Chapter 2
''We're staying here?'' Jaime remarked softly. ''I knew we weren't headed for the Hilton, but...''
The operation to get them there safely without being followed by anyone who might be watching (and the terrorists had proven they werewatching) had gone off without a hitch. It would've been impossible to tell which one of the cars that left Jaime's garage and the alley behind her house actually carried Steve and Jaime. They were in a bunker system below Edwards Air Force Base. Since it was underground and heavily reinforced, they were protected from any form of potential attack...but they were also confined to a windowless set of small rooms. The two tiny bedrooms, kitchenette and conference room (re-purposed now as a living room) had been made as comfortable as possible for their two new occupants...but the accommodations were still Spartan at best.
''It's not so bad,'' Steve soothed, leading her to a love seat (that had been hastily procured from someone's quarters above-ground) and sitting down beside her. They'd also managed to fit a rocker, a small easy chair and a table into the cramped 'living room' space, but Jaime needed a shoulder to lean on and Steve much preferred holding her to sitting alone. ''You're safe here - probably the safest place on the West Coast - and you have me to keep you company.''
Jaime tilted her face up...and kissed him. ''If I have to be stuck here, there's no better company than a handsome Colonel.''
After seeing Jaime and Steve safely to Edwards, Oscar returned to OSI-Los Angeles...and eyed his assistant closely. Russ seemed fine now, as though he'd shaken off whatever bug of inefficiency had plagued him earlier. He was on three phone lines at once, giving orders to a subordinate and signing papers presented to him by a secretary - all simultaneously and without missing a beat. Oscar breathed a sigh of relief and headed down the hall to his own office to begin wading through the day's briefing sheets.
The investigation into the florist (and each of his employees) had produced no usable results. Everyone was 'clean' and the flowers that had been delivered to Jaime's house had been paid for with cash. The purchase itself was untraceable. The cashier on duty had been able to give a partial description...but that, too, was practically unusable. Average height and build, dark hair, brown eyes.
Mark Russell appeared in Oscar's doorway. ''I saw you look in; was there something you needed?'' he asked.
''How does it feel to be back at your desk?'' Oscar hedged.
''Like I've never been away.'' He gave his boss and mentor a quick smile and was off again, a secretary following close on his heels with more paperwork. A few minutes later, he was back. ''I saw you look in,'' he said. ''Was there something you needed?''
''Quite an eventful day for you,'' Mark Conrad noted to Jaime. Steve had temporarily made himself scarce by grabbing a book and retiring to his room. ''First a homecoming and then...this.''
''I could do with a little less excitement in my days.''
''How are you coping, so far?'' He had been briefed by Oscar about the flower delivery arriving within minutes of Jaime's homecoming - and about the note attached. He'd wholeheartedly agreed with Oscar and Steve, that Jaime should not be told. She was finally gaining some sense of emotional safety and stability again...but that stability was fragile and its strength still uncertain. He wondered to himself how much simply being here (and the reason she had to be here) would set her back - especially as the days wore on in a hidden underground bunker.
''I'm...okay...I guess...''
''And I'm not even almost convinced. What's troubling you the most?'' the doctor probed.
''Things must be a lot more serious than they're letting on, for them to bring us here. Yes, I know there was a threat...but there's been a threat - for over a month! Why now? Why cart us off to an underground prison? Because this isa prison, you know.''
''I know.'' There was a second hallway, branching off from the one that led to these quarters, that contained several small offices and a group of holding cells. It was hardly an actual prison, but not a point the psychiatrist would raise with his patient. Besides, to her - with its windowless rooms (and the cells just a few yards away, albeit empty at the moment) - Conrad was sure it probably felt like exactly that: a prison. ''It's probably the safest place for you both to be right now,'' he pointed out.
''Yeah; I've heard that already. More than once. But we should be...out there, helping track these freaks down! Not holed up here in hiding...not like this!''
''Steve's injured. You're...injured,'' he explained. ''Just how would you even begin to fight them off, if it came to that?'' He knew that the trauma to Jaime's psyche could potentially be just as crippling in a crisis as Steve's fractured arm - and probably even more so.
''We...we'd...manage,'' Jaime answered weakly. ''We fought them off in the attic, didn't we?''
''That was a life or death situation; you were functioning on sheer adrenaline.''
''Exactly. And we could do it again...if it came to that...''
''Which it would - likely within 24 hours of the two of you entering that investigation,'' Conrad said gently. He didn't want to add to her distress, but she had to look at this realistically! ''And the possibility also exists that you'd never even get the chance to stand and fight. One shot from a high-powered rifle...''
''I...hadn't thought of that,'' Jaime admitted.
''And you haven't been cleared to work yet,'' he reminded her. Even if Michael and Rudy were both ready to sign the forms - which they weren't; not quite - Oscar was requiring signatures from all three of Jaime's doctors. And just like her medical doctors, Mark Conrad was not going to sign those forms until he was absolutely sure.
''Still, what if they don't catch these people right away...especially without our help?'' Jaime asked plaintively. ''How long can they keep us down here...forever?''
