The Operator
Page 20
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“Yes? Someone thinks they can fix that.” Harmony’s low voice held disdain. “I need an answer, Reed. Are you with us or not?”
Temptation rose at the thought of a secondary source of Evocane. But it was too easy to use her. She could trust no one, especially the government. Then Peri stared when Silas cleared his throat and dipped into his pocket. “Silas,” she seethed. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Allen is right.” Eyes averted, Silas handed the syringes and vial over to Harmony. “I need the lab, if nothing else. I won’t let them wipe you. If it’s between Bill and the CIA, I take the CIA.”
Allen was nodding, but they both seemed to have forgotten door number three existed, and her desire to run swelled. That is until Harmony dropped the drugs into a belt pack. “Thank you, Dr. Silas. Agent Reed?” Harmony prompted.
Peri looked at the hallucination of Jack, alone and unseen by all but her a short distance down the hall. He was rubbing the bridge of his narrow nose, but as if sensing her attention, he dramatically gestured for her to make a break for it. For three long heartbeats she considered it, eyeing Harmony’s hard calves. She could obviously run. Her hair was clipped too short to grab, and her body was built for endurance and speed. And there was that handgun.
“Please,” Harmony said insincerely, her dark eyes glinting.
Peri eyed the pouch where Harmony had stashed the syringes. That she might never forget again almost hurt; she wanted that freedom so badly. “You said you had a car?”
It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either, and Harmony gestured for her to go before them down the hall. Silas fell in beside her, then Allen. Harmony was last—at least until they passed two more agents who filed silently in behind them.
Not so on her own, then, Peri thought, finding a compliment in there somewhere. “Thanks a hell of a lot, Allen,” she said, giving him a dark look.
“Right. Like you had a lot of options once Bill found you,” he said.
“You’re a security threat, Reed,” Harmony said as they continued down the hall. “Once Opti ID’d you, we could no longer let you pretend you were a barista. Personally, I think this entire exercise is a mistake. If I had my way, you’d all be permanently jailed in a purple hell.”
No doubt. But that Harmony knew that a particular shade of purple stunted her ability to draft only solidified that this was the remnants of Opti remake. “I’m not a barista. I’m an entrepreneur providing a needed service.”
“You are a risk,” the woman insisted as they picked up two more suits who radioed in their position. “Able to be programmed and erased at will. Allen Swift said you might be amenable to helping us, and we will investigate that option until you prove it to be the error it is. That we have something you need is not much of a comfort to me.”
“Help with what?” Peri questioned, but she had a good idea.
“We’re having difficulty acquiring a drafter named Michael Kord,” Harmony admitted as Allen bobbed his head, clearly encouraged by Peri’s interest. “He’s aligned himself with the remaining corrupt Opti faction, and it’s proving difficult to bring him in.”
Michael again. “Sending a drafter to get a drafter isn’t a good idea.”
“It’s not my call.” Harmony’s jaw was clenched. “If it was, I’d open the door and let you walk.” Harmony pushed open a wide double door, and cool, cement-scented air blew in to shift her hair. There was a black car idling in the middle of the emptied lot. Beyond it was Atlanta, already hot in the afternoon sun. Smiling like an evil cat, Harmony gestured for Peri to do just that. “Please.”
Harmony was indicating the car, but Peri could tell she was hoping Peri would go for the street beyond so she could shoot her in the back.
“At least you’re not in a cell,” Allen muttered.
Peri hesitated, wanting to run but needing what they had more. Not in a cell? Not yet. Not until they got what they wanted. Then they’d incarcerate her for the rest of her life, using Bill’s wonder drug as both their carrot and their stick.
Bitter, she ran a hand over her hair, thinking she needed to cut it. Jack was gone, and it made her feel abandoned. “Sounds like it’s the same offer Bill gave me,” she said.
Beaming sarcastically, Harmony gestured again. “That’s what I told them.”
She had little choice, and Peri smiled insincerely. “Looks like I’m your girl.”
“Ahhh, shit,” Harmony swore softly, and Peri strode forward, the suits at the outskirts scrambling to get to the car before she did.
Fantabulous. Just effin’ fantabulous. She was working for the God-blessed government again.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
The air was on—the air was always on in Atlanta—and chilled, Peri settled deeper into the white leather couch, feeling forgotten in the informal, glassed-in meeting area between the CIA labs and their adjoining offices. Harried interns hustled amid the low-partitioned office space. On the other side were three labs, only one of which was lit. The central area where she waited was a cross between a lounge and a conference room, and being three stories down, it had direct access to the parking garage through the nearby elevator. So far, everyone was ignoring her. Impatient, Peri rubbed the soft swelling on her jaw where Michael had struck her. The entire area had the open layout of an Opti facility, and she wondered whether her master password would work.
Her new glass-technology, WEFT-supplied phone hummed with an incoming call, and she cautiously picked it up off the low coffee table. She’d given WEFT one of her alternate, low-use phone numbers to rebuild her account. Until today, only two people had known that particular exchange—her mother’s care facility and her bank—and her pulse quickened at the unfamiliar number. Bill? she thought as she answered the call with a hesitant “Yes?”
“Peri?” came a soft-spoken, masculine voice, and she had to think twice.
“Cam?” she finally guessed, mystified. “Where did you get this number?”
“From your cat’s collar,” he said, and Peri’s eyes closed in a slow blink. And Carnac. “Are you okay? I found him outside your shop. You’re not open today, bu-u-u-ut you probably know that.”
