Fawkes knew too much.
He'd been wide awake, dressed and raring to go when Hobbes knocked on his partner's door at exactly 0800. And to make matters worse, Fawkes had been focused entirely on work, complete with print-outs showing the Phone's money trail for the last few months. When Hobbes had asked if Fawkes had gotten the info from Eberts, the uninformative response had been, "he's got copies," which made Hobbes more than a bit suspicious. He didn't say anything though, because how was he supposed to explain that Fawkes taking his job seriously was frickin' weird. Though Arnaud was involved; which was probably more than enough to motivate his partner into taking the job seriously.
Still, it was strange having Fawkes head into a meeting more prepared than anyone else. Hobbes'd feel jealous if he wasn't so certain he and Fawkes were still the dynamic duo of the Agency.
The meeting was going to be a memorable one with everyone (everyone of importance, that is) in attendance. Eberts stood at the far end of the conference table, a laptop, and a small video projector before him. On the screen opposite was the DOD seal with the words TOP SECRET stenciled across it in red letters.
Eberts and the Official were fiddling with a remote control and arguing softly. Finally, Eberts slapped the Official's hands away, pointed the remote at the projector, and pressed a button, changing the image on the screen. With an indignant huff, the Official took his seat.
"What have you got for us, Eberts?" Monroe asked, smiling up at him and making him turn a pale pink.
"We believe we know where Monsieur De Fehrn is, and what he's planning," Eberts answered concisely. "Thanks to information brought to my attention, we were able to track various money transfers, and a month ago he rented a warehouse in Boulder, Colorado under one of his aliases."
"Colorado?" Hobbes repeated. "What could he possibly want in Colorado?"
"Project Chameleon." Eberts clicked the remote and the image changed. It was a pic of some guy wearing what looked like a shiny black wetsuit that was so tight you could see the outline of every muscle, but Hobbes hadn't a clue what he was really looking at. The next image was of the same guy, however all that was visible were his bare hands, feet and head. He could just discern the outline of the suit. It was practically invisible against the generic foliage background.
"Quicksilver?" Claire queried; a hint of propriety surprise in her voice.
"No," Monroe said. "It's not invisible, just camouflaged." She turned to the Official. "Smart cloth?"
The Official's lip twitched. "You've heard of it?"
Monroe shrugged. "Here and there. Though I didn't know they'd gotten this far."
"Few people do," Eberts informed her. "The DOD program to create clothing capable of changing to preset camouflage settings is ongoing. This," he gestured at the screen, "is another program entirely."
"A horse of a different color, shall we say." The Official spread his hands, as if gleefully sharing a nifty new toy he had found.
"So what is this program?" Hobbes asked, hoping to avoid an in-depth technical review right now. The basics would be more than enough for the time being.
"N.E.S.T.A.," Eberts answered.
"Which stands for...?" Hobbes prompted.
"Neural Enhancement Sensory and Tactical Array," Fawkes answered.
Hobbes, Claire, and Monroe all turned to stare at him with matching quizzical expressions.
"Stop looking at me like I grew horns or something," Fawkes groused, sounding defensive. "I was here till one a.m. helping Ebes."
"Quite true, and he was very helpful. The data he provided is what allowed me to confirm the connection between Arnaud and the Chameleon Project." Eberts explained.
"You should have seen the geekasm he went into once he cracked the project encryption," Darien said with a grin.
Hobbes snorted as Ebes blushed a vivid crimson and mumbled, "I do enjoy my work."
"Yes, I imagine you do," Monroe tossed in with a tight smile. "Back to topic; if they're not the smart suits, what are they?"
Claire got up from her seat and wandered over to the screen and the current image, which was a technical spec sheet of the suit. The image had obviously been reduced to fit, since the print had been rendered so small it was impossible to read from where Hobbes sat.
She traced her fingers over the words, muttering to herself, "Neural fibers... tubing... drug wells..." She spun about. "Nano technology?"
Eberts checked his notes. "To a degree, yes. The material of the suit contains millions of nanoprocessors and micro LCD displays." He frowned slightly. "Sort of. Standard LCDs can't handle any serious impact, but the suit can reportedly withstand a rocket propelled grenade fired at close range."
"Bloody hell," Claire grumbled, clearly not thrilled at the news.
