“How many times have I told you to stop hacking other people’s stuff? You’re not supposed to know about the StrikeForce technology, Dewey.”
“How could I not know about it?” he asked. “I wrote software for the VISOR and the Implant.”
She glared at him. “How did you know it was implanted in Frist?”
“Well… I might have read it somewhere—”
“Damn it! Didn’t we just talk about this a few days ago? You’re going to get yourself locked up if you keep doing shit like this!”
“But… that was before we had that conversation. I read it, like, years ago.”
The look on Dewey’s face softened her anger. He truly didn’t understand what he had done wrong. “Don’t ever mention that part about Frist again, understand?”
He nodded. “I understand,” he said solemnly. “But you don’t think Nancy dumped me for Frist? I mean, he bombed a bunch of people, doesn’t that mean he’s a psychopath?”
“Dewey!”
“Right. Sorry. I’m sorry. But you don’t think…?”
She shook her head. “I highly doubt it. It’s probably the work you did on the Old Man’s implant. Or, maybe she just got tired of you.”
“Does that happen?”
“Sex with the same person can get boring. Or, sometimes the relationship goes too fast. Or, not fast enough. Sometimes it’s just in a couple’s best interests to end the relationship.”
“I’m glad you’re here to explain this stuff to me. It’s not like television at all. I don’t understand how people work. It’s not like Boolean logic—”
She saw the funny look on his face. “What?”
He closed his eyes and turned his head, as if reading an invisible display. “It couldn’t possibly be that simple,” he muttered. “I’d have to be a complete idiot to have missed that.”
“What, Dewey? To have missed what?”
He opened one eyelid. “Is that friend of yours still working on financial manipulation?”
“Brenda? Yes, she’s been working on a new algorithm to replace the Altman Z-Score so that she can see if there was a single player behind the worldwide financial collapses of the past decade.”
Dewey spun around in his chair and began typing so fast his fingers were little more than a blur. “Where does she keep her research? Under her own directories or under a shared directory?”
Exasperated, she said, “What did we just talk about?”
He stopped typing and grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m not poking around because I’m bored. I might have an idea. Or, the beginning of an idea.”
Karen entered the cafeteria, nodded to a few coworkers, then poured herself the largest cup of coffee she could find. At the counter, the short blonde-haired woman in green camos smiled. “Been one of those days?”
She smiled back, in spite of herself. “You know me, Vicky, it’s always one of those days.” She took a seat near the entrance and sipped at her coffee.
Watching Dewey work was taxing, both at the speed he flipped through data and his poor explanations. She was used to processing large amounts of data, but Dewey was in a league all his own. He read faster than she could keep up, and the deeper he engaged in the problem, the less he spoke.
He probably hasn’t even noticed I left.
She sipped the coffee and found it good. She was trying to cut back, to please Eric and get Todd Clark off her back, but it was her one vice.
Well, that and sleeping around.
She sighed. Listening to Dewey talk about Nancy had given her something to think about. She hated to admit it, but Nancy had matured. That, or she’s become a better liar. She felt bad for Dewey. His view of the world was one of childlike wonder, filled with constant distractions. He lacked any kind of social boundaries, but he made up for it by having a kind heart.
And by being one of the smartest people among a whole base of smart people.
She worried that Nancy might have used Dewey, but it terrified her that the Old Man had assigned Dewey special projects. She vowed that when the current mission was complete, she was going to grill Dewey about what other things he might have done for the Old Man.
How would anyone know? Who would he tell besides me? All he does is hide out in his office and watch stupid TV shows.
He explained once that television made sense, that there wasn’t the uncertainties and tangled communications that came when dealing with people. It had taken her years, but she finally understood what he was trying to tell her.
His office is his safe place and his TV shows take the place of human contact.
Then Nancy took an interest in Dewey. In their own weird way, they were alike — both incapable of normal human relations.
Except Nancy is a trained killer, and Dewey is just… Dewey. What am I going to do with him?
Her cellphone beeped and she read the message from Dewey, then ran out, her coffee cup forgotten on the Formica table.
Eric checked their location with the pilot. After refueling in England, they were nearing the United States. The team had spent most of the trip writing after-action reports and doing their hot wash. With the reports complete and nothing else to do, the final leg from England to Area 51 was the longest part of the trip.
He went back to the cargo bay and found the team scattered about. Nancy sat by herself, reading from a laptop. Deion and Valerie were sitting with Mark Kelly, engaged in a spirited debate about the pros of Valerie visiting Deion’s father again in Chicago.
John was in the back, behind the last van, stretched out across several of the fold-down seats. His prosthetic foot was on the deck next to him and his eyes were closed, but he would occasionally answer a question from Taylor Martin, who was sitting on the other side of the plane.
Nancy didn’t look up when he passed, but he nodded at Deion, Valerie, and Mark, then walked to the back and took a seat next to John. He glanced down at the young man. “Feeling okay?”
Without opening his eyes, John responded slowly, “My foot hurts.”
Surprised, Eric asked, “Your right foot?”
“Nope. The left.”
“How can your left foot hurt? You don’t even have a left foot.”
John sighed and opened one eye. “Doc Elliot says it’s normal. Says it’s all in my head, but damned if doesn’t still hurt. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch.”
Eric glanced over to Taylor who shrugged and pointed to the prosthetic. “I never get used to seeing him take that thing off.”
John opened his other eye and rolled his head to glance at Taylor. “When we land, I’m going to chase you around the plane with it.”
Taylor laughed. “You’ll be hopping on your good foot.”
“Just you wait and see,” John said, waggling his eyebrows. “I’m going to freak you the hell out.”
It was good to hear John make a joke. The young man was under a tremendous amount of stress, and the missions over the past week hadn’t helped. “How’s your arm and leg?”