Temptation rose at the thought of a secondary source of Evocane. But it was too easy to use her. She could trust no one, especially the government. Then Peri stared when Silas cleared his throat and dipped into his pocket. “Silas,” she seethed. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Allen is right.” Eyes averted, Silas handed the syringes and vial over to Harmony. “I need the lab, if nothing else. I won’t let them wipe you. If it’s between Bill and the CIA, I take the CIA.”
Allen was nodding, but they both seemed to have forgotten door number three existed, and her desire to run swelled. That is until Harmony dropped the drugs into a belt pack. “Thank you, Dr. Silas. Agent Reed?” Harmony prompted.
Peri looked at the hallucination of Jack, alone and unseen by all but her a short distance down the hall. He was rubbing the bridge of his narrow nose, but as if sensing her attention, he dramatically gestured for her to make a break for it. For three long heartbeats she considered it, eyeing Harmony’s hard calves. She could obviously run. Her hair was clipped too short to grab, and her body was built for endurance and speed. And there was that handgun.
“Please,” Harmony said insincerely, her dark eyes glinting.
Peri eyed the pouch where Harmony had stashed the syringes. That she might never forget again almost hurt; she wanted that freedom so badly. “You said you had a car?”
It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either, and Harmony gestured for her to go before them down the hall. Silas fell in beside her, then Allen. Harmony was last—at least until they passed two more agents who filed silently in behind them.
Not so on her own, then, Peri thought, finding a compliment in there somewhere. “Thanks a hell of a lot, Allen,” she said, giving him a dark look.
“Right. Like you had a lot of options once Bill found you,” he said.
“You’re a security threat, Reed,” Harmony said as they continued down the hall. “Once Opti ID’d you, we could no longer let you pretend you were a barista. Personally, I think this entire exercise is a mistake. If I had my way, you’d all be permanently jailed in a purple hell.”
No doubt. But that Harmony knew that a particular shade of purple stunted her ability to draft only solidified that this was the remnants of Opti remake. “I’m not a barista. I’m an entrepreneur providing a needed service.”
“You are a risk,” the woman insisted as they picked up two more suits who radioed in their position. “Able to be programmed and erased at will. Allen Swift said you might be amenable to helping us, and we will investigate that option until you prove it to be the error it is. That we have something you need is not much of a comfort to me.”
“Help with what?” Peri questioned, but she had a good idea.
“We’re having difficulty acquiring a drafter named Michael Kord,” Harmony admitted as Allen bobbed his head, clearly encouraged by Peri’s interest. “He’s aligned himself with the remaining corrupt Opti faction, and it’s proving difficult to bring him in.”
Michael again. “Sending a drafter to get a drafter isn’t a good idea.”
“It’s not my call.” Harmony’s jaw was clenched. “If it was, I’d open the door and let you walk.” Harmony pushed open a wide double door, and cool, cement-scented air blew in to shift her hair. There was a black car idling in the middle of the emptied lot. Beyond it was Atlanta, already hot in the afternoon sun. Smiling like an evil cat, Harmony gestured for Peri to do just that. “Please.”
Harmony was indicating the car, but Peri could tell she was hoping Peri would go for the street beyond so she could shoot her in the back.
“At least you’re not in a cell,” Allen muttered.
Peri hesitated, wanting to run but needing what they had more. Not in a cell? Not yet. Not until they got what they wanted. Then they’d incarcerate her for the rest of her life, using Bill’s wonder drug as both their carrot and their stick.
Bitter, she ran a hand over her hair, thinking she needed to cut it. Jack was gone, and it made her feel abandoned. “Sounds like it’s the same offer Bill gave me,” she said.
Beaming sarcastically, Harmony gestured again. “That’s what I told them.”
She had little choice, and Peri smiled insincerely. “Looks like I’m your girl.”
“Ahhh, shit,” Harmony swore softly, and Peri strode forward, the suits at the outskirts scrambling to get to the car before she did.
Fantabulous. Just effin’ fantabulous. She was working for the God-blessed government again.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
The air was on—the air was always on in Atlanta—and chilled, Peri settled deeper into the white leather couch, feeling forgotten in the informal, glassed-in meeting area between the CIA labs and their adjoining offices. Harried interns hustled amid the low-partitioned office space. On the other side were three labs, only one of which was lit. The central area where she waited was a cross between a lounge and a conference room, and being three stories down, it had direct access to the parking garage through the nearby elevator. So far, everyone was ignoring her. Impatient, Peri rubbed the soft swelling on her jaw where Michael had struck her. The entire area had the open layout of an Opti facility, and she wondered whether her master password would work.
Her new glass-technology, WEFT-supplied phone hummed with an incoming call, and she cautiously picked it up off the low coffee table. She’d given WEFT one of her alternate, low-use phone numbers to rebuild her account. Until today, only two people had known that particular exchange—her mother’s care facility and her bank—and her pulse quickened at the unfamiliar number. Bill? she thought as she answered the call with a hesitant “Yes?”
“Peri?” came a soft-spoken, masculine voice, and she had to think twice.
“Cam?” she finally guessed, mystified. “Where did you get this number?”
“From your cat’s collar,” he said, and Peri’s eyes closed in a slow blink. And Carnac. “Are you okay? I found him outside your shop. You’re not open today, bu-u-u-ut you probably know that.”
