by Nina Crespo
Sure, West maintaining the essentials made the transition easier. Still, when they got back, having to constantly explain the same basic crap over and over again to people killed. This time around, he’d forgotten the barber no longer knew how he liked his hair faded. The friendly barista at the corner spot hadn’t automatically added the extra shot of expresso as she’d done before he’d left. His neighbor was back to hounding him about buying a garage full of shit he’d told them more times than he could count he wasn’t interested in. He couldn’t lose his cool over the inconvenience. The guy didn’t remember the conversations.
He transitioned into the next movement, lush, romantic. Lauren’s image floated in. The guys razzed him about not dating. He didn’t even hang onto a woman guaranteed to let him back in, no questions asked, for recreational sex. His fingers flew over the keys, building the concerto into a passionate melody. Thane rarely double-dipped with the same woman either, and if he did, it was for a quick visit. Nothing serious. Thane couldn’t believe he was in love, but that explained why he was so off at the start of the mission. They’d talked about Celine. Thane was going to drop her and move on. If Thane had a different take on it, why hadn’t he told him? Yeah, he would have tried to change his mind, but after all they’d gone through… Fuck. Now who wasn’t letting shit go? He sounded like a jilted girlfriend.
The front door opened. Heavy footfalls coming up the stairs ended with West stalking into the room. “We need to talk.”
“About?” Reid kept playing, reluctant to break from the music high.
West leaned against the back of the couch and crossed his arms. “When Colby phased into the future to recon intel for the last mission, he cultivated info from Speaks, one of my informants. He believes every conspiracy that pops up, but he’s a damn good hacker, now and in the future. What he gave Colby didn’t have anything to do with Xenia or Red Path Anarchy, so I shelved it.”
Reid ended the song. “But now you’ve taken a look.”
“I have.” As West exhaled, his frown deepened. “Back when we were in Regimental Recon, do you remember when all that chatter popped up about the Pentagon’s interest in technology that would increase our physical capabilities? Then later on all those rumors about command putting together a unit for a classified experiment?”
“You mean the cyborg unit?” A cross branch project of SEALs, Rangers, and other special ops areas. The assignment had sounded tempting at the time. Extra pay, a chance to spend a few months playing with newer and deadlier toys.
West slipped papers out his back pocket and handed them to Reid. “It went through a year ago. A company called Greenhill Technologies has the contract. The top sheet, that’s what they’ve created. Body armor with a mechanical skeleton integrated into the fabric. An onboard computer adjusts the skeletal frame to enhance strength and endurance. It even monitors metabolic function. The headgear has a threat identification system to increase situational awareness. That’s only a part of what it can do.”
Reid flipped to the second page of eight names. “What’s this?”
“Some of the operatives selected for a special assignment called Project Samson. Do you recognize any of them?”
“Hurley, Moore, they’re Rangers.” Reid scanned through the rest of the names. “Hayes, Fordham, Fuentes, aren’t they Navy SEALs? Where are they? Did something happen?”
“Not yet.” West’s expression clued Reid in on the bad news before he finished. “They’re going to die in the future in Yuma, Arizona.”
“Damn.” Reid breathed out. Sadness shifted to resignation. Every guy on the list had known the risks of being an operative. They’d willingly taken an oath to do what they believed in. “How?”
“Plane crash during a demonstration. That’s the official word. Speaks claims they were already dead and the crash was used to cover it up.”
“And maybe it is. Come on, West.” Reid stood. “An accident could be a cover story for a classified mission gone wrong. It’s about protecting national security. You know the drill.”
West gripped the couch. “I still think one of us needs to phase into the future and look into this. Hurley and Moore were on team two. They saved us eight years ago when we were ambushed in Afghanistan.”
Knots tightened in Reid’s gut. That day in the valley, bullets flying, pinned down by insurgents. He still had nightmares about it.
