Echo 8

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  Ross’s phone rang from the kitchen table and he scooped it up—Director Garcia. No time for that. He sent the director to voicemail and texted Agent Swain. He gripped the phone, counting the seconds.…

  Negative. Haven’t seen her.

  “Fuck fuck fuck!”

  He sprang to his feet and headed for the door. He didn’t want to go—what if she came back? But he had to talk to Jake. He had to do something.

  Halfway to the door he heard a shriek and spun around. Something dropped through the ceiling and crashed onto the bed.

  “Tess?”

  He ran to her side, dragging her violently shaking body closer. Holy Christ, she was filthy. And bleeding. Her eyes were wide with terror.

  “C-cold,” she chattered, curling her icy, mud-slicked arms around his neck.

  He lifted her from the bed and carried her to the bathroom. He turned the shower on and got into the tub with her. Warm water jetted down on them and she curled into his chest, one arm hooking tightly around his neck. He needed to check her—see where the blood was coming from. But it could wait. He locked his arms around her.

  “Hold on to me, Ross.”

  “I’ve got you.”

  Even as he said the words he knew how impotent they were. He’d been inside her, and she’d just slipped away.

  SACRIFICE

  * * *

  We are human. They are human. In this century of technologically facilitated connection, how have we not grown beyond valuing the well-being of our own tribe above that of all others?

  —Professor Alexi Goff, University of Edinburgh, Echo Dossier

  * * *

  TESS HAD stopped shivering, and her weight sank fully onto him as her body shut down in the aftermath of shock. He didn’t want to wake her, but far worse than disturbing her rest would be to have her disappear again before they had a chance to talk about what happened.

  “Tess.” He pushed wet hair back from her face, eyeing the nasty cut and bruise in the center of her forehead. “Doctor, wake up.”

  She woke with a cry and a start, arm clenching around his neck.

  “It’s okay.” His placid tone was an astonishing feat of mind over matter. “You’re okay. Let’s get you dry and dressed.”

  They crawled out of the tub, and Tess dried herself while he peeled off his wet jeans, replacing them with his T-shirt and boxer briefs—the only dry clothing he had in her apartment.

  He opened her closet, not bothering to ask permission, and pulled out a pair of purple corduroy pants, a long-sleeved top, and a hooded fleece jacket. As he was closing the door he stopped and grabbed a scarf as well.

  “Put these on,” he said, handing her the clothing.

  She gave the pile a bemused look. “It’s August, Ross.”

  “Just do it, okay?”

  Their gazes met and understanding crystalized between them, no psi ability needed. In case you go somewhere cold.

  He watched her fiddle with the clothing with trembling hands and then moved in to help. When they’d gotten her dressed he led her to the bed. Her gaze fell on the mud-splattered sheets.

  “Where’s your phone?” he asked.

  She blinked and glanced around. “On the kitchen counter.” He retrieved it and handed it to her.

  “Dr. Carmichael.”

  “Right,” she agreed. Her thumb worked over the keypad, and he heard the text whoosh away.

  “How long before she can be here?”

  “The meeting is on Whidbey Island. There’s no ferry at this time of night, so a couple hours to drive up to the bridge and back down. That’s if she’s still awake.”

  He considered for a moment and replied, “There’s no point in that. We’ll videoconference her when she texts back. Now tell me what happened.”

  Her gaze moved around the room like she hadn’t heard him.

  “Tess.”

  She fixed wide eyes on his face.

  “Stay with me, okay?” Some of his panic leaked into his voice this time, and she sat up straighter.

  He walked over to the fridge and opened it, hoping for orange juice. There was nothing but a bottle of fancy grapefruit soda. He twisted the top off and carried it to the bed.

  She took the bottle and gulped half of it down. “Thank you.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “I feel like I’ve gone crazy. I don’t know if it was real, Ross.”

  His gaze grazed her forehead. “I think we can safely assume it was.”

  She hugged her arms around her chest. “I went someplace cold and muddy. There were dead things. Fires in the distance. Really bad air. Smoke and decay.”

  His heart picked up speed along with her words. “Where do you think you were?”

  “The site of some natural disaster. I think…” She fixed her eyes on his face. “I think it was Jake’s Earth.”

  He didn’t want to believe it. But he did.

  “It could have something to do with the transfers,” she said.

  No “could” about it. And that meant it might happen to him too.

  “Do you think it was Seattle?”

  “I don’t know. It was basically a mudslide. Though there was some concrete. Is it important?”

  “It could be. If it happens to both of us.”

  Her eyes moved over his body. “You’re right. You should get dressed.”

  “Agreed. Come on.”

  She rose from the bed without question, and they walked together to his apartment, heedless of his state of undress. He wasn’t sending her anywhere without him, not even upstairs for dry clothes.

  “Did you feel anything unusual before it happened?” he asked, pulling on a pair of jeans.

  She raised an eyebrow, and he thought about that shared moment of release, right before she’d vanished.

  “I meant was there any kind of warning,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Not that I remember. But I can’t help wondering whether we … whether we triggered it somehow.”

