by Debra Tash
“Deploy before they get them into the base,” Poole ordered.
“Captain, we need to reconsider this,” Hernandez cautioned. “There’s bound to be collaterals.”
“First wave!” Michaels shouted before Poole could respond.
Within seconds, a blue flash shot through the DHS base. The agents paused in their advance across the field. They fumbled with their rifles’ communications devices, as all of their equipment seemed to have been rendered useless. Still positioned outside the fence, the agent guarding the Farmsworth prisoners fired on them. Two captives fell, their blood painting the snow red. The survivors charged the guard. A melee erupted as the guard tried to fire again. His rifle was knocked upward before it let loose another round. Lois’s son broke away. Panicked, the boy ran straight through the gate as she started after him.
“Bio field at ready,” one of the techs reported.
“Captain!” the sergeant snapped. “That boy—”
“Second wave!” Michaels bellowed.
“No!” I screeched, not even sure what was happening.
A red flash this time. Every living thing inside the wire collapsed, including Bradley’s son. Lois had been just outside the target area. She sprinted the few feet to his limp form, knelt beside her little boy and drew him into her arms. Her head bent back, mouth open with a silent wail. Oh, such terrible grief. It would never find comfort. The rest of the Farmsworth contingent managed to overpower the guard. The man lay as lifeless as his comrades inside the fence.
“No,” I muttered, broken by Lois’s anguish. “Please, God. No.”
“A success,” Michaels said in a tone that held no trace of regret. He turned to the assembled techs. “At 1500 hours we execute Operation High Ground. Boston Prime. DHS fifty-mile radius.”
Poole glared at the head of the Charon project.
“There was no way to stand the system down,” Michaels said, his tone still detached.
A long moment passed, then Poole finally looked away and nodded. “Some place to lie down.”
Michaels singled out a female tech. “Show the commander to private quarters.”
The woman stood. Poole followed her out of the room.
I turned my attention to Michaels, that eyebrow of his cocked. “Curious, Sanders?”
“If that’s how you want to put it. What the hell just happened?”
“Charon distributes an EMP field. Low-altitude electromagnetic pulse disables anything using electricity. Even the newer rifles with their electronic siting and triggering. Rendered non-operational.”
“And the second wave?” I croaked.
“The bio field? A three-minute delay for a programmed reset of the remaining power allotment and a change of frequency. All living creatures have electric current running through them. The bio field disrupts that current. Short -circuits the targets.”
“Why not just disarm them? You didn’t have to kill.”
“Or why not just kill and not bother with disarming them?” he countered, pausing as if trying to challenge me. When I didn’t react, he goaded, “The project was named Charon for a good reason.”
“The ferryman?”
“That’s correct, Sanders. Charon, who took the dead across the River Styx. Do you understand now?”
“Yes—damn it!”
“Then understand this also. All of it was paid for by the American people. Well, to be exact, the Federal government. The one supposedly of the people, and for the people. They wanted an economical way to kill the people and leave the surroundings intact. Taking human life while maintaining the infrastructure was always the objective. We’ll do an electronic sweep to disarm any booby traps left in place. The reason for the first wave. With the target clean, and after an hour of downtime, everything in that base will be operational again except for, of course, the dead.”
“You willingly created this…th-thing!”
His voice grew even more chilling. “We were told the systems we were developing would be used in the Middle East. When all hell broke loose and Iran finished developing the bomb. And all the remaining nations threatened to blow others to hell. We were left to believe it was to keep the homeland safe. Handpicked scientists and technicians. But the prototype delivery system at this facility was too short-ranged. Even when they ordered us to expand that range for a newer installation. Even with a subsequent order to build a portable unit, none of it could be easily transported overseas. Not with the specs the Feds gave us. It was always meant to be used on the American people and subdue those who survived it.”
“Enough,” I pleaded.
