The Infected [Books 1-6]

by P. S. Power

  “Hey. Everything is going pretty well. I did catch some guy from Cake Kings trying to sneak in with a pint of cream for some reason. It was expired but hadn’t turned yet. I dumped it on his head to check. Figured I was going to get in trouble for that, but the Network people thought it was hilarious, instead of criminal assault. So did the cake guy. I think we’re supposed to try and prank them back, but that didn’t sound very professional, so I figured I’d let the others deal with that part.” There was mirth hidden in the words, but it was a controlled thing, so Marcia ignored it.

  “OK. Probably could have done it without dumping cream on people, but that seems to have worked out. You’re correct on the rest. This is actual work for you and the IPB can’t be seen as endorsing sabotage. Especially since we can do a heck of a lot better than just a pint of old cream. I take it that was meant to be put in something? Otherwise what would be the point? I mean Penny or Mark could trash their entire set and never even be seen doing it. For that matter Denis or Kerry could do it too. I suppose that means, if we’re going to be sporting, we should send Warren in.” It was a plan. The idea tickled her for a second, but she shook her head. She was the adult here after all.

  “Not that we should respond. Not yet at least. Have you been keeping in touch with Cooper?” On duty they were supposed to use last names. It made it all seem more real somehow. More military. It was her rule, one she’d put into play nearly fifteen years before, so she kind of had to do it now.

  “Yeah. She’s been watching the back entrance, and staying with the cake crew when Warren and Mark had to go be on panels. Lancaster gave me this thing.” She taped the headset she wore gently; it was black and had a wire that hugged the girls face like a black worm.

  “It’s special, since it lets me hear her at a distance on a time delay. We should really all get one of these, it’s pretty cool. Here…” She tapped over her right ear and spoke in her high pitched voice, trying to sound official.

  “Cooper, report.” Waiting she nodded. “Got it, situation normal here. Carry on. Report if anything happens.”

  Grinning Bridget tapped the side of the flat black piece again.

  “Like that. I know I sound like an idiot, but it gets a little boring, just standing around. I almost hope those guys try something else. It’s the only thing keeping me going. That and the fact that Mark promised me cake later. After the show though. I loves me some cake!”

  Marcia didn’t, it was just so much goo in her mouth as far as she could ever tell, but she nodded anyway. It was normal to get bored, and finding something to keep them entertained and on task was a good idea. Thinking for a second she shrugged. She didn’t have anything to do really, so why not?

  “Let’s set up a recon mission? We’ll send in Penny and Chris to see what might be coming. I can guard the back door for a while. It will be fun. Possibly entertaining even.”

  That got things into motion pretty quickly, since everyone was just sitting in the audience chairs, with a few people from the public, or possibly the Network. It was hard to tell. The people working in the fake kitchen were all on camera, but no one was paying much attention to the rest of them. Oddly enough Tobin was working away on stage, making sandwiches for everyone, complex things on what looked like fresh bread. Mark had probably made it earlier in the day, or had it made at least. He wouldn’t let people eat store bought if he could help it.

  After a few minutes of activity, as Bridget arranged the operation with the others, since she was in charge, the bitchy director of Marks’s cooking show snapped an order out at Tobin. An unreasonable one at that.

  “You… Toby, be taller and orient yourself toward the counter, not facing away to the left. What are you anyway? Three foot tall? Someone get him something to stand on.” It wasn’t the words as much as the tone, which got the little guy to turn brilliant green instead of the black and green he had been.

  For a second Marcia thought Denis was going to lay into the woman, but instead he just looked at Tobin, who shifted color again just as fast as he had before, to a nice brown and black that was kind of like what Lauren had going on. She noticed it because the armored woman was the one that brought him a chair to stand on. He climbed up before looking at the woman and smiling. It was a massive thing that just about looked like his head was going to split

  “Four foot-two, ma’am. I’m not really here to be on camera, Warren just asked me to help make these sandwiches for the picnic later. Also, it’s Tobin. Not Toby.” He didn’t sound put out by any of it though and just returned to making the sandwiches.

