Rushing back to her suite, she had caught the last few minutes of Adam’s speech on C-SPAN.
“These nine projects represent the tip of a massive iceberg of corruption. What is even more troubling than the nature of these projects is the existence of a shadow quasi-government that has operated under a variety of names over the last six decades, hidden under a transnational umbrella organization composed of rogue elements of the military industrial complex, Wall Street, private banks, and monopolies within the energy sector. This transnational entity not only controls these projects, but clearly possesses their own agenda — an agenda intended to keep them in power by preventing advanced energy technologies from being shared with the rest of the world…”
“Jesus, Adam, what are you doing?”
“Good evening, Jessica.”
Startled, Jessica turned to find the two-dimensional projection of her stout gray-haired Swedish nanny addressing her from the other side of the living room mirror.
“Ingrid, what are you doing here; I didn’t summon you.”
“Your low blood sugar summoned me, you need to eat. I ordered you something special. How does lobster thermidor topped with lump crabmeat and a velvety sauce sound, served on garlic whipped potatoes. And for dessert… a decadent chocolate crème brûlée with a hint of Grand Marnier.”
“That sounds incredibly disgusting. Cancel the order; I’m going for a workout.”
She stripped as she headed for her bedroom closet, the determined computer program following her from mirror to mirror. “Child, you cannot work out on an empty stomach.”
“Then I’ll have a piece of fruit; eating a rich dinner before exercising will make me puke.” Down to her bra and panties, she grabbed a workout outfit as Ingrid suddenly morphed into Raul.
“I am sorry to disturb you, Senorita, but the waiter is at the door.”
“What’s Spanish for — go fuck yourself?”
“Vete a la mierda.”
Ignoring the sexy male concierge, Jessica quickly pulled on a one-piece bodysuit, then located her sneakers and slipped them on as the doorbell rang. Retrieving the hoverboard from the hall closet, she opened the door to her suite to confront the waiter.
“I didn’t order dinner, Mr. Guzzo. Take it back.”
Pulling the door shut behind her, she jogged to the Maglev track, dropped the board on the grooved surface, positioned her feet inside the straps and gave the leash a hard tug.
The device hummed to life, propelling her above the electromagnetic concourse. Bending deep into each zig and zag, Jessica increased her speed until she was flying down the avenue at more than 25 miles per hour.
The neighborhood changed quickly — too quickly — as she found herself soaring by the 500 block of the townhomes, passing her destination — Unit 545-B.
Her first instinct was to execute a U-turn.
Jessica opened her eyes to throbbing pain coming from the left side of her skull. She was lying on a worn beige sofa in an unfamiliar room, cold droplets of condensation dripping down her left cheek to pool at the nape of her neck.
“Dad, she’s awake.”
Repositioning the ice bag, she saw the teen with the bright blue eyes and shoulder-length brown hair. A man she assumed was Logan’s father joined the fifteen-year-old, his brown eyes matching his short-cropped hair, his black jumpsuit the uniform of a security officer.
“Captain Josh LaCombe. My son is a terrific Maglev rider but apparently he’s a lousy teacher. Lesson number one: Know your turning radius and its limitations. The poles along the track are uni-directional, matching the bottom of your board. Like forces repel and propel, opposites attract. If you alter the orientation of the poles beyond ninety degrees—”
“I know, I know. It’s like hitting a brick wall.”
Logan shook his head. “I was trailing maybe sixty feet behind you when your board suddenly stopped and you slammed head-first into the track. It was sick. To be honest, I thought you were dead.”
“Not yet, but the day’s not over.” Jessica winced as she attempted to sit up. “Logan, I need to speak to your father in private. Would you give us a minute please?”
Logan’s complexion paled as his father gave him a hard stare. “Dad, I swear—”
“Go wake your mom; she needs to get ready for work.”
He hesitated.
“Go on.”
The teen left the room.
“Relax, captain. I’m here as a friend. Is this room secure?”
“Ma’am?”
“Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“If you mean without Big Brother eavesdropping, I activated white noise dampeners before Logan and I brought you inside.”
He turned as an attractive brunette wearing a pink satin bathrobe entered the room. “Jessica Marulli, this is my wife, Dr. Joyce LaCombe.”
“Call me Joyce. Logan told us he made a new friend. I hope he hasn’t done anything to disrupt your work.”
“Not at all. However, I need to ask you both a few questions. Do either one of you know a man named Chris Mull? He’s an engineer in Lab-3C.”
“No. Josh?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Well Captain, he sure acts like he knows you. Apparently, he was close to my predecessor, Scott Hopper and—”
His wife slammed her palm against the bar top. “Happy now? I warned you not to bring her up here.”
“She was hurt.”
“She probably wiped out on purpose.”
“Whoa… easy guys. Maybe I should leave.”
“You’ll leave when we say you can leave.” In one motion the Delta Force officer reached over to the dining room table and collected his taser, powering up the device.
Jessica’s heart raced, her head pounding from the increased blood flow. “Are you threatening me, Captain?”
“I need to know what you value more — my son’s life or that Cosmic Clearance badge dangling from your neck?”
Jessica sat up painfully, tossing the ice bag onto the coffee table. “I think the world of your son, which is why I was en route to your home before I did a head-dive onto the Mag. Mull is setting me up to help him steal a zero-point-energy generator… he demanded I bring it to Captain Josh LaCombe on Level-23, tonight.”
The couple looked at one another, unsure what to think.
“Look, I’m just an engineer. The politics of the job… I try not to think about it. But I don’t trust this guy. He may be telling me the truth, or he may be setting us all up for a firing squad. What I do know is that my life and your family’s lives depend upon us trusting one another, and that means giving me straight answers to the questions I came here to ask you.”
Josh LaCombe glanced at his wife, who nodded.
“Captain, how well did you know Scott Hopper?”
“I’m the one who knew Scott,” said Joyce. “We were recruited from the same Ivy League school and were promoted to Cosmic Clearance together. And yes, we believed — as a majority of the members of MAJI now believe — that zero-point-energy and the other advanced technologies reverse-engineered within these facilities belong to the masses.”
“If the majority feels that way then what’s the problem? Bring the damn thing out.”
“This isn’t a democracy, Marulli,” Captain LaCombe replied. “There are three rings of Council operating in North America — figure seventy-two members, give or take. Worldwide, you’re looking at about three hundred individuals who set policy. Thirty to forty percent of those members are hard line conservatives. Included among them are two dozen seriously maladjusted individuals armed with psychotronic weapons. The sociopaths are the ones who keep the silent majority silent.”