"Keep, you know something?" Hobbes questioned, though by the look on her face he was pretty certain she did.
"Maybe?" She threw up her hands in obvious frustration. "Several years before I joined the Agency, I participated in a theoretical symposium that covered ways of artificially enhancing endurance and strength for military personnel. Super-suits like these were one of the more popular ideas. But the technology needed to create even a prototype was years away."
"Not that many," Hobbes snarked. It was easy to forget that Claire had had an entire career before coming to the Agency; that she had worked for the DOD almost exclusively for over a decade. Only the actions of now ex-General Grimmond and her need to cure Gloria had allowed them to cross paths. The Keeper kept far more than just Fawkes; she held secrets that the Official might not even know about.
"Apparently," Claire agreed and returned to her seat. "I assume they are using drugs plus direct neural stimulation to enhance the wearer's abilities."
Eberts nodded. "I was unable to access the detailed technical specs, but the propaganda suggests the wearer's normal abilities are enhanced tenfold."
Hobbes gave a low whistle. "So these guys can do... what? Lift cars? Run fast? X-ray vision?"
"Leap tall buildings in a single bound?" Darien tossed in with more than a touch of sarcasm.
Much to Hobbes' surprise Monroe chuckled in honest amusement. The woman had turned into an actual human being over the last few months. It still surprised him to see wonder woman acting just like everyone else.
"Jealous, Fawkes?" she teased.
Fawkes shrugged, unconcerned.
"Don't laugh," the Official interjected. "In one of these suits trained personnel can do just about anything short of fly."
Monroe shook her head in disbelief. "Yay for our team. But what does this have to do with Arnaud?"
Darien groaned. "He's pulling the same stunt he did at Perseus, ain't he?"
"Shit," Hobbes muttered. "Fawkes is right. He could steal the suits, put his own men in them then rent them out to the highest bidder."
"Oh my," Claire breathed. "Is there any chance he could have infiltrated the project?"
Both Eberts and the Official suddenly gained identical frowns.
"Of course he could," Monroe stated. "He's done it before."
Fawkes rubbed his face in his hands. Hobbes could just imagine what was going through his partner's mind. He'd been there when Arnaud's band of hired thugs had stormed the lab and slaughtered everyone inside. Including his brother, Kevin Fawkes. Although it had been three years since his brother had been killed at the Perseus Lab, Fawkes still hurt, still had regrets, and still missed his brother more than he was willing to admit.
Monroe straightened in her seat. "Eberts, are you certain he's targeting this project?"
Eberts nodded. "Based on the data I have, his last known location was Steamboat Springs, Colorado, which is where we believe the Chameleon Lab is located."
"That's northern Colorado. Ain't much up there and the terrain varies from desert to mountain," Hobbes pointed out. The term 'rugged' could have been coined for the area.
"Sounds like the perfect place to test the viability of this technology." Claire sounded far from pleased. "Weather conditions will be optimal as well. Everything from desert heat to deep snow at the higher elevations."
"But there are hundreds, if not thousands, of areas that will fit that criteria," Monroe argued. "Can we be certain Arnaud is there."
Eberts hugged the file to his chest and grimaced. "One hundred percent? No. But he transferred a large sum of money from his offshore account to a bank in Steamboat Springs just three weeks ago. Why would he do that if he were not there?"
"To pay someone off?" Monroe suggested, always certain that her point of view was the correct one, no matter what the facts might show. "To lay a false trail? Any of a dozen reasons."
Darien shifted and quietly said, "It's the best lead we have." He turned to meet her suspicious gaze. "Yeah, it's a long shot. A whole lot of ifs strung together, which I know you don't like..."
She smiled grimly.
"But what if we're right?"
She nodded reluctantly. "I'm going to hope we're wrong, because if he gets his hands on those suits..."
Hobbes watched the interplay between Monroe and Fawkes in silence, wondering just when his partner had started taking lessons in subtle manipulation. Not that he hadn't had plenty of teachers in recent years - the Keeper, the Official, and the newest of the bunch, Fallon O'Neill - Hobbes just hadn't realized Fawkes had been learning a trick or two during that time. Something beyond the highly effective whipped puppy look and batting those long lashes of his, that is.
Yeah, Fawkes had been a con-man once upon a time, but Hobbes had never really seen him use those skills and figured that Fawkes had been just as bad a con-man as he'd been a thief. That might have been true in the past; Hobbes truly couldn't say, but now... now Fawkes was looking to be getting dangerous.
