Friday April 2 2004

Santa Monica California

"Well?" Alex asked. "What do you think?"

"It's different. Nice," Joel added uncertainly, with an eye on a gull circling his head.

Joel had never been to Santa Monica Pier, and found it was rather different than his preconceptions. He'd expected the Pier to be some sort of raised boardwalk running along the beach, lined with touristy shops and carny amusements. Instead, they'd walked down Colorado Boulevard, a street that ran from the city center towards the ocean, until the pavement had changed from asphalt to wooden planks, and he suddenly realized that the ground had fallen away beneath the road and they were high above the beach.

The Pier was a mall-sized structure jutting out into the Pacific on huge supports that lifted it twenty feet above the water. It was a tourist trap, to be sure, with restaurants and souvenir shops and even a miniature amusement park with a roller coaster and Ferris wheel, both of which Alex had insisted they ride. At the top of the wheel's circle, as their windswept car had paused high above the beach, she'd pulled him to her for a quick kiss and grinned at him.

They'd played skeeball in one of several arcades, sampled food from half a dozen little joints lining one side of the narrow wooden street, and admired the view over the rail as they'd moved out towards its end and the scenery changed from cityscape to broad beach to open water. They'd window-shopped the brightly-colored storefronts and tried on hats and sunglasses at the peddlers' carts situated all along the pedestrian walk. They'd shared some exotic sugary drink at a bar near the end of the pier, and tromped up the stairs to its roof for an elevated view of the scenery. Now they were back on the main level, looking over the rail at the beach and the mountains to the north.

Alex smiled up at him. "But are you liking it?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. I am." Not sure what he was trying to say, he added, "I wouldn't be, if I was alone."

Her smile changed somehow, in a way he couldn't figure. "Is that your idea of sweet talk, Joel? I mean, are you just out of practice, or do you really suck that bad at talking to girls?"

Feeling on-the-spot, he studied his companion while he tried to think up a smart answer. But staring at Alex wasn't bringing any intelligent thoughts to mind. The wind had picked up as they'd walked out over the water, and was making her hair float gently away from her head like a silk banner. It was also raising goosebumps on her bare shoulders and upper arms. He resolutely kept his eyes above her collarbones. "I'm just saying. I don't do this kind of stuff very often. Ever, actually. I never would have come here by myself. I wouldn't even have thought of it." He turned and looked out over the rail. "And if I'd ended up here by myself for some reason, all I'd have thought about was getting home. It may not seem like it, but I'm having fun. But only because you're here with me."

The streetlights lining the pier began to flick on. "No sunset," Alex said. "Too overcast." She shivered.

This would have been a good time to play gallant and throw his coat around her, Joel thought, only he didn't have one. Instead, he stood behind her, blocking the wind as they looked out over the rail. "Getting cold. Ready to go back?"

"Not yet." She reached behind her, grasped his hand, and pulled his arm around her, bringing them close. She held his forearm against her abdomen, and he decided she wasn't cold after all, at least not anyplace they were touching. Neither was he. She looked out over the water. "Joel, why did you ask me out that first time? I mean, we've known each other for two years. Why now?"

He felt his ears get a little warmer. "Uh, Kat sort of talked me into it." That was all he was going to say about that, he decided. He wasn't about to tell Alex he'd asked her out because he'd lost a bet with his lab partner, and he sure wasn't going to tell her the wager he'd demanded of Kat.

"Hm." Alex reached back for his other hand and wrapped it around her as well. "And to think, I didn't like her when I first met her."

"What? Why-" He stopped. "You know, I didn't either."

She scoffed. Then she gently pushed his hand upward until his thumb was brushing the underside of her breast.

He quit breathing.

