy.”

  Robert returned with the bottle of wine and poured a small amount for Ms. Atwood to sip. She beamed with delight and nodded. He poured a full glass for Ava, who wasn’t much of a drinker. She liked to keep her mind sharp. The last time she got tipsy was at Joseph’s award ceremony some years earlier, where he had been given a medal of honor for their victory in the southwest battles. She politely took a sip of the wine and found the robust flavor so appealing that she took a few more. A warm sensation trickled through her body, and for the first time in years she felt relaxed enough to take in a full breath.

  “Excellent choice,” Ava said, setting the glass down.

  “I’m delighted you approve.” Ms. Atwood summoned over a waiter and gave instructions to change out one of the steaks for a vegetarian meal.

  “As I was saying, Ms. Atwood . . .”

  “Please, dear. Let’s discuss business after we eat. Don’t want to spoil our appetites.”

  Ava picked up the glass of wine, sensing it would be a long night.

  “Why don’t you tell me about your life? Such an exciting tale. The great escape from Morray’s city center.” Ms. Atwood beamed.

  “Yes, but I like to keep things simple these days.” Ava looked away modestly.

  “Do you not like to discuss it? The fall of the Los Angeles City Center?” Ms. Atwood’s pale eyes glittered in the candlelight.

  “It was a long time ago. I don’t think about it much,” Ava lied.

  “But how could something so monumental ever leave one’s memory? You defeated the most powerful force the world has ever known. You changed everything.”

  “I had help.” Ava sipped some more wine. She hoped the food would arrive soon before she got too tipsy.

  “Yes, of course, you had help from your now-husband, General Joseph Strader, and his men. I find it most astounding that a group of rogue Outsiders were able to pull off such a gargantuan feat and take down the all-powerful Morray.”

  “It was his time to go—his reign was over. When fate makes its choice, there’s little point in fighting it.”

  “Very poetic, Ava.” Ms. Atwood poured some more wine into each of their glasses.

  “And what about you? You must’ve been happy to see the walls of the Silicon Valley City Center come down. Your contributions to the academy have helped so many cadets move into important roles. Creating strong soldiers to protect our freedom.”

  “Freedom has many definitions.”

  Ava didn’t understand what she meant.

  The waiter brought over the food, and Ms. Atwood began cutting into her steak. “Absolutely delectable,” she said, stuffing a bite into her mouth.

  Ava took a bite of food, savoring each succulent flavor and wondering how grilled vegetables could taste so delicious. “This is exquisite,” she said.

  “Yes, I find it’s important to reward ourselves.”

  Ava nodded eagerly. She had been working nonstop. Years of conducting mainframe searches while trying to be a good wife to Joseph and a loving mother to Grace. “I’ve been so busy searching for Morray these last sixteen years, I haven’t made time to enjoy life’s finer points,” she said.

  “Honestly, dear, it sounds like you’ve just exchanged one prison for another.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” Ava was becoming flustered. The wine was getting to her head. She drank some water to dilute the twirling feeling.

  “We all must work hard to get what we want. Isn’t that right?” Ms. Atwood’s grin spread across her entire face, and her intense gaze dug deep into Ava. Something seemed sickly familiar.

  Ava remembered why she was there. “I’m glad you mentioned work. As you know, we have quite a task ahead of us. I met with Director Faraday, and he has put me on probation until I’ve been fully trained.”

  “Yes, I know. I requested it.”

  “I’m confused. Don’t you want to locate Morray?”

  “Of course, but at the academy there are rules and stipulations we must abide by. I can’t give special attention to someone because they’re famous, or because they once held a high position.”

  Ava detected an underlying bitterness in Ms. Atwood’s tone. This change in attitude was surprising.

  “Pardon me, Ms. Atwood, but my notoriety has nothing to do with this current assignment. I’m here to find Morray. The last thing we need is that diabolical megalomaniac returning and taking away everything all of us have worked so hard to obtain.”

  Ms. Atwood set down her knife and fork. She carefully wiped her mouth with the crisp white napkin.

  “Rules are r
ules, Mrs. Strader.” She pushed herself away from the table and got up to leave. She stood over Ava. “See what I mean about discussing business before dinner? I’ve lost my appetite.” She walked toward the exit.

  Ava stumbled out of her chair, dizzy from the wine, and chased after Ms. Atwood.

  Outside, the brisk night air smacked Ava’s face and rapidly cleared her head.