And Hobbes couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
The discussion had moved on while he'd been considering that once again, Fawkes had proved he was not the wet-behind-the-ears kid he had been when Bobby Hobbes had taken him under his wing.
Claire was looking over some print-outs that lay on the table, Monroe hovering next to her.
Fawkes was leaning back in his chair, brooding, and thinking too much for his own good. "Ebes, how are the enhancement drugs stored?" he asked.
"Umm... let me check." Eberts skimmed through his notes until he found the page he wanted. "The various drugs are stored in a cavity in the upper back of the suit and delivered via the vena cava. Why?"
Fawkes turned to Claire. "Anything could be stored there, right? Like, say, a poison?"
Claire mulled the question for a moment. "I'd need more details to be certain, but probably."
Fawkes nodded; the cogs and wheels spinning wildly under that fur-covered brain of his. "Could they be adapted to store Quicksilver?"
Claire tapped the table with one delicate forefinger. "It is possible, but why bother? If these specs are accurate, the wearer would be virtually invisible anyway."
Hobbes wondered what station his partner's train of thought was pulling into this time.
Fawkes faced the Official, head cocked slightly to the left, and said one word, "Backpack."
The Official grunted as if kicked. "Doctor, could the delivery system be modified in such a way?"
Claire threw up her hands. "Possibly? I don't have enough information to give you a definitive answer."
"So, he'd not only have a super-suit, but his own Quicksilver backpacks to sell to the highest bidder." Hobbes did not like where this was going at all. The Freak in control of invisibility was bad enough, but this... this was more than enough to drive a paranoid man over the edge. "He'd control the enhancement drugs and the Quicksilver..."
"Or counteragent," Fawkes interjected.
"Huh?"
"Think about it for a sec. With the suit tech he might be able to simply stick a gland into the 'backpack' and use those nanoprocessors to control the on and off, plus, they'd still end up dependent on him for the counteragent. If he pulls a similar stunt with the suits..." He let the sentence hang, leaving the entire room gaping at him.
Monroe eyed Fawkes warily. "Fawkes, sometimes your insight scares me. Good damn thing you're on our side."
"Now that's a big assumption, ain't it?" Hobbes said, only half serious at best. Considering Fawkes had been hanging out with O'Neill for a while now, there were days one had to wonder just where his loyalties lay.
Fawkes just snorted in amusement.
"The damage he could do with these technologies is... unimaginable," Claire declared in barely contained anger.
"Which is why we are going to stop him," the Official decreed peremptorily.
"You said it, Chief. Eberts, how long till the suits are operational?" That was the important question right now, and he could only hope the answer would be months - years even - which would give them plenty of time to track down Arnaud and stop him.
"They're due to take their first major field test in a week," Eberts responded in a tiny voice.
"A week?" Monroe repeated in exasperation. "We're screwed."
"Can you get us in?" Hobbes queried, knowing they needed to get moving on this yesterday.
"I don't know. Yet," the Official rumbled. "Miss Monroe, any assistance you can render..."
"You'll have it," she swiftly replied. "I'll have transport on standby."
The Official nodded. "Boys, stay nearby, you'll be leaving as soon as everything's arranged."
Fawkes sighed. "Ah, the ol' hurry up and wait." He glanced about the room. "Lunch anyone?"
Hobbes rubbed his hands together. "Good idea. Schmaltzy's is just down the street," he suggested.
"Take it outside," the Official barked, "some of us have work to do."
"Yes, sir." Hobbes got to his feet.
"And bring me a number three on rye," the Official added.
Fawkes snickered softly as he held the door open for Claire.
Hobbes joined them in the hall a couple minutes later with a list for the threesome in the office. "And just when did I say I was buying?" he grumbled. "Fatman don't pay me near enough to feed 'im." That was putting it mildly; the 'Fish had ordered enough food to feed an army platoon.
"S'okay, Hobbesy, we'll split the bill with you, won't we Claire?" Fawkes offered, preventing Hobbes from going off on a rant about how little he was being paid.
"Of course," Claire agreed, apparently not upset at Fawkes including her in the buying spree.
"Oh, okay then," Hobbes told them with a grin. It was good to know they weren't going to leave him hanging out in the wind. "You tagging along, Fawkes?"