"I'm not used to being the aggressor. It's a switch." She pushed his hand up a little higher until he was cupping her through two thin layers of fabric. "I'm not a dumbass schoolgirl with a crush, Joel. You're self-centered and impatient, and I know as soon as you graduate you'll be gone without a backward glance. It doesn't matter. Well, it does, but…I liked you since I met you. It's not just your looks. You're easy on the eyes, but good-looking guys hit on me all the time. And it's sure not your charm. I don't know what it is. It's like, for once, I'm not sure what a guy wants from me. You're just so different." She stroked the back of his hand, and his breathing resumed, rather more roughly than before. "I'm babbling. Maybe I am a dumbass schoolgirl with a crush." She stepped back from the rail, pushing him back, and he let go of her. But she snatched at his hand and tugged him back down the pier towards shore. "But if you really think your parents are expecting you home tonight, you're dumber than a box of rocks."

Los Terrentos California

Eddie slumped in the passenger seat, watching the scenery roll by. "Giselle or Adriana?"

Bobby glanced at the directions and took an off-ramp, leaving the interstate for a broad-shouldered two-lane. "Adriana."

"You always go for the dark ones. Angelina or Jessica?"

"Angelina."

"And you like em strange and edgy. Kate or Milla?"

"Hm. Milla."

"Love her eyes. Liv or Jennifer?"

"Liv. Do I get a turn?"

"When I'm behind the wheel. I'll take over at the next gas stop."

"Bro, from here the park's a straight shot down 79, less than ten miles away. Talk about a scenic route."

Anna's directions had included about twenty turns. Their route had pointed them in every direction of the compass, and had taken them through suburbs and larger towns, past Indian reservations, along mountain ridges and river valleys, all in the space of an hour. Eddie was certain they'd crossed I-8 at least twice. "Well, it was kinda scenic, wasn't it?"

"We're not threading this maze because it's picturesque. My dad's always got a practical reason for everything. Maybe he wants to make sure he gets there ahead of us."

"Fine by me. He can set up."

"Bro, we've got the camping gear."

"Uh, right." Eddie drained his can of Rockstar. "Okay. Lori or Alex?"

"Hey. Nobody we know." A gas station appeared, and Bobby pulled under the canopy. "Grab some grub while I fill the tank. Don't go junk-food crazy just cuz we're out of the house for a couple days."

Eddie popped the door. "Might be our last chance before we're old enough to vote, dude. Swear, Anna can smell a Twinkie on your breath when you come home from school."

Eddie wandered the aisles, picking up hand-food items and examining them. It was pretty hard to find any nutrition; even the dogs on the roller grill and the burgers and pizza slices in the warming cabinet looked suspicious now. Dang it. A year ago, I would have been filling sacks with this stuff. Anna's got me looking at it like it's all made from refinery sludge. He finally selected some protein and granola bars and headed for the coolers in the back of the store.

On the way, he passed the magazine rack, and slowed. A couple of the girls on the covers of the skin mags looked especially tasty. One of them was a sloe-eyed Latina who kind of resembled Sarah. He thought about picking it up – for Bobby, of course – and decided against. That didn't stop him from leafing through it, though. After his eyes had had their fill, he put it back with a sigh. It was always the same. The only thing any of these models had on the babes he shared a roof with was that he could stare at them as much as he wanted without fear of assault.

And of course, like he'd told Anna, none of them had Rox's eyes.

"Hey!" The voice came from the front of the store, probably the girl at the register. "Asshole!"

Eddie was sure she wasn't talking to him - well, fairly sure – so he hustled that way, and was just in time to see her glaring at the glass door as the closer seated it into the jamb with a soft creak. Outside, a powerful engine growled to life. "What's going on?"

"Shoplifter." The sound of tires squealing on pavement accompanied her statement, and a beat-up old Camaro whipped past their view as it gained the road. "Jerk's been in about three times this week to clear out the snack aisle. Once, he raided the beer cooler and ran out with a couple of twelve-packs. I hear he hits stores all up and down the highway."

"Get the license number?"

She shook her head. "Don't know where he gets them, but he never uses the same car more than twice. And he's got a rag over the plate when he shows up. Just wheels up to the door and walks in. He raids the shelves, stuffs his pockets, and he's out again. Ten seconds, tops. There's no point calling the cops, he's always long gone when they get here. Lots of dirt turnoffs and trails on this stretch of road." Her jaw clenched. "One of the girls works morning shift tried to stop him leaving. He pushed her into a display case. Eleven stitches."