  She could be right. The timing seemed like it could be significant. “I hope you’re right.”

  By her expression she was surprised and also a little wounded.

  “It would mean we can prevent it from happening again,” he explained.

  “True.” But at a cost was the part he knew she was holding back. That couldn’t be helped.

  After a few moments of silence she said, “We need to talk to Jake. And he needs a transfer.”

  Ross stared at her, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

  * * *

  She took a deep breath. “I know what you’re thinking. But can we afford to let him fade out before we get to the bottom of this?”

  “What if more transfers make it worse? Do you want to go through that again? Because I know I don’t. You vanished, Tess. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  She raised her hands to her face and rubbed her temples. Drained from the transfers and wrung out by adrenaline, it was a wonder her brain was functioning at all. But she couldn’t let herself power down until they had some answers.

  Adrenaline.

  She looked at Ross. “You asked me if I felt anything unusual before it happened—the dislocation. I did feel something. Right before I left, and right before I came back.”

  “Tell me.”

  She dropped her gaze, hugging her arms around her chest. “I felt afraid.” She let a breath out slowly, trying to stop the wrenching in her stomach. “I mean I was afraid the whole time I was gone. But right before I came back I fell off something—a concrete ledge.”

  “What about before you vanished?” he asked quietly. When she didn’t answer right away, he continued. “You mean me. You were afraid of me.”

  Another slow exhalation. Her gaze moved to the window. “It’s difficult for me, Ross. I don’t … trust easily.” She shook her head, knowing she’d told him all she could. “I think maybe the dislocation was triggered by a fight-or-flight response.”

  “Sounds like just the flight part
to me.”

  His expression had flattened, but the words came out like an accusation. She was about to remind him that he was the one who’d requested reassignment, when his phone rang.

  Grabbing it off the table, he answered, “McGinnis.”

  The color drained from his face. “In the morning?”

  His eyes moved to hers, and she lifted her eyebrows.

  “I understand.” He slipped the phone into his pocket. “Director Garcia is on a red-eye to Seattle.”

  “Now?”

  “There’s a layover, but he’ll be here by 7 A.M. He wants to meet with us right away.”

  She glanced at her watch and saw it was nearly 1 a.m. Realizing her heart was outpacing the second hand, she focused again on her breath. Another quick inhalation followed by long exhalation to activate the parasympathetic nervous system. No more f light tonight.

  “What’s this about, Ross?” she asked. “Garcia isn’t coming all this way to talk to us about your psi training.”

  He shook his head. “That’s a piece of a larger puzzle. But I don’t know more than that.”

  “Do you think it has to do with Jake?”

  “I can guarantee you it has to do with Jake.”

  She rose from the bed. “I’m going down to talk to him.” He deserved to know what was happening, and if they didn’t do a transfer soon he’d become dangerous. That was not the Jake she wanted the director to see.

  “Doctor—”

  She jumped as her phone vibrated against her hip.

  * * *

  “Hi, Abby.”

  Ross breathed a sigh of relief. He needed Abby for backup on what he was about to say.

  Tess’s jaw hinged open, and her eyes locked onto his. “Can you say that again?”

  After a moment she shook her head, and she flushed an angry red. She walked to the window and looked down at the street. “They can’t do that. This is a private facility.”

  Ross closed his eyes. It’s all coming down on us at once. In his mind’s eye he could see Abby, standing out front with her weekend bag, arguing with two men blocking the entrance. He had these kinds of visions all the time. He’d never thought twice about the fact they most always turned out to be accurate—never before now.

  “Director Garcia’s arriving in the morning. I’ll stop this, Abby. I promise you.”

  Tess turned from the window, frowning. “No, I’m okay,” she continued. “I don’t want you to worry.”

  She sank onto the edge of his bed, listening. “Abby, are you still there?” She glanced at the touchscreen and her frown deepened. “I lost her.”

  “The building’s been sealed off,” he said.

  She stared at him. “You knew about this.”

  He shook his head. “I saw it, just now.”

  “How did you see it?”

  He raised his hand to the back of his neck, sighing. “In my head.”

  Tess gave a slow nod. “Abby had left the island before I texted her. She’s outside right now. They can’t do this,” she repeated.

  He didn’t bother to correct her.

  She rose from the bed. As she was crossing the room he reached out and blocked her way.

  “No, Doctor.”

  “Let me go, Ross.”

  “I can’t let you go down.”

  “What if they stop the transfers? This might be my last chance to talk to him.”

  “I’m going to recommend the transfers stop.”

  She glared at him. “It’s good to know where you stand.”

  “That’s not fair. You know it’s not. I told you I wouldn’t choose between your safety and Jake’s again.”

  She folded her arms and turned away from him. “So we just wait for orders, is that it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.” He pulled out his phone and texted the agents downstairs that Jake was off-limits. “You take the bed,” he told her. “I’ll take the couch. Sleep in your clothes.”

  If he’d expected to see anything in her expression but anger, he was disappointed. “So I’m under arrest.”

  “You’re under protection, Doctor. Let’s get some sleep.”