Claire spoke up before Fawkes got a chance to. "Actually, I need Darien in the lab."
Fawkes' eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"
"Nothing you need to worry about. I just need to draw some blood," she explained, her expression carefully schooled to reveal nothing. That, of course, set off Fawkes' 'oh crap' alarms.
"You poked me a week ago. What's up?" Fawkes crossed his arms over his chest and got a stubborn look on his face.
She was about to answer when he added, "And don't say 'nothing' 'cause I won't believe you."
She frowned slightly.
Hobbes scootched over next to his partner, presenting a united front against the good doctor and her evasions. "Cough it up, Keepy."
Claire sighed. "The last round of tests was off and I need to determine if it was the equipment or the sample."
"Oh. I haven't fasted though," Fawkes warned her.
"Not a problem; what I'm testing for won't be affected," she assured him. "No getting out of it today, I'm afraid."
Fawkes snapped his fingers. "Can't blame a guy for trying, right?"
"And you can be very trying indeed," Claire quipped with a grin.
"Ooo. Ouch." Hobbes wet a finger and drew an invisible hash mark in the air. "That's one for the Keeper."
Fawkes pouted. "That's right, take her side."
Hobbes shrugged. "Only when she's right, my friend. Not my fault she's right most a'the time." He winked at his partner, who ducked his head and shuffled his feet to hide the smile.
Claire set a hand on Fawkes' forearm and sidled closer to look him in the eye. She didn't say a word; just searched Fawkes' face as if trying to gauge exactly how much her comment had hurt him. Knowing Fawkes, he was playing it up for all he was worth.
Hobbes cleared his throat, loudly. "And suddenly I feel like a fifth wheel." After the conversation he and Claire had had, he couldn't help but wonder if something was going on between the two of them. Something more than just Keeper/Kept, doctor/patient, or two friends who had crossed that friendship line once already. Jealousy flared for an instant, but he covered it with a sweet smile. "You two want the usual?"
"Yes, Bobby." Claire took a step back with an oddly shy smile on her face that didn't help ease his worry any.
"Uh, get me a number four too." Fawkes pulled out his wallet and counted out some bills.
"That's a ton of food, partner," Hobbes pointed out as he took the proffered cash.
"Yeah, but if things fall into place we might not get another chance for a while." Fawkes patted his flat stomach. "Need to keep the engine fueled, my man." The logic was flawless even if it was being used to justify his eating twice his own weight in food. His point was valid though. If they ended up in a tight situation where he had to go see-through for an extended period, he'd need the energy. Hobbes made a mental note to stock up on snacks before hitting the road. Didn't need the gland crapping out at an inconvenient moment.
"Do you really think that will happen?" Claire asked with what struck Hobbes as naiveté.
"Pretty much guaranteed. The boss whispers the word 'terrorist' in the right ear and we'll have all the clearance we need. Whole country's bugaboo on the subject right now."
Fawkes' eyebrows rose and his lips twisted in amusement. " 'Bugaboo'?"
"You making fun of my choice of words, pal?"
Fawkes feigned complete innocence. "Me? Never. Now get out of here before you can't, I'm hungry."
"All right, I'm going, I'm going." Hobbes headed for the stairwell and down towards the lobby.
Once certain Bobby was out of earshot, Darien turned to Claire. "You sure there's nothing wrong?"
Claire eyed him appraisingly. "Perhaps I should be asking you that. What aren't you telling me?"
Darien shook his head. "Nothing, really. Just having some weird dreams."
"Define 'weird'." Claire's 'oh shit' radar had clearly been piqued by his admission, but given he was prone to oddly prophetic dreams; it wasn't too surprising she'd take an interest.
"Like, in them I'm Quicksilvermad, weird."
Claire frowned deeply. "Ah-hunh," she said.
" 'Ah-hunh'?" Darien echoed. "Claire, what's going on?"
"We are heading to the Keep so I can draw blood." She could easily see the fear that had suddenly blossomed in his heart written on his face. "I won't know anything until I run some tests. All right?"
Darien sighed, shoulders slumping dramatically. "No, but at least it's an honest answer. Some days..."
" 'Some days' what?"
"Some days I just want to hear everything's fine." He straightened and met her eyes squarely. "Even if it's a lie."