  The director wasn’t done with him though, for some reason.

  “Hmmm. Tobin. We can work with that. Can you shift color on purpose? Maybe something to match the cake being made? Like a chameleon? Do that and we can have you serve the judges later. We’d need a cream color for that I think, or maybe pink. That cake is too boring to beat the other show, so we need to dress it up a little. Presentation counts.” She was just talking, as if it weren’t a discussion, but Tobin answered her anyway.

  “I can only do green, brown and black. You should get Kerry to float it in anyway. It’s safer than carrying it, and it’s huge. Besides, people don’t normally want their food touched by Infected people that look like me. Like it will make the food bad.” It was just matter of fact sounding, but the woman nodded, which made half the room want to punch her, no doubt.

  Marcia kind of felt like it at least. Until she spoke.

  “Yes. That’s true. Still, lots to do in the kitchen that isn’t food handling and I’ve seen you washing your hands constantly, so it isn’t a real thing, just prejudice. You’re the singer, right? We should get you in the show at least part time. You can partner with Prime and maybe do up some dishes? Or work with Denis and Kerry, actually making some dishes. I’ll have to check that out with Mark, since it’s his show, but I like the idea as a bit. Looks like you’re a decent worker.” She started ignoring him then and Denis went back to what he was doing, which looked like making about fifty pounds of frosting. Three different types if Marcia had it right.

  She headed behind the set to where the back doors were. They had an alarm on them, but it had been disabled, since people were using it as an entrance too regularly for that kind of thing. This kind of duty wasn’t strictly needed, not for a cooking show, but the fact was that the security provided seemed pretty lax so far. She’d noticed a single guard walking around and assumed there were others, but they were mainly there to stop people from stealing the camera equipment and lights. Those were expensive. Worse, they were needed and people in the industry apparently felt entitled to “borrow” those kinds of things from other sets without asking. There was a chance that terrorists could attack too though which had to be taken seriously and was best handled by someone that knew what they were doing. They couldn’t cover the whole building though, not without permission. It meant anyone could go almost anywhere, if they were careful.

  Almost as if to prove that point, the man that Penny had followed from the bar walked in just then. Dressed like a tourist in a light green button up shirt and tan colored walking shorts. He even had a straw hat on and sunglasses. Like that would hide who he was?

  She smiled and walked over to him directly, not waiting for him to realize who she was.

  After all, she didn’t want him to get away again, he’d done it twice, she realized, since he’d been in the crowd at the restaurant they got asked to leave too.

  “Miss Turner?” The man took his glasses off, slipping then into his front pocket without any concern for the lenses. They looked cheap, so maybe he just didn’t care? He held out his right hand to shake.

  “I believe we have some acquaintances in common? From your old line of work?” He didn’t smile about it, the look on his face being somewhat stern instead. It was a trick she’d learned herself in training, decades before. Act like a person was in trouble and they’d very often respond as if they were inferior to you. That or get pissed and adv
ersarial. She decided to skip both those options and didn’t reach out to shake, leaving the man hanging. After a bit, he pulled his hand back and smiled.

  “I’m Wilson. Sandra Barris asked me to look you up, since we were both in town and might just have similar interests at the current time? She says you should give her a call to check things out.” The man wasn’t good looking, not close up. Not ugly either, he just looked like a businessman on vacation. Most of the CIA really did, outside the movies. Businessmen and college professors. The good ones did at least.