  * * *

  Gremlins rioted in Tess’s mental clockwork, wrenching the cogs of logical thought. She lay sleepless, alternately fuming at Ross and craving his arms around her. Working herself into a jittery state of exhaustion.

  Their interests were diverging, as she had known they inevitably would, and it was up to her now to choose her course. She refused to accept the Bureau would choose it for her. But she grieved for the loss of Ross’s companionship. For his clear head, and his plainspoken ways. For his body lying close, and the refuge of his embrace.

  It was doomed from the outset.

  With that fatal thought she closed her eyes. The moment the voices inside her stilled, she dropped off to sleep. Her eyes didn’t open again until Ross rose at sunrise.

  They parted long enough to change into more professional attire—this time with doors closed between them. Afterward they met on the landing and walked down together.

  And apart.

  * * *

  Director Garcia waited for them in the abandoned cafeteria. Tall and lean, with a suit that looked like it came from the same store as Ross’s, there was a clean-cut, no-bullshit air about him. He stepped forward to shake Tess’s hand.

  “Dr. Caufield. It’s good to meet in person.” Penetrating, intelligent eyes flickered from her to Ross, and she suddenly felt naked. What had Ross said to him when he requested reassignment?

  Garcia’s brow creased as his gaze lifted to her forehead. “What happened to your head, Doctor?”

  “Director Garcia,” she began, ignoring his question, “are you able to explain why this institute’s director—who lives on the premises—was forbidden entry last night?”

  Garcia exchanged a glance with Ross. “If you’ll join me, I’ll answer your questions and also explain my reason for coming here.”

  Another agent entered the room carrying a bulky paper bag and a tray of coffee in to-go cups. As she set the load on a table, Garcia ordered, “We’re not to be disturbed.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the agent, leaving again.

  “Please.” Garcia gestured to the table, and as much as it irked her to fall into line, she knew that food and coffee were necessary fortifications for what was to come.

  She accepted a cup and spread cream cheese on a bagel, listening to the casual exchange between Ross and his superior—questions about the flight, about the weather in D.C. and Seattle. Apparently commandeering buildings and relieving people of their constitutional rights was all in a day’s work for them.

  That’s not fair. No, she could feel Ross’s discomfort. No doubt the director could too. For the moment she and Ross were in the same boat, paddling toward an unknown shore.

  Finally Garcia brushed crumbs from his sleeves and folded his hands on the table, shifting his attention to include them both. “Please consider everything said in this room to be classified. It shouldn’t even be discussed with the agents outside.”

  Tess stared at him, sensing she was approaching a point of no return. But if she remained in the dark she could help no one, least of all herself.

  “I came to Seattle to assess the potential for a covert operation,” said Garcia. “Specifically to assess the potential of yourself, Agent McGinnis, and Echo 8 as our first participants.”

  This was exactly what Tess and Goff had feared would come of the Bureau’s involvement—and the reason she had resented Ross almost on sight.

  “Covert operation,” she replied evenly. “That’s more than classified? Something the rest of the government doesn’t know about.”

  “That’s right,” said Ross. He was seated next to her, and she felt his foot slowly slide against hers. Was it meant to be reassurance, or warning?

  “The Bureau is interested in working more closely with Echoes,” continued Garcia.

  “With Echoes? I thought your agency was more
concerned with containment. With eradication.”

  Garcia didn’t flinch. “Our interest is public safety, first and foremost.”

  “I see.” She didn’t bother to filter the skepticism from her tone.

  Garcia continued like he hadn’t noticed. “I’m here because I’m very interested in the work you’ve been doing with Echo 8. In the method you discovered for keeping him alive.”

  She felt Ross stiffen beside her. “There was no need to exile Dr. Carmichael for that,” she said. “I’m eager to tell you about my work.”

  “Ross may have told you that I’d also like you to work with him on sharpening his ability. We’re specifically interested in remote location.”

  “He did mention your interest in his psi ability. I’m happy to work with him. But I’m not sure that should take precedence over our current crisis.”

  “The two are related, Doctor. First of all, there are a number of targets we’d like to track using Ross’s ability.”

  Her gut tightened. “Targets?”

  “We’d like to see if he can learn to locate Echoes, which I’m sure you’ll agree is in the interest of public safety.”

  “I believe it is in the interest of our safety. I’m not so sure about them. It depends on what you plan to do once you find them.”

  “We plan to recruit them.”

  She blinked at him, confused.

  “We have something they need, and you’ve discovered a safe way to give it to them. We offer to sustain them, and they agree to work with us.”

  “Work with us to…?”

  She risked a glance at Ross, wondering how long before he told the director about the dislocation. Impassive as his expression appeared, she could see the tension in his jaw muscles.

  “To help us address a problem,” continued Garcia. “Or a series of problems. We have a list of individuals who pose a threat to national security. We believe Echoes could be very effective in helping us neutralize them.”

  National security. It was a sort of magic password these days. But she still couldn’t get her brain around this. She wasn’t sure if it was fatigue or the words the director was using. She glanced again at Ross, and by his expression—the relaxing of his jaw muscles, the narrowing of his gaze—she knew that he was ahead of her.