"Ought to keep a Louisville Slugger under the counter."

She shook her head. "Owner's too worried about liability. If it was up to me, I'd have a shotgun loaded with rock salt."

On the way back out, he paused at the door, took a deep breath, and called Rox's cellphone.

It picked up on the second ring. "Hello, Eddie." Sarah's voice.

"Uh, where's Rox?"

"Right here by the pool. But she doesn't want to come to the phone right now."

So she had one of her girlfriends screening her calls. Not good. Giving her phone to Sarah to run call interference was the worst. Kat or Anna might be talked into putting her on, but not Miss All-Men-Are-Basically-Worthless Rainmaker. Eddie hadn't expected Rox to be cooled down, but this move was deeply troubling. "So, when would be a good time to call back?"

A long pause while Rox and Sarah talked it over in low voices, probably from side-by-side lounge chairs. He heard the ka-thunkadunk of the pool's springboard, followed by a huge splash and a gratifying squeal from both girls. "Sorry," he heard Kat call out.

He waited. He watched Bobby hang up the hose and look his way. Eddie shrugged and waited some more with the phone pressed to his ear.

Sarah finally came back. "I can't say. Roxanne says she may text you later."

Eddie clenched his teeth. He hated texting. They all did, since Darwin, when their only contact with the outside world had been "emails" from their families that had turned out to be fabrications scripted by strangers. Given a choice, they all talked face-to-face, or at least voice-to-voice. By offering him a text, Rox was delivering another slap in the face, as well as gauging his desperation. "In that case, I may just switch the phone off. Save the battery. See ya, Sarah." He disconnected.

Saturday April 3 2004

IO Eastern HQ

MacLean Virginia

Alicia Turner stopped halfway up the long thirty-degree incline and bent over, hands on bare knees, trying to catch her breath and fight down the urge to puke. She'd thought she was in good shape for a forty-one-year-old woman, but a weekly routine consisting of ten miles of jogging and nine hours in the gym was no preparation for this.

She and her companion were on the first third of IO's physical training course, a ten-mile trail that wound through the steep wooded hills southwest of the Black Tower, the property's main administration building. The broad path, composed by turns of hard-packed dirt, sand, mud, and large loose stones that could snap the ankle of an unwary runner, led up and down hills, across ravines, and through swift streams that left Alicia's soaked running shoes feeling like they weighed twenty pounds each. She stared at the steam rising off her bare thighs and the dark stains down the front of her sweatshirt and knew absolutely that she'd fall dead before completing the course.

"Are you okay?" The other woman stood in the middle of the path about twenty yards up the hill, where she'd stopped and turned when she'd noticed Alicia wasn't following her anymore. Alicia noted sourly that her companion wasn't even breathing hard; no doubt the woman could have paced her the last three miles running backwards.

Alicia panted and swallowed, trying to gather enough breath to speak. She shook her head to clear the wet hair from her stinging eyes and stared up at the woman she'd come to interview. Some of the data in her file, Alicia decided, were damned misleading. Her awe-inspiring fitness and muscle tone made her look a good deal younger than thirty. Her height was recorded as five-ten, but her physical presence made her seem larger, especially in boots, camo pants, and a sleeveless green undershirt. The file listed her as blue/blonde, but it didn't mention the perfectly sculpted eyebrows, or the yellow-white mop's determination to curl everywhere it was more than six inches long; unbound, Alicia thought, it would tumble around her face and over her shoulders in ringlets. The scale had been less than forthright about her as well: the girl had a recorded weight of one fifty-two, but, aside from the subcutaneous layer that softens the definition of most women's muscles, she wasn't carrying an ounce of fat. Nor did she look musclebound. She just looked like a woman capable of handling any physical demand that might be made of a very fit man.

Christie Blaze, Alicia thought. Sounds like a name for a porn star. Got the looks for it, too. No, she amended, not with those shoulders. More of an action-adventure heroine, the kind who can kick a man's butt and then screw him blind. She offered the girl a limp wave. "I'm fine," she wheezed. "Go on, don't want to break your routine."