  Sandra Barris. It was a name she hadn’t heard in a long time. Ten years at least. Her old handler back when she’d been just an up and coming field operative and didn’t have any pesky super-powers to get in her way. Instead of asking more questions she pulled her cell phone out and tried to remember how to get in touch with the woman. Sighing, she dialed Conroy’s number instead. It was embarrassing, but short of calling up the CIA headquarters, she didn’t have any other way of getting the information. Wilson could give her a number, of course, but then she could end up talking to anyone. Did she even remember what the woman sounded like for certain? No, she’d have to do this the hard way. Mike might not have the number either, but he’d been on her mind and she really kind of wanted to talk to him anyway. If he was someplace that could be reached.

  That wasn’t certain, she knew that. He often stayed out in the wilderness for days at a time, living off the land and hiking.

  The phone picked up on the second ring.

  “Mike Conroy. If you want me to changed long distance providers no thanks. I also don’t need more life insurance, though I might be interested in a time share someplace warm, if the price is right.” He sounded jovial enough, his voice perhaps a bit rougher than it used to be, age catching up with him as the decades passed. He’d been a few years older than she was when they married and like a normal person he aged. Unlike her.

  “Mike? It’s Marcia.” Now her voice sounded timid and like she was scared suddenly. Not too bad, but enough that she’d have noticed it, given everything, if the call was coming in to her. Worse, Conroy was better at that kind of thing than she was.

  “What’s the situation?” He sounded cold suddenly, his voice filled with steel. For a minute she wondered if it was about her, about how things had ended. Had he finally decided to just hate her for what had happened? She couldn’t blame him, but it would hurt if he did. He kept talking though, going worried instead of commanding after a bit.

  “Is… Well, you should be all right, but… is it the boy Cutthroat sent for training? Brian Yi? I know he’s been put into some dangerous set-ups. Crap. I’ve tried to follow his career over the last few months. In the news a lot. Something finally take him down?” The man actually sounded sad about it. Like he really thought something could take Brian without it being on the news.

  Marcia grinned. At least she had good news to share there.

  “Nope. Brian is just fine. On vacation even, a real one, after a fashion, in Miami. Beach and picnics, all that. No, I need Sandra Barris’ contact information and was just wondering if you’d have that around? There’s… A situation going on here. One that I want to run by you.” Looking over her shoulder she walked away from the man near the door, Wilson. It was probably a fake name, but as good as any, she guessed.

  Holding her hand over the receiver so her lips couldn’t be seen easily, to prevent reading, she explained the whole thing quickly.

  “Three of the old crew, Weathers, Mic and Harpo are missing, some of their family members too. It’s hinky and really doesn’t feel right. Lancaster, Reyes and I are on it here, along with some others, but we’ve passed it on to the FBI, because it’s not in our jurisdiction. Now a guy is showing up and claiming Sandra sent him. He was here last night too and had ID saying he was someone other than the name he’s given and had no fingerprints on file anywhere. Cellophane took his wallet for us.”

  There was silence for a time from the device, but she could make out breathing, so gave Conroy the time he needed.

  “OK. I’ll be there in… Sixteen hours. They were my crew, I owe them that. Besides, it will let me chat with you and the others. Maybe arrange a desert survival class with Yi? Cellophane… That’s Penny? The girl that can’t be seen? We should get her in on it too. Sounds like she needs to be ready to go it alone at almost any time, since people can just forget about her and all that.”

  Marcia shook her head. He’d always been good about knowing things like that.

  “That’s the one. I… Really, you don’t need to come. Like I said, we’re out of it for now. The only one who knows anything is Cal Morris and he took off last night. He brought us in, but he hinted he was forced to. I mean…” This was the hard part. It always was. “Well, I’d like to see you, if you want to take a pleasure trip? You can crash in our room. I’m with Penny and a few others. Don’t worry; we can make Bridget Chambers sleep on the floor, so it won’t be that bad. She’s young and limber enough for it. If you want to visit, I mean.” She sounded about fourteen suddenly, awkward and like she was asking a boy to a dance.

  “Be right there then. Oh, first… That info you needed? Let’s see… Bandon… Barris… Here you go.” She heard typing in the background.