“Hell, Reid, just send me.” West held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to say. Take it to Dalir. I already tried, but he wouldn’t listen. He said we’re grounded. Period. I also know I’m logistics. It’s my job to keep things solid while the team is on assignment, but one of you can handle it until I get back.”
“I hear you, but Speaks is paranoid. Do you honestly think we can trust him on this?”
“He rarely leaves his mother’s basement and only eats canned food. So yeah, there’s a chance he’s full of shit, but he’s hacked into systems that would take me weeks to get into. The intel he’s provided in the past has been solid. This isn’t just about me wanting back in the field. I can’t ignore what my gut is telling me. A few months ago, a former project manager from Greenhill made claims to a reporter about falsified reports. He changed his story after he got his job back with a bonus. As crazy as it is, I think Speaks is right.”
And West’s gut instincts were on target more often than not. “What’s your plan?”
“Thread the needle. I can create a dummy profile here that sets one of us up as a perfect candidate for Samson. We have to phase in at least two years six months before the accident. That also meets the parameters Thane laid out about not jumping in on his timeline with Celine. In the future, with the right buzzwords, Speaks will get on board. His hacking skills can solidify the cover and get us into the program.”
Reid walked to the sliding glass door overlooking the pool. Their last roll call would have been at Arlington Cemetery if Hurley and Moore’s team hadn’t backed them up. They were alive because of them. If Project Samson was part of some fucked up plan, they had to act. Leave no man behind. They lived by that creed. Sitting on their asses was like leaving Hurley and Moore behind to die. If Dalir wouldn’t spare time for West, he damn sure wasn’t going to listen to him. Once the Ancient was pissed and made up his mind on something, he was immovable.
“All right. Let’s take a look.”
West stepped forward. “Who are you tapping for this?”
“No one.” Reid met West’s gaze. “I’m taking it.”
Chapter 6
The future
“Colonel Shea, thank you for joining us.” Frank Dent, the project manager for Greenhill, shook hands with the army officer. Morning sun gleamed off Dent’s bald spot. As usual, the rest of the short, husky man’s brown hair hadn’t seen a comb. Next to Shea’s starched, desert-camouflaged BDUs, Dent’s gray, ill-fitting suit resembled a sack. “I’d like to introduce you to the soldier who’ll perform our first demonstration today—Staff Sergeant Reid Montgomery.”
Reid stood at attention on the edge of the urban warfare obstacle course and gave an efficient salute. Readapting to name, rank, and serial number had come easily. So had implementing West’s plan. Speaks had inserted him into the program without a problem. The specialized unit of twelve tested prototypes of the Samson body armor and weapons under various conditions.
After nearly three weeks, he hadn’t unearthed anything remotely suspicious about the testing or procedures. So far, everyone remained alive.
The light haired colonel’s sharp gaze assessed him. The army officer’s stern expression cracked with a moment of approval. Reid imagined what was going through Shea’s mind. The form-fitted, head-to-toe body armor gave the impression of combat ready and ultimate badass.
Shea jerked his head toward the observation booth near a patch of pine trees. “Let’s get this dog and pony show on the road.”
Teri, a lab tech, checked over Reid’s armored suit. When he’d first met the pretty blonde, she’d reminded
him of Lauren. Smart, a sense of humor, but with a major difference. She lacked fiery passion in her eyes.
She smiled. “All set. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” Reid put on his headgear and shooting gloves as he walked to the tree line. A mock setup of an urban street in the Middle East spread out in front of him.
He cued his headset. “Mic check. Tower, this is Game Show. Do you read me?”
“Game Show, this is Tower. We read you loud and clear. Hurley said to tell you some of the guys are talking trash about Army. They said you’re going to tank.”
Reid flexed his fingers. He’d volunteered for the exercise to get a closer look at the equipment, but a little harmless cross branch rivalry wouldn’t get in the way. As the new guy, it would help bond him with the members of the unit. “What’s the fastest time on the course?”
“Five minutes eight seconds. How much you plan on beating it by?”
“A lot.”