At last, I saw a flicker of heat in those stone-blue eyes. His jaw flexed. “Well, maybe you have had more than enough. If you’ll excuse me. We’ve much to do.”
I stared at Michaels as he walked away. More power than we could have ever dreamed of—more like a nightmare that would squeeze out every bit of humanity from our souls. I had to find Poole.
Hand raised, I hesitated to knock on the closed door. The tech had pointed me to the private quarters where she’d taken Poole. After a moment, I dropped my hand to the knob and found it unlocked. Of course. Who’d have the gall to disturb the commander? I pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind me.
The room was a stark small space all in white with a compact footlocker in one corner, a double bed, and a desk. There was a private bath with utilitarian fixtures, a modest shower, sink, and toilet. With his back to the door, Poole sat on the edge of the bed, arms resting on his legs with hands clasped, feet planted on the floor.
“Take a seat, Beck,” he said, not even bothering to lift his head to see who had come into the room.
I sat beside him.
He finally raised his gaze to stare at the wall in front of him. “Strange room. Like a blank. Nothing personal but some clothes neatly folded in the locker. Not a photo player. A scrap of paper. A note from home. Evidence of some connection to somebody. Anybody.”
“Michaels’ quarters?”
“Yes.” Poole got to his feet and leaned against the blank wall. “They saved our asses last night. A DHS patrol jumped us. They were dug in just off the road. Damn it!” He groaned. “The son of bitches killed two of my men with ammo that sliced clean through our MRAP’s armor.”
Restless, Poole started to pace, controlled yet ready to strike. “Andrews picked up the DHS’s heat signature. But his warning came too late. We tried to fight them, but were outgunned and losing ground. Then came these flashes of light off our flank. Blue, then red. All of a sudden—silence. Then we found them. Every last one of the fucking DHS bastards were dead. It was like the blessed hand of God had squeezed the life out of them.”
He raised his chin. “We debated going on. David argued against it. Said we didn’t know what we were up against. Andrews supported him. I was going to call a withdrawal when Michaels raised the com. That scared the crap out of us even more than the enemy’s fire. Andrews couldn’t figure out how anyone could tap our secured frequency. We were close to Hadley. A mile out. Michaels’ team could do about anything in that range. They guided us to this underground base.” Poole stopped, then grumbled, “Wonder if that son of a bitch has any aspirin.”
I got to my feet and went into the bathroom. Above the sink was a mirror, narrow and tall and nearly flush. I ran my finger around the thin exposed edge. The mirror swung open to reveal a cache of sundries and a few small bottles, all meticulously organized. I found the aspirin and scouted for a glass. Not finding one, I returned to Poole, who sat on the bed.
I held out the bottle. “They look legit.”
He cupped his hand.
I dropped two white tablets into it. “Have to swallow them dry unless you can stick your head under that tiny sink and drink from the faucet.”
“You think so?” He leaned over and tapped the wall next to the bed. Th
in lines appeared, revealing a panel of sorts. It slid upward, exposing a shelf with clean glassware and a thin silver spigot. Poole placed one of the glasses under the faucet and said, “Water.” A clear crystal stream poured down, cutting off before a drop could spill over the top of the glass.
“The tech showed me. Damn.” He chuckled and shook his head. “She also let me know if I wanted a piece of tail, all I had to do was ask. We could screw the afternoon away.” He swallowed the tablets, took a large gulp of water to wash them down, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “If only I were in high school again.”
“Being hospitable, wasn’t she?”
“Mighty hospitable.” He drank the remaining water, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve again. “Just seeing to the commander’s comfort. Casual on both sides, she assured me. Not a sexist bone in anyone’s body here.” He threw the glass against the wall, littering the floor with glistening shards.
I rested my hand on his shoulder, his muscles knotted with tension. He looked up at me. “There’s another one of these installations. Has ten times the reach. Non-operational right now. And the Feds think this one is temporarily off-line. Well, that is, until a half hour ago. But with the electronic shielding they developed here, this top-secret base will be next to impossible for them to locate.”
