“That’s where they are. I’d bet my next paycheck on it.”
“No deal,” said Zeke. “You make more than I do, and you’re probably right. Great work, Vinny.”
Daniel said so too. Even Spooky looked pleased, which wasn’t something people saw very often.
“So here’s this thing,” Daniel said musingly, “maybe the greatest discovery since fire and the wheel, and it’s all pretty much out in the open to be found.”
“That’s actually the best way to hide something anymore,” said Vinny. “Buried in a mass of innocuous data. I had to dig for this stuff. Without the idea that they had something valuable, they would be just another consulting company among hundreds, sucking down the government cheese and churning out reports nobody reads.”
“The Scarlet Letter,” Daniel said. “Hiding in plain sight.”
“I think you mean the Purloined Letter,” said Zeke. “Unless you think these guys are wearing a mark of shame.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, you never know.” I guess my brain isn’t perfectly healed yet. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
They all looked at the photos for a while, and started familiarizing themselves with the stack of resumes of the employees. No one had formally spoken it into being yet, but they all knew they were going to be planning a rescue operation.
Daniel felt elated, but uneasy. He didn’t want to be put in the position of injuring or possibly killing someone. While he had no problem with killing in self-defense – he’d done it before, to defend his patients or himself – one of the reasons he became a PJ was to get out of the business of assaulting the enemy as his primary mission. It was a fine line, he knew, maybe so fine that some people couldn’t see it, but saving lives is what he wanted, not to take them. But even if they, yea verily, opened the benighted eyes of the poor misguided researchers and consultants, there were six security specialists, probably good Americans all, who would be doing their duty as they saw it by trying to stop him. To kill him, maybe, protecting their people.
And the idea of putting Elise at risk, of her becoming collateral damage, made him positively sick, almost frantic. He had no idea why he was feeling this way, unless it was from the XH. Maybe it’s because she bit me? Like there’s really some biological connection between us now? It made no sense, but he knew how he felt.
The good thing was, as far as he knew, he would be very hard to kill. This might give him some leeway to not kill them, strangely enough. Normally, when it was a matter of a split second, you didn’t hesitate, just put two or three center mass, and if they died, they died, because if you didn’t, they would do the same to you. But now, he could pick a shot. He could take a hit, maybe, especially if he had a Kevlar vest and helmet. He felt confident that wounds to his limbs would take care of themselves, as long as he had food and water and a little bit of time. Elise had recovered from a hideous amount of damage in just a few minutes, though she might have collapsed from starvation if he hadn’t fed her.
That was a scary thought. If he was captured, he was as vulnerable as anyone, especially if his captors knew about the XH. Someone could torture him, and the XH would try to heal him even if it killed him to do it.
Another piece of the puzzle fell into place, but it was still fuzzy. That couldn’t be the whole downside. That was like saying a revolutionary super-tank got bad gas mileage. The tradeoff was obviously worth it, if it ruled the battlefield.
Suddenly, Daniel felt exhausted. He had to get some sleep. He never used to sleep this much. Maybe that was part of the XH too. Might as well store it up while he could. He said good night and turned in.
-10-
The next day dawned cold, with a few flakes of snow and a sharp wind. Daniel popped out of bed while the other three were still stacking zees, ate some toast and jam to still the growling and went for a run. His nose and ears burned red with the cold by the time he came back but he felt like a million bucks, better than he’d ever felt in his life. He made breakfast for everyone, ate and drank his fill, which meant he consumed as much as all of the rest put together. He wondered if this state of affairs was going to continue. It seemed like if the XH put his body into peak condition, he should actually be eating less, using everything more efficiently.
They really, really needed to get Elise, to find some answers.
Washing the breakfast dishes, he heard a vehicle approaching. The white stuff was coming down lightly and Spooky slipped out the back, dressed in winter camo.
Zeke and Daniel grabbed assault rifles while Vinny looked worried and went to the window. Zeke came up beside him and looked out too. He put a hand on Vinny’s shoulder and said, “Relax. It’s my guys.”
It was a big black Suburban – no, Daniel saw it was actually an Escalade, with gold trim and those spinning hubcap things, blacked-out windows, running boards, fender flares, and other geegaws and add-ons that he couldn’t name. It blasted a multi-tone horn as it pulled to a stop in front of the cabin, and a big black man in a fancy track suit got out of the driver’s seat. He looked to be about three hundred pounds, fat but fit, like a football lineman. He was in his thirties, with gold chains and a short but expensive haircut, some kind of logo shaved into his hair.
“Larry!” cried Zeke, wrapping him up in a bear hug.
“Come on, man, it’s ‘Lawrence.’ How many times I gotta tell you?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.” Zeke grinned.
Daniel didn’t think he’d forgotten. Must be some kind of inside joke. He nodded to Lawrence, then held out his hand as the man approached.
“Hi Lawrence. Daniel Markis. Call me DJ. I was a PJ.” It was an old joke, DJ the PJ.
“Air Force? Aim High, baby. Call me Larry, Larry Nightingale,” he said, with a smile full of gold and white teeth. He squeezed Daniel’s hand, just to see what he was made of, he guessed.
Daniel returned the grip effortlessly. “Okay, Larry.”
Larry’s eyes went wide, and he grinned even wider. The XH had restored Daniel’s strength, and more.
“Larry was my engineering and demo guy before he decided to chase the green,” Zeke said, mock-disapproving.
“Hey, E-6 pay wasn’t squat compared to what I make now. Dolla dolla bill, y’all. And I expect to get paid now too. Honeys give it up for the bling.” He made some kind of urban hand sign, laughing with those golden teeth showing again.
Daniel thought the man was caricaturing himself, but one never knew. The urban gangsta shtick was so ubiquitous now that it was hard to tell what was real and what was just image. Culture was a funny thing.
The passenger door opened and another man stepped out, tall and thin, with a shaved head and deep-set black eyes in a narrow face. Late thirties, very fit. Skin and bones and wiry muscles, and a trace of Native American in his background for sure. He looked like an undertaker stuffed into tactical pants and polypropylene, and he peered distastefully at the thinning flakes falling from the sky, waving a hand as if to shoo them away. He had a Patek timepiece on his wrist that probably cost more than the Escalade, pure functionality and understated elegance.
“Skull!” Zeke cried, seizing the man’s hand enthusiastically.
Skull looked pleased, but his smile stayed tight and reserved. “I’m here, Zeke. Hey, DJ.” He nodded at Daniel, Daniel nodded back.
Daniel and Alan “Skull” Denham were acquainted. He had been a Marine sniper, a very closemouthed guy. They’d only met a couple of times, through Zeke, and didn’t really hit it off. Daniel never got the full story of how Skull ended up working with Zeke, and had the feeling he always looked down on anyone that wasn’t a jarhead, hiding it well but not well enough. Still, they were all Zeke’s guys, and if Zeke vouched for someone, that was good enough.