by Peter Darley
“Maybe later.” Heather’s Z-Watch buzzed. “Who the hell could that be?” She checked the number and discovered it was anonymous. Her immediate impulse was to ignore it, unable to cope with making disinterested apologies to some salesperson. But something told her it was more than that.
“I’ll get out of your way while you take the call,” Robin said.
Heather nodded, set the phone to ‘voice only’, and raised her wrist to her ear. “Hello?”
“Ms. Addison?” a strong-sounding male voice said.
“Yes.”
“I’m so glad I caught you. My name is Jed Crane. I’m the director of the Emergency Defense and Intelligence Division in Washington D.C.”
Her immediate thought was that B.J. had been busted, and this guy was fishing for evidence against him.
“Ms. Addison?”
“I-I’m here.”
“I don’t want you to be alarmed. My first concern is for you. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Just a little shaken.”
“I can understand that, and I want to do everything I can to help you. There’s someone here who’d like to talk to you. I’ll pass the phone over to him.”
She waited for a few seconds, and then a familiar voice came on the line. “Heather?”
Her heart leaped. “B.J.? Oh, my God, I’ve been crazy worried about you. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I don’t want you to worry. The director is helping me, and he’s in complete approval of my actions. But we might need your help.”
“Well, sure. But what can I do?”
“The Zenith Corporation is a government-contracted organization, and you are one of the New York office’s very few survivors. If you’re in agreement, I’ll come up there and pick you up. There could be a new job in it for you, too.”
“But I still don’t—”
“I’ll explain everything when I see you. Could you give me your address?”
Heather was silent for a moment as she considered her response. “I-I don’t have one anymore. I’m staying with a friend. The earthquake and tsunami trashed my apartment building.”
“Jersey City, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, can I come and pick you up?”
She felt a sudden surge of excitement and didn’t really care why B.J.’s department wanted to see her. But she needed B.J. in that moment, more than anyone. Just the thought of seeing him again helped to ease her sense of anguish. Damn, I love that guy. “OK. When will you be here?”
“Probably tomorrow.”
Barely conscious of her own smile, she said, “That’d be great. Do you have anything to write with? I’ll tell you where I am.”
***
Jed Crane waited anxiously as the Senate Select Committee consorted in private over his proposal. Left alone facing the empty bench in the courtroom-like hearing room, his uncertainty plagued him. He’d had to think of so much. What was he really going to do with Heather Addison? Her status as an employee of Zenith, New York, added a convincing, temporary spin for his ruse. But in reality, she was utterly useless to EDID. He needed her to act as a justification for a cover-up, and nothing more.
She’d been wary of him on the phone. Obviously, she’d figured out there was always the chance he’d been fishing for evidence against B.J. He knew passing the phone over to B.J. would allay her fears.
However, the Senate Select Committee were among the most humorless, intimidating, judgmental bastards he’d ever known. He had to be convincing because he knew they’d cut him no slack.
After a seeming eternity, they returned and took their positions on the bench. Jed watched them place their copies of his proposal file on the desk before them.
A stout man in his fifties shot him a cold stare. Jed recognized him as Senator Christopher Sloane. “Well, Director Crane,” Sloane said. “It’s certainly an interesting proposition. We do, however, have a number of questions.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You say you made a split second decision to dispatch this operative to New York the moment the crisis occurred.”
“That’s correct.”
“Did you consider the wider implications, such as foreign powers learning of this technology when you sent it out into a media spotlight?”
“With all due respect, Senator, that position is somewhat ludicrous. If we kept every piece of technological hardware out of sight, every soldier would step onto the battlefield naked. This equipment was designed to be utilized, not hidden away to become a secret lab ornament.”
He watched the senators glance at one another, stern-faced.
“And what of the Zenith personnel your operative rescued?”
Jed swallowed hard. “Unfortunately, the CEO, Blaine Lucas, perished prior to my operative’s arrival. Nevertheless, fifty seven employees were rescued, including a number of technicians and developers. We intend to enlist their aid in our own labs temporarily, until they can re-establish their positions in other offices of the Zenith Corporation.”
A couple of encouraging smiles cracked the lips of two senators—enough to give Jed hope his story had paid off.
Senator John Bambury seated at the far left of the bench, caught Jed’s attention. “Director Crane, would you mind telling us why you dispatched this particular operative to New York?”
“Yes, sir. Brandon Drake, Jr. is not only a committed and conscientious operative, he also has an I.Q. within the genius range, and physical capabilities above the norm. He’s a recognized martial arts champion, and has demonstrated an aptitude for altruism and honor. He was my first and only choice.”
The senator nodded, his eyes scanning the pages of the file before him. “Now, tell me if I’m wrong, but the ‘INT’ in the unit’s serial number, INT-Nine, denotes the word Interceptor. Is that correct?”
Jed smiled. “Yes, sir. More specifically, it means Interceptor Nine-series. It’s the ninth generation advancement of the original template designed by the late Professor Abraham Jacobson in twenty-sixteen. The first TALOS model was based on the elements of INT-One that were possible in twenty-seventeen.”