I took a place next to him on the bed.
“If you can believe Michaels.” He shrugged. “Who the hell knows? When things broke out in Farmsworth, their personnel started to keep watch on us. When we tapped into the National Feed at the base, they knew they’d found a rallying point. That’s what I am, a fucking rallying point. Just like with Maggie’s network.” He straightened his spine. “Rebecca,” he whispered. “Last night I knew who the enemy was. Who we had to kill. Even back at that DHS base. It made sense. But today wasn’t clear. Today…well, today. Damn it. It was an innocent kid. One of the first innocents of millions who’ll die in this war. You understand?”
“Jason?”
“You have to understand. Even if I become the bastard. There’s no time to stop. No time to regret anything. Stop and regret and the Feds win.”
“It’s war. You told me as much.”
“And it’s hell.” He put a finger under my chin. I looked into his troubled gaze as his voice dropped to a bare murmmur. “I didn’t want her, Beck.”
“When you first came into our diner, you wanted any woman who’d lay still long enough…just like in high school.”
His mouth curled with a sad wisp of smile that evaporated quickly. “Not now.” He bent near, his face next to mine. “Not ever again, my Bay State gal.”
It was a kiss like that kiss in the MRAP, in want of more than comfort, more than physical release, more than any human being could possibly give to another. But in the moment, I wanted to give him what he sought. Jason Poole needed an absolution that would free him of the coming incrimination. Liberate him from the rebuke he would heap on himself before anyone could cry “murderer” and condemn him as “a monster.”
My lips parted to inhale his breath, a living fire that burned hotter than any sexual need. I could never give him what he wanted, needed above all else, and would never find in my flesh.
His hands cradled my head, my red curls spilling between his fingers. They moved downward, then up, peeling away my sweatshirt, unfastening my bra. His hands were on my breasts, his tongue against my throat, then trailing downward to the peaked nipples. His masculine scent, that of an animal, a trapped carnivore, filled my senses. He laid me down on the bed, the mattress giving with our weight. The crisp coolness of the linen pressed against my bare back as he entered me. Jason moved slowly, then faster, and his moans were muffled words spiraling into hoarse primal sounds.
Heat buried the past hour, buried the years of hardship and a little boy’s meaningless death, a senseless casualty of war. My eyes closed, my attempt to shut away the hopeless need that would never be satisfied. This was the moment when his conscience had pled for mercy and was instead drowned in our mutual attempt to escape guilt. But it would never leave us in peace. Jason Poole and I were two shadows being swallowed up in the growing darkness.
CHAPTER 17
I lay next to Poole as he slept with his back to me. I tried snuggling against his warm body in an attempt to seize some semblance of safety, garner an assurance the world would re-balance. But there was only the sound of his breathing and the chill of that stark white room. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. The aroma of sweat along with a lingering hint of passion scented the air. I’d almost forgotten those smells, the feel of being together. I stretched my arms upward, spreading my fingers wide, and studied their shape against all the empty white.
My mind wandered back to the one man I’d known before Poole, a college classmate at Harvard. I’d loved him with such eager desire. He had been my soul-mate, or so I’d thought. We’d planned to get married in the spring of that year, and had talked about it lying in bed as flakes of fresh snow clung to the windowpanes. But my father had become ill and I’d gone home. The memory and breath of that first passion melted away with the snow. We never saw one another again. Now the world was upside down, and I was in bed with a man with whom I held little in common except the need to survive.
Poole stirred and turned over to look at me. I shifted onto my side and faced him. His blue eyes were tinted with gray, an unbelievable sadness buried in their depths. He put the back of his hand to my face and gently stroked my cheek. His fingers felt so cold, it seemed every bit of life had been drained from them.
“I’m sorry, Beck,” he whispered.
“Sorry? You should have wined and dined me first?”