"Already did. I stopped." The young Amazon tramped down the slope towards her; Alicia grew sick again at the thought of running the previous three miles in heavy ankle-height field boots. "Never turn in a decent time on the obstacle course if I'm not limbered up."

Christie's remark brought fresh humiliation to the older woman. Alicia knew that, a mile further down the trail, the course's natural obstacles were reinforced with man-made ones of timber, concrete, and steel, a sort of freerunning course where the Razors and X-Teams practiced their formidable skills at conquering terrain and insertion into impossible places. For me, the last three miles were a life-threatening experience; for her, they were a warmup. "Go on," Alicia said, still bent and breathing heavily. "I'll catch up with you at the Tower."

"Don't think so. Not even if you turn around and go back." Christie extended a hand and beckoned. "Come on. You'll recover faster if you walk. There's a shortcut back for observers and VIPs at the start of the obstacle course. It'll cut a mile off the return trip, and it's easier going besides."

Alicia coughed, wiped her face on her sleeve, and trekked up the long slope with Christie. At the crest, the girl said, "You look better. Endorphins kick in?"

"Think so," Alicia replied, as they started down the other side. Her near-death feeling had been replaced by one of lightness and well-being. She knew from experience the sensation was illusory and short-lived, but she now felt as if she could run all day.

"Careful. Once they drop you, you'll have trouble getting one foot in front of the other." The blonde Amazon scanned the wooded decline as if expecting an ambush at any moment. A twenty-story black-glass building was visible through the trees: the Black Tower, IO's original HQ, which was emptying rapidly as Ivana moved the organization's administration to the new headquarters in Boulder. "So. You said you're from PsyOps? Something turn up in the debrief?"

Christie was recently returned from an extended undercover assignment, a scouting trip of sorts, gathering boots-on-ground intel on several likely targets in Europe. Nominally part of X-Team Number Two – the only female in the entire Expeditionary Force, though there were quite a few in the Razors – her place on the roster was supernumerary, and she seldom dropped with her team. She'd shown a talent for covert ops and independent action that John Lynch had picked up on and developed early in her career.

Alicia raised her eyes from her footing, risking a fall to study the girl's reaction. "Actually, I'm not here about your last mission. I'd like to discuss John Lynch with you."

The change that came over Christie was as abrupt as the drawing of a curtain. Her face blanked, and the polite friendliness disappeared from her voice. "Okay then. Miss Turner, I'm sure you miss your office by now, so why don't I save you a little time? I'm not in contact with him, and I don't know where he is. He didn't breathe a word to me. I didn't have a frickin clue." She booted a pebble down the path. "And yes, I suppose that's why he dumped me a year ago. So I wouldn't be implicated, the noble bastard."

"None of that comes as a surprise," Alicia said quietly. "This isn't an interrogation, Miss Blaze. Have you been brought up to speed on what happened?" Christie had been 'out of the office' for seven months; when she'd left, John Lynch had still been Director of Operations. Alicia suspected that the assignment taking her far from the scandal had been Jack's idea as well.

"Well, I've heard the official version." The big blonde looked down at her feet as she skidded slightly in the gravel. "But it's bullshit."

Alicia blinked, taken back. Like most of IO's employees and staff, Christie Blaze wasn't cleared for Genesis. There were plenty of people at IO who were privately skeptical of the 'official' story of Jack Lynch's deception, but very few would ever be willing to express such an opinion to a stranger from the Shop. "You sound very sure."

"Jack didn't bug out with the contingency fund. He's no embezzler."

Alicia shrugged. "Jack's gone. So's the money. A lot of money. One point two billion dollars."

"I can think of twenty ways to explain that without half trying. Starting with some sticky-fingered weasel using Jack's disappearance as a golden opportunity."

Alicia slowed as the downslope steepened. "You have a name to go with that accusation?"

"No. I just know he didn't leave IO over money. Hell, he didn't spend what he was already making. His work was his life. He wouldn't throw that away to add a few zeroes to the end of his bank balance."

"Care to speculate why he did do it, then?"