  “Wait, please,” she called out. “I’m sorry. I’ve been working on this for many years, and I believe we’ve had a breakthrough. Every minute we wait, we’re putting ourselves at risk.”

  “I understand. Truly, I do. As soon as you complete your training, we’ll consider taking you off probation.”

  “Consider?”

  “I’m sorry, but rules are rules. Until you hear otherwise, I suggest staying out of the lab.” She touched Ava’s cheek. “Don’t worry; I’m quite sure you will find Morray again.”

  Ava stood in front of the restaurant, speechless. There was nothing more to say to convince anyone to lift the ridiculous probation. No decisions could be swayed. She was starting to think maybe it was a glitch. Maybe they were right, and she was overreacting? “Thank you for dinner,” she told Ms. Atwood.

  “You can’t win every battle. Just remember that you inspired a time for change in the past, and I’m sure you will again.”

  Those words struck her inner core. Something about a time for change . . .

  12

  By the end of week one, Grace had learned about cleaning wounds, digging out bullets, and sewing up skin. She had only fainted once, but it was a small incident that happened in the back of class. Nobody noticed because they were too busy cutting into their hologram cadavers.

  In the Delta training room, Blythe plopped down into the lounger. “How’s it going, Combrat?”

  Grace was too tired to ward off Blythe and her endless barrage of insults. The mental energy required for her studies and team drills didn’t leave room for anything else. She had three more weeks to prove herself, and already she was lagging.

  “I learned how to dig a bullet out of someone’s gut,” she said proudly.

  “Hmm,” Blythe grumbled.

  “Still makes me wanna hurl, but it’s getting better.”

  “Not bad, kiddo.”

  Grace did a double take, shocked by the almost supportive comment.

  Missakian entered the room, wearing a new headband. He wore a different color every day. This one was bright yellow. Grace thought he must’ve packed an extra suitcase just for headbands.

  He sat in the lounger. “Can’t keep a good man down.” This was becoming his catchphrase.

  They waited for Lucas to arrive. Grace hadn’t said more than a few words to him since their awkward chat about “keeping it professional.” Mostly nods and yes sirs. Whenever one of those annoying butterfly-like feelings fluttered about in her stomach, she’d lock herself into position as though she were going up against an opponent. Good thing her resentment had lodged a sizable wedge between them. She had no problem focusing on the drills instead of him.

  Lucas entered the room, bright eyed and raring to go. “Afternoon, team. You ready to kick some butt?”

  Grace wanted to kick his for saying this every day, but she just nodded and said her obligatory yes sir, then hooked up to the system panel . . .

  Inside the virtual, the team stood in the middle of a forest on the outskirts of an abandoned village.

  “This place looks beat to hell,” Blythe said, scoping out the area.

  “Looks like ’round my parts,” Missakian said, which meant they were somewhere in the Pacific Northwest.

  Grace thought about Emerald Mountain but she kept her mouth shut, not wanting to overstep Lucas. Besides, Sam said it was a dead cell and her mother never got back to her, so it was probably empty. She brushed it aside and kept her attention on the drill at hand. Otherwise, Lucas would drill into her. She had suffered enough embarrassment for one week.

  The village was a ghost town. Empty shells of crumbling cabins sat where a small community once lived long ago. The roofs were caved in, and chunks of wood had fallen to the ground to rot. Lucas led the team along the perimeter of the forest, staying hidden in the tree coverage. Grace trailed behind Missakian and Blythe, carrying her bag of medical supplies. She had given the bag its own nickname: Dead Weight. Like the last couple of drills, they had no clue what might be waiting for them. It could be an ambush, or it could be nothing. The testing scenarios changed daily.

  Lucas stepped on a dead branch and the snap echoed all around. “Get down,” he ordered.

  Grace dropped to her stomach and craned her head to listen for any other movement that would signal a potential attack. Everything remained still and calm. Though each team member had their specific role, they were expected to perform in all areas because that’s what made a well-rounded soldier. Grace needed a win—not just for the team, but for her confidence. Today, she planned to claim her redemption. She scanned the village and noticed a patch of red in the window of one of the dilapidated cabins. She crawled up to Lucas. “Sir,” she whispered.

  “What is it, Strader?” he asked, irritated.

  “I see something in one of the windows. The second cabin from the left. See it?”