“We’re aware of that. But didn’t Professor Jacobson name INT after the comic book character created in honor of Agent Drake’s father?”
Jed tried in vain to suppress a chuckle. “I believe so.”
“You see, we have an issue with that. It seems there’s an attitude toward all this that suggests nobody is taking it seriously.”
“I can assure you that’s not true, sir. It’s merely a longstanding serial number. The INT-Nine is a prototype for the future of military armor. At present, we have only one. I’m proposing we utilize it for use in crises within a six-thousand-mile radius of Washington D.C. That’s the extent of the unit’s power cell.”
“How far toward completion is this armor?”
“Barring an adjustment to the temperature controls, it’s ready to go.”
Silence filled the room, and Jed felt his brow dampening.
Finally, Sloane spoke. “All right, Director Crane. We’re satisfied with your answers . . . for now. We’ll be submitting your proposal, Project: Interceptor, to the president, with our recommendation. Depending on the president’s sense of humor, you might want to consider changing the name.”
Jed exhaled as all of the tension left his body. “Thank you, sir.”
Sloane stood and pointed an index finger warningly in Jed’s direction. “But one screw-up, and our recommendation will be immediately withdrawn. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
***
Jed paced his office endlessly, knowing how close he was to success. B.J. was off the hook, and his future was now down to a phone call.
His desk phone buzzed. This is it. Eagerly, he answered. “Crane here.”
“Director Crane, this is Candice in personnel. There’s a Mr. Faraday here to see you.”
Although not the call he was expecting, the announcement induced an apprec
iative grin. “Thank you, Candice. Please provide Mr. Faraday with a security pass, and send him up.”
“Will do, sir.”
Jed waited for five minutes while Tyler was taken through security.
Then the knock came at his door, and he walked across the room to open it. “Ty!”
“How are you doing, Jed?” Tyler said, grinning.
“I’m doing great. Come on in.” The two men hugged briefly. “So, what brings you out this way?”
“Oh, Belinda saw the news and put two and two together.”
“You’ve seen B.J.?”
“Yes. He tells us you might have a new job for him.”
“I’m trying. Listen Ty, I know it goes without saying, but this is a top secret operation. You can’t say a word about it to anyone.”
“Of course. I’m not gonna jeopardize my own nephew. I love the hell out of him.”
“I understand.”
Tyler came closer to him, his demeanor all business. “Can you give me anything on the suit? Any details I might be able to work on?”
“It’s still in the prototype stage,” Jed replied. “It’d be ten years before I’d be able to leak you anything about it, and I’ll have retired by then. The tech involved is not only way beyond anything commercially available, but it’s way over my head too.”
Ty nodded, clearly disappointed.
“Take a seat. I’ll pour us a drink,” Crane said. “I’m just waiting for a call to find out if B.J. can pick up his dad’s legacy.”
“Which legacy?” Tyler said gravely.
“The good one. How much does he know about the other?”
“Nothing, as far as I know. I dread the day he finds out what happened back then.”
“There’s no reason he should. If he did, it’d mess him up pretty badly, but I’m sure he could handle it. He’s a strong kid.” Jed’s desk phone buzzed again. “Just give me a moment.”
“Sure.”
Jed switched off the speaker and put the receiver to his ear. His heart pounded as a voice of authority came through the earpiece. “Yes, sir. . . He is? He did? Thank you, sir. . . I’ll be in touch.” The call ended. Crane slumped in his chair, his mind reeling.
“Jed?” Tyler said. “Are you all right?”
He looked up. “I’m fine. That was the vice president.”
“Seriously? Can you tell me, or—?”
“The world just got itself a new Interceptor.”
Seven
The Veep
Two days had passed since the president had given Project: Interceptor the green light. Having set in motion a plan to justify his fabricated story, Jed sat at his desk awaiting the imminent arrival of his potential new recruit. Everything about it breached the rules, and he knew he had to come up with an idea for his newcomer rapidly.
A knock at the door distracted his train of thought. “Come in.”
The door opened and B.J. eased his head around the crack. “Director, I have someone here to see you.”
Crane stood and came around his desk. As the door opened farther, he was momentarily struck by B.J.’s stunningly-attractive, blonde companion.
“Uncle Jed, this is Heather. She and I go way back.” B.J. turned to her. “Heather, this is Uncle Jed, AKA, Sir.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Heather.” Jed offered his hand.
“Likewise, sir,” she said.
“Come on in and take a seat. How was your trip?”
“Traffic wasn’t too bad,” B.J. said.
“Good. Let’s get down to business. The president has approved Project: Interceptor. Your security clearance has been upgraded.” He turned to Heather. “And since you already know all about this, so has yours.”
Heather glanced at B.J. with uncertainty in her eyes. “Security clearance? But I don’t work here.”
“For now,” Crane said. “Your clearance is a default position. We had no choice due to the circumstances. But I’m hoping you’ll consider working with us.”
“Working with you? Doing what?”
Crane leaned forward with an attentive stare. “What was your position with the Zenith Corporation?”