The big blonde gazed at Alicia as if she was sighting on her. "What's PsyOps' interest?"

None, actually. "Trying to guess his motives and deduce his plans. Determine whether he's a continuing threat to the organization." She added, "If you don't want to talk about it, I understand."

"Or think you do." Christie stopped and turned to face the older woman, looking her over in a new way. "Did you know him?"

Meaning, did I sleep with him too? "Rather well. I was his grief counselor after his wife died." And before that, when he was wondering if he was still human after acquiring his powers.

"Oh." She seemed to come to a decision. "If he'd told me, and asked me to go with him, I might have. Does that earn me a place on a list somewhere?"

Alicia shook her head. "None that I'm writing. But if he's intending mischief, it's in everyone's best interest for IO to know, and know why. Why do you think he left?"

The girl turned back down the trail. A tall wooden wall, the first of the course's man-made obstacles, was just visible around a bend in the path. "My guess is, he wasn't happy with the current leadership."

"I assume you're not talking about Mr. Santini." Jack Lynch and Benito Santini had been colleagues and friends for almost thirty years; Santini had been Jack's boss when he'd first been recruited to IO. When the Shop had been reorganized in the late Nineties and IO's direct-action troops had been given their own Directorate, Santini had abdicated the top spot after a very short time and recommended Jack instead. After Jack's defection, Santini had assumed the vacated title, but complained loudly and bitterly about 'wasting his time' dealing with IO's top management. Instead of moving to the new Boulder headquarters, he'd stayed put in the Black Tower and had sent his deputy, Francis Colby, a young up-and-comer and a former protégé of Jack's.

Christie resumed her downslope walk. "No."

"He seconded Ms. Baiul's appointment to Chief Director."

"It was either that or fight her for the job. If he'd done that, win or lose, he'd have had to sleep with one eye open the rest of his life." Her regular stride paused half a second. "Sorry. Speaking out of turn. Sometimes we field grunts forget our company manners."

Sure. Just your average gun-toting gorilla. With a degree in European Studies from William and Mary. Alicia reached for the girl's forearm. When Christie stopped and looked back, they locked eyes. "Christie. Nothing you say to me in private will get you in trouble." But if you take that statement at face value by a stranger from Headquarters, Jack was very smart to do what he did with you. Even though in this case it's true.

But the X-Trooper's survival instinct had re-asserted itself, apparently. "I don't know anything, really. I've wracked my brain for a reason he might have done it, and I come up with nothing. I guess I never really knew him after all."

Alicia nodded. "Well, if anything comes to mind…"

"I'll call you. Sure." Alicia noted that Christie didn't ask for her number. At the bottom of the slope, the girl pointed to a fork in the path. "There's your shortcut. Think I'll tackle the O-course anyway, just for practice. Nice talking to you." She jogged on down the path to the timber barricade, jumped up to grab the top, flowed over it like wind-blown smoke, and disappeared.

Alicia started down the fresh trail. As promised, it was smooth and sure and gently graded, and it led almost straight back to the Tower. That was good; she was suddenly very tired – either from her endorphins metabolizing or depression from disappointment, she wasn't sure which. With her footing unchallenged, she was free to think, and began composing her report and recommendation. Said report would not be going to her boss's terminal at PsyOps, however; it would be verbal, face-to-face, and private, delivered to the Deputy Director of Operations, Frank Colby.

The report would be brief, and her recommendation clear: Christie Blaze, though a likely sympathizer, should not be recruited into the conspiracy to keep Jack and his young wards out of IO hands – a conspiracy which she believed presently consisted of her and Frank. Christie's position would give her little chance to help, and bringing her in would incur a serious risk with no discernible benefit. She was certainly being watched, even so far from Boulder in the heart of Santini's satrapy. No doubt the girl kept her thoughts close when on assignment, or she wouldn't be alive. But, back in the perceived security of MacLean, she was far too open for her own good. She'd share her guesses and opinions with people she trusted, and they'd share with people they trusted, and eventually her words would reach the ears of Ivana Baiul. Alicia hoped things didn't go too badly for Jack's former lover when that happened, but she had little confidence.

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