  He studied the area and nodded for Missakian and Blythe to move closer in. He addressed the team. “There might be someone out there. Not sure how many. Could be just one sniper, or a whole gang.”

  “One of us should draw out whatever it is,” said Missakian.

  “I’ll do it,” said Grace, looking at Lucas.

  He shook his head. “No way. We need you on medical in case someone gets hit.”

  “Come on, sir. Give me a chance.”

  He looked at Blythe and Missakian, who were both shaking their heads, not wanting Grace to steal their thunder.

  “I promise I won’t screw this up,” she begged. “For the team,” she added.

  “Fine, but don’t try to be the hero—that will bite you, and the rest of us, in the ass.”

  “Just cover me.” Grace felt a charge of energy and couldn’t help but smile. Finally, a chance to prove herself and get out from under. He tried to play it hard, but she saw a flicker in his eyes. Maybe they both needed a win.

  “Don’t screw this up, shitbird.” Blythe knocked the back of Grace’s head with her Browning automatic.

  “I’ll signal if it’s okay to move in,” Grace told the others before crawling to the edge of the trees and assessing the situation.

  There was no sign of movement in the rickety village. She removed a scalpel from her bag and tucked it into her waistband. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing. If she were going down, at least she’d be standing up. She emptied the rest of the bag’s contents onto the ground and shoved a heavy rock inside. Lucas watched with curiosity. This was her moment to shine. She stepped to the edge of the forest and flung the bag out toward the cabins while keeping an eye on the window. She noticed the red patch had disappeared. Someone was definitely out there. But no shots were fired. She hoped whoever it was didn’t have a weapon as she sprinted toward the cluster of cabins, taking cover behind the closest one. Still no shots. The cabin in question was less than fifty feet away. She needed to loop around to the back and sneak up on the target. Low to the ground, she crawled the length of the cabin, then jumped up and darted across the path to the back. She waited by the opening, holding her scalpel low by her side, ready for attack. A streak of red shot across the room and dove behind a pile of bricks where a woodburning stove used to be.

  “Got you cornered,” Grace said, inching her way over toward the pile.

  “Don’t hurt me, please.” The voice was soft and high, like a child.

  “Come out,” Grace ordered.

  A young girl wearing a red coat inched her way out from behind the pile. She had scraggly brown hair and dirt stains on her sunken cheeks. She seemed harmless, but Grace kept her guard. She knew better.

 
“What are you doing here?” Grace asked.

  “They left me,” she cried.

  “Who?”

  Before the girl spoke, Blythe barreled into the cabin, aiming her rifle. When she noticed the little girl, she broke out laughing and slapped Grace’s back.

  “Nice work, soldier. Caught yourself a ten-year-old.” Blythe walked over to the girl and squatted down. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  Grace noticed the girl had one of her hands behind her back. She lunged forward, knocking the girl backward, and pinned her to the ground.

  “What the hell are you doing?” yelled Blythe.

  “Saving your ass.” Grace slammed the girl’s left hand against the ground until she released the knife.

  Blythe picked up the knife and tucked it into her belt.

  “I didn’t wanna do it,” the girl cried.

  “Do what?” Grace kept the girl pinned to the ground and patted her down for any other weapons. There was something metal under the girl’s coat. Grace yanked open the coat and panic gripped her chest—the girl was a ticking bomb.

  “Blythe, get outta here and clear the area.” Sweat dripped down Grace’s forehead onto the girl’s dirt-stained cheeks.

  “That’s some messed up shit, using a kid like that. Good luck with this one—hope you don’t spray chunks.” Blythe ran from the cabin.

  “What’s your name?” Grace carefully rolled off the girl.

  “Louisa,” she whimpered.

  “Okay, Louisa, I need you to stay where you are and remain still. I’m gonna defuse this thing. Close your eyes and think good thoughts.”

  The girl nodded and closed her eyes.

  Grace examined the device to see what she was working with. The thing was like an ancient artifact. The metal box had a small clock attached to the front with wires coming in and out. Two minutes before the long hand struck twelve . . . Dismantling bombs wasn’t her area of expertise, but she had studied all types of explosives back home. She’d need to cut one of the wires without tripping the tilt switch and interrupting the current. If she cut the wrong one, she’d activate the detonator and blast both of them to pieces—and the fallout would probably hit the others. The ticking clock drummed in Grace’s ears. There were too many wires. She didn’t want to cut the wrong one and screw up the mission. She’d have to go another route.