“There’s a case of beer and a barbecue riding on this one, so kick some ass and do us proud.”
Reid chuckled. “Wilco, Tower.” He flipped down his visor and focused on the course. The objective, get to the other side. Human-sized targets depicting bad guys and friendlies would pop up from walls and buildings. Operators hidden on the course would fire live bullets and set off explosions in an attempt to distract him.
He crouched into ready position. “Waiting on your mark, Tower.”
“Roger, Game Show. On my mark in five, four, three, two…”
Reid rushed onto the testing field. Precise coordination and focus came together in a marriage of fluid movement. A human-sized target popped up. He took it out. The suit supplied extra power to his legs, and he scaled a low wall at full speed. The sensor in his helmet flagged a threat to his left. He shot it down, center mass. Mid-field, he snapped the head of a mannequin, and it lolled to the side in his wake. He didn’t phase through the buildings, but out of habit he calculated velocity, depth. The movement of the wind through the trees. Moving faster than the average human, he made his presence known by the sharp rapport of his automatic and the ping of bullets hitting targets.
Showboating wasn’t encouraged, but Reid couldn’t resist adding a little flair. Especially in the face of a bet he was about to win. He dropped under a barrage of bullets. As he rolled to his feet, he took out the final target with a head shot.
He returned to applause in the observation area. Fuentes, the Navy SEAL whose name was on West’s list, grinned. “Enjoy being on top for a hot minute. Just got the word—Navy is demoing next week. An admiral is coming in.” He slapped Reid on the back. “Sorry, bro. We’re about to make your course time obsolete.”
Reid froze a smile on his face but pleasure vanished. If Speaks didn’t have anything new to tell him, Fuentes might not get the chance.
* * * *
Reid phased into the afternoon rush of pedestrians. Most headed for the underground subway entrance. A woman shot him an impatient look for blocking her way. No second glance for appearing out of nowhere or the golden glow surrounding him. Welcome to New York. Phasing years ahead didn’t cause the same energy surge. It pissed him off how a short phase from Arizona to New York lit him up like a light stick.
Sun warmed the humidity and a haze of smog. He started to sweat underneath his dark camouflage pants and black T-shirt, the standard-issue uniform, along with black boots, for test subjects in Project Samson. Reid entered Madison Square Park. Dog walkers and joggers weaved around him. Only a couple more weeks until the accident. Speaks had better show up with something other than wild speculations.
Up ahead, a skinny man dressed in a pair of Keds sneakers, an extra-long parka, ski gloves, and a red knit cap paced in front of the Southern Fountain.
“Make it quick, Speaks. I have to get back.”
“How many times have I told you not to say my name in public?” The hacker grimaced as if in pain. “Do you know what they’ll do to me? Are you sure you weren’t followed?”
A snort Reid couldn’t stop blew past his lips. The guy definitely had issues. Speaks always asked if someone had tailed him. The hacker never questioned how he could travel from Arizona to New York an hour after they’d talked on the phone.
“Yeah, I’m sure. What did you find?”
Speaks motioned for him to lean in. “I hacked further into Greenhill’s system. They’d buried it in a place they thought no one would find. Like my friend. The other day a woman went into his shop going crazy because her two-year-old kid had deleted documents from the family laptop. My guy found them, but he also dug up these files.” He shuddered. “It’s like I said—the government’s in on it. They put stuff in our food. They pump it into the water. They give us pills so we’ll watch reality shows that send out propaganda.” He jabbed his finger against his temple. “It gets into our brains so we won’t question shit and—”
“Get to the point.” Reid reined in the urge to strangle him. That’s what he got for trusting a guy who believed the CIA had brainwashed his mother into giving him an anal truth probe. “What did you find in what I gave you?”
“Emails and documents about one of Dent’s projects. Pairing the body armor with bionanotechnology. Molecules transfused into the blood that will make you guys superhuman.” Speaks’s eyes widened with excitement. “Hours without needing to breathe, cell regeneration, more brain power.”