  A few minutes later he got off the phone so she could dial the needed number before she forgot it. It wasn’t the kind of thing you wrote down after all.

  That led to an instant call to Barris, who answered on the first ring, her voice tense and old sounding. Then the woman had to be pushing sixty and had been a chronic smoker for years.

  “What?” She snapped, sounding grumpy and a little drunk. That part was out of the ordinary, since it should still be a work day as far as Marcia knew.

  “This is Turner. There’s a man here, calling himself Wilson? Said that I should confirm him being here with you? Know anything about it?” If not she’d just blitz the guy and take him down before he could try anything. She couldn’t be hurt, unless he had a significant mental talent of some kind, but her friends could. A stray bullet would pulp Tobin’s head for instance. The same with Denis. She wasn’t sure Brian wouldn’t manage to dodge somehow, but she couldn’t ensure he would either.

  It was funny, but of the people there, those were the ones she thought of first. Karen came in after that, then everyone else sort of tying up for last place. She almost felt a little bad for leaving Bridget out, but the kid could be annoying. Plus, realistically speaking, she could soak a few bullets to the head and not even be bruised the next day.

  Sandra laughed.

  “Fuck yes. I’ve been about ready to wet myself over the whole situation. This is fubar girl. Wilson, stands about six-one, average looks. Slightly balding and medium build?” It was one way to check a person out, or had been before camera phones.

  “Sounds right. Is he working in house or is this off the books?”

  “This is just an inquiry. In house and above board. An investigation into some of our own people, so legal.” She didn’t have to explain that the CIA wasn’t normally allowed to operate in country. Not only did everyone know that already, but Marcia had lived it for years.

  What she said meant a lot though, since one of the only times they were allowed to act on U.S. soil was when they were watching their own people. They only did that when they were suspecting one of theirs had turned to spying for a foreign power.

  That or if they were looking into an insurrection of some kind that started within their own ranks. It wasn’t exactly advertized, but it had happened twice in the last forty years that she knew of. Once when Nixon was in power. Later with Clinton. It had worked the first time; luckily power had stayed with the government as it existed, except the POTUS. The second time it happened had been a real coup attempt and that had gotten the IPB involved. It had ended with twenty-seven high ranking military and government officials being taken out and shot. The press reported it as a bunch of unrelated accidents. Plane crashes, car wrecks and in one case a man be
ing trampled by a horse.

  She’ led that mission herself. She’d been the horse.

  “I… see. Possibly at least. What level of confidence do you have in Wilson here?” It was just possible that she’d been put up to sending the man, possibly with a gun to her head. If that was the case, she’d say that Wilson was top notch. Not good or solid, but using those specific words. Top notch. It meant not to trust the person in front of her, an old code, but one they’d used the whole time they’d worked together.

  “He’s one of the best. Trustworthy, noble and brave, all that. Don’t gamble with him, but other than that, not too bad at all. My replacement, as soon as I can get the paperwork around. Jumping ship before it sinks.” It was a bad joke, but one that almost everyone used when they left the company.

  Like they were all a bunch of rats, scurrying for safety, knowing that there really wasn’t any.

  “OK. Well, we should get together sometime and rehash old times and all that. Talk to you later?” Marcia knew that wasn’t going to happen. She trusted Sandra for the most part, as much as you could a spook, but she’d never really liked her much.

  “Only if you get down to Tahiti.” The line went dead without more being said. Hopefully she’d just hung up.

  She gestured to Wilson who’d been standing by for nearly twenty minutes while she called people. It was a hazard of just showing up like he had. With her at least. Taking a person at their word just wasn’t something she did easily anymore. That had stopped when she found out her parents had lied to her about Santa. Since then it had all been about verifying what people said.

  “You seem to check out so far. Talk here, or do you want to wait? I’m on duty, watching the back exit. You know, terrorists and people trying to poison the food. Sounds silly and is, but that second one has already happened once today. Apparently food shows have rivals.”