“A couple of hours before the tragedy, I’d been promoted to chief executive. We were having an office celebration when the earthquake hit. Unfortunately, I never had the opportunity to put it into practice.”
“Chief executive? At your age?”
“I’d worked really hard.”
“I’ll bet.” Crane’s mind reeled as ideas flashed before him. What were her strengths? Then—what weren’t? She was beautiful. She was successful and clearly driven. She was confident and unhesitant. Her immediate response, ‘I’d worked really hard’, came with no delay. She was a go-getter.
Project: Interceptor, when called upon, would result in much public exposure. Heather might have been part of an elaborate excuse, but that was before Jed knew anything about her. In less than a minute, he’d learned everything he needed and realized she was vital. “I can help you, Heather. I know you’ve lost much of the life you had, and I can’t give it back to you. But I think I can provide some restitution for those losses.”
She shot him a confused look. “I don’t understand.”
“Do you have any experience in public speaking?”
“Of course.”
“No stage fright?”
“No. I made many presentations and sales speeches for Zenith.”
This is too good to be true. “What I have in mind will require that you work closely with B.J. You’ll also have to go through further security clearances, and submit to at least one polygraph per year.”
“Polygraph?”
“It’s standard security procedure.”
She glanced at B.J., clearly perturbed.
“I have to do it too. It’s no big deal,” B.J said. “But Uncle Jed, what are you getting at?”
Crane smiled. “Heather, if you’re in agreement, I would like to propose you for the position of official PR representative for Project: Interceptor. This would mean you working closely with us and making numerous TV appearances.”
Heather maintained a professional posture. There was no reaction in her eyes. Crane noticed B.J. trying to gauge her expression, but she gave nothing away.
“I realize this might come as a lot to take in so soon after what happened in New York—”
“How can I say no?” she said. “I lost everything, and you’re offering me the opportunity of a lifetime.”
There was no emotion in her words, simply pragmatic realism. He studied her eyes and quickly realized she would require very little training. Heather Addison was a survivor. “You’ll need to do a few screen tests and have some coaching in interviews, but I have no doubt you’ll be fine.”
The phone buzzed. After excusing himself, Crane took the call. “Yes . . . Of course. . . I’ll make the necessary arrangements.” The call ended, and he turned back to B.J. and Heather. “I’ll take full responsibility and arrange for a temporary security pass for Heather. I want you both down in the lab. This is a perfect opportunity for Heather’s debriefing.”
“What’s going on?” B.J said.
“The vice president is coming over to scrutinize the operation. I want the two of you down there doing your stuff when he arrives.”
“The veep?”
“The veep.”
“Wait a second,” Heather said. “I didn’t say yes.”
Jed felt his heart sinking. “You said you couldn’t say no.”
“I said ‘how can I say no?’ That’s a question, not a statement.”
Crane grinned at her feistiness but he noticed B.J. cringing. She’s sure to keep you on your toes, B.J. “OK, let’s get this settled, Ms. Addison. Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
B.J. stood in the lab wearing the INT-Nine. Heather looked on, appearing fascinated.
“So, what have you done, Tito?” B.J. said.
“Just the final touches. It has temperature circuit
s woven into the alloy.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, let’s just say you found yourself in extreme heat or cold. A sensor in the bonded molecular structure will activate a counter to balance it to room temperature. So, if you found yourself in one-thousand-degree heat, it would automatically defer to one-thousand-degree cold to bring it back to balance.”
B.J. shivered at the thought. “One-thousand-degree cold? I’ll be an icicle.”
“No, no, no. You’re not getting it. The temperature has to exactly counter the environment, otherwise you’re gonna fry. Same the other way. If you fell into a vat of liquid nitrogen, it would heat up to the same counter-temperature to keep you alive. It’s all automatically programmed, so don’t worry.”
“I get it,” Heather said.
“You do?” B.J. said.
“Sure. It’s basic thermodynamics. I absolutely love that armor. In the last hour, I’ve gained a serious insight into its workings. It’s a sound principle.”
“A sound principle?” B.J. said. “Oh, I’m glad you’re here to assure me of these things, H. What if the hot or cold thing kicks in automatically without any external trigger?”
“That can’t happen,” Tito said. “There’s no activation sensor for it. You’re not going to accidentally knock something and set it off. It only reacts to temperature.”
The elevator door at the far end of the lab opened, and an entourage of suits entered. Jed led them in, alongside a tall man who sported a full head of brown hair flecked with gray.
Heather whispered to B.J., “All right, it’s just the veep. Imagine him sitting on the toilet.”
“I’d rather not.”
Heather vainly suppressed a giggle.
“Mr. Vice President,” Crane said, “this is our new defense initiative, and the team behind it.”
The vice president approached B.J. and offered his hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vice President,” B.J. said.
“The pleasure is all mine. I must say, what an extraordinary suit of armor you’re wearing.”
B.J. smiled at the distinguished, slightly-Southern tone of Vice President Gabriel Myers. As many times as he’d seen him on TV, there was a certain rush in personally making the man’s acquaintance. “I agree, sir. It’s like wearing a fortress. Its features are staggering, and I’m still learning new ones.”