“Smart ass,” he said with a hint of a smile as his hand dropped away.
I studied his face. “Where are you?”
“Thinking of a horse I favored. Tall bay mare. She was real fine. Well-muscled. I still remember how she moved under me as I rode her over our open fields.”
“Now you’re comparing me to a horse.”
He chuckled. “You are a smart ass.” Poole let out a sigh. “No, my darlin’ Bay State gal, I was recallin’ my home.”
Jason lay back against a pillow, his gaze fixed on the blank ceiling. “Beck, you just don’t know how it is. That sticking, hot, Texas sunshine melting down inside you. And even with all the humidity, there’s this dry earth. And the dust of that earth cakes your skin. Oh, and the smell of drying grass. You can taste it on an early summer breeze. How good it is.” His mouth curled again with a wisp of a smile. “When you see the Texas sky, it sure does make you wonder. It’s such a pale blue it seems all that hot sunshine might just have bled the color right out of the heavens.”
“Your home,” I murmured.
“Texas. With miles of scrub oak and cedars. Rolling hills.” He stretched out one arm. “To the horizon. A perfect camel-colored painting of paradise. And then in the spring when the bluebonnets flower….” His hand lowered once more. “You remember me telling you about the bluebonnets?”
“That first morning in the diner.”
“Well, those bluebonnets cover the hills in the spring. Changes that dusty landscape into a living blue sea. And then there’s you, Rebecca Sanders.”
I pushed myself up, bare breasts settling on his chest. The silky wire of his hair felt good against my skin, along with the living warmth I craved. “What about me?” I murmured, not sure I really wanted an answer.
“You’re a gal from a country I don’t much care for. One that’s so damned cold it isn’t natural. A snow-covered place that sleeps under a blanket of frost. When you do see spring here, from my experience, it disappears way too quick. And there’s no bluebonnets on the hillsides.”
“Think I’d like Texas?”
“The flower of Northern womanhood?” He kissed my neck, a long deep kiss, his tongue hot against my skin. “Not a chance in hell.”
/> “Why?” I taunted as I returned his invitation by giving him a kiss on his neck, just as long and sultry. “You think I can’t take the heat? Or a long hard ride?”
He chuckled, his hands on my back, moving slowly down my spine, vertebra by vertebra. “Maybe you could take a liking to Texas.” His voice grew husky. “Some folks are mighty fond of it.”
“Anything’s possible,” I said before placing an open-mouthed kiss on his lips. When I leaned away, a renewed melancholy had overtaken him. “It is possible.”
“For anything? Even a man like me? An ordinary nobody without much to set him apart…leading this whole thing?” He snorted. “Hell, no.”
I pulled away. “You’re wrong. People are already following you.”
Jason faced me again. “Honey Beck, you know the truth. It’s as naked and there for all the world to see as what I’m looking at right now.”
I bunched the sheet in my hand and pulled it up.
He leaned close and whispered into my ear, “When people get desperate enough, they follow any damn fool who gives them a taste of hope.”
“What I do know, Jason Poole, is you’re no fool.”
“Maybe not. But after today, they’ll be calling me something a helluva lot worse.” He drew back. “And I’ll have earned it.”
That cut me deep. I remembered what Michaels had said…Boston Prime. The DHS within a fifty-mile radius…all of it and what it would mean when there were collaterals and who would garner the blame. An idea stirred in my mind. “What if you warn the Feds?”
He sat up and reached for his pants, lying discarded at the end of the bed. “I’m no fool, Beck. And I’m not crazy enough to ask you to explain your point.”
“No. Listen. Get another tap into the National Feed. Give Whitman a half hour warning. Tell him to stand down his orders to fire on the rebels and anyone aiding them or you deploy Charon.”
“You honestly think the president will stand down? Tell the Armed Forces and Homeland Security to pack it up? Honey Beck, if you believe that, you are crazy. Whitman will never reconsider his orders.” He prepared to get dressed.