Possibilities raced through Reid’s mind. Low-altitude jumps or long swims without breathing tanks. Injuries healed without the need for medical intervention. Experts trained in calculating strategy more efficiently. In short, the perfect warrior. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s not perfected. Dent wants more controlled testing in the lab. Greenhill higher-ups want to show off the new technology now to lock in a military contract with the Navy. It’s his baby, but Greenhill’s made it clear that they’re rolling out the upgrade with or without him.”
Apprehension trickled down Reid’s spine. The admiral. Fuentes had mentioned they were scheduled to impress him. Was the upgraded suit part of the demo? According to the file West had, the accident wouldn’t happen for two more weeks. Something could have changed the timeline and bumped it up. “How do I stop it?”
“Here.” Speaks yanked off his cap and fished out a blue paper. His auburn hair rose straight up in the wind as he handed it to Reid.
“451291218? What is this?”
Speaks pointed to the paper. “D” equals four, “e” equals five. “DELILAH. Get it? Not that original and weird since DELILAH actually helped take Samson down.” Reid’s lack of excitement must have faded Speaks’s smile. “I know. Get to the point. It’s the file number for the formula. If you want to save Samson, you have to wipe out DELILAH.”
“Any ideas about how to do that?”
“My guess is that it’s locked up tight. It may not be in the lab. I know I wouldn’t keep it there.”
He shouldn’t ask, but without the team, he had to brainstorm where he could get the input. “Where would you?”
“In a can. In my freezer.”
Yep. Shouldn’t have asked. “Can you hack into Greenhill’s security system at the base so I can get in the lab?”
Speaks snorted. “Of course. When do you want it done?”
“Tonight.”
* * * *
Reid leaned against the bar and nursed a beer. The local country dive wasn’t The Song, but it had its own worn-down charm. It appealed to the locals and military personnel stationed in Yuma. Cheers and shots of encouragement rose from the back room. Fuentes and Moore played pool while the rest of the Project Samson team watched. They’d invited him to play, but all he could think about was not failing them. He had to find DELILAH. Speaks claimed the best time to hack in was two in the morning. Waiting to hunt for the formula put him on edge. If he didn’t find it tonight, he’d have to search elsewhere tomorrow. Where? He didn’t have a clue.
Teri, the lab tech, strolled in and sat on the other side of the
bar. She’d shed her work persona for a night out. The tight jeans and a low-cut blouse she wore captured male attention. Her gaze strayed his way, and she gave him a coy, I’m-interested look.
He pushed away from the counter. Company was the last thing on his mind, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed to find out more about DELILAH. She would know about Dent’s plans and the upgrades.
“Hey, Teri.” He leaned his elbow on the bar and propped his boot on the bottom of her stool.
“Hi, soldier.” Teri smiled. “Why are you hanging solo tonight?”
“Wasn’t planned. I guess I’ve been too busy to do anything about it. I have a lot on my mind.”
“Really?” She plucked a mini pretzel from a basket in front of her. “Buy me another beer, and I’ll listen to your life story.”
He signaled the bartender to bring her a bottle. “Personally, I think listening to you would be more interesting.”
She laughed. “Oh, no. I love a good mystery.”
Information worked both ways. He had to give it up to receive something in exchange. “All right, I’ll bite. What do you want to know?”
“Your tat.” She tugged up the short sleeve of his sky blue shirt. “Why a dragon with piano keys?”
“I played keyboard in a band when I was younger. I thought it was cool.” Close enough to the truth. He’d gotten the ink in his early twenties. She didn’t need to know he still played or that he’d chosen the image in honor of his grandfather.
“Are you a lifer in the army or just passing through?”
At the time of the helicopter accident in the desert and Dalir’s second chance, he’d just signed his re-enlistment papers. Now, he did the same work with Dalir, just with a better pay grade and no uniform. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else. The risk, never knowing what to expect, making a difference, it suited him. “Lifer.”