Prophet, p.28
Prophet, page 28
“Happy days at Lackland.”
“It’s all downhill after BMT.”
The door opens. It’s a doctor, clipboard in hand. Nervous looking and overworked, like all of Rhodes’s staff. His voice is soft. Southern. He takes them through the bureaucratic hurdles that will permit Flores to be released into Hunter’s care. Says he’s sorry that the process will take some time. Retreats with his clipboard after promising to expedite proceedings. It’s all bullshit, Adam guesses. Some way to keep Flores for a little longer or to keep Hunter on-site for as long as they need to get more intel on her—or any number of similar shitty tactics Lunastus could be running in the background. All amounts to the same thing in the end.
“Coffee?” Hunter prompts.
“There’s a canteen.”
“Rubenstein, you’re gonna get soft living like this,” Hunter observes. Moroccan lamps on every table. Woven Balochi hangings, a host of curved and gilded mirrors on the walls. In the spotlit darkness a full-size fake palm tree. He follows her gaze up to the star-shaped tracery of beams on the concave ceiling, each one set with scores of tiny, glimmering lights.
“It’s supposed,” he says dryly, “to represent a bedouin tent.”
“The canteen? What’s with Colorado and tents? Denver airport, now this. It’s crazy.” She lifts her cup and shakes her head. The coffee here is so good it’s unholy. Adam distrusts it. It tastes like dirty corporate money and hazelnut syrup. Rao lives for it. As soon as they get back to their motel room at night, he starts complaining about having to wait all that time before there’s decent coffee again. Adam’s thankful they get to leave Lunastus in the evenings. Rhodes offered him and Rao accommodation on-site but they both, separately, refused her offer. The motel had been the right call, considering. Weird how quick it got to feel secure and permanent after that.
“So, it was the day your aunt died,” Hunter says, breaking Adam’s train of thought.
“It was the moment I should have left to go with my aunt,” Adam says. Reconsiders. Clarifies. “So I guess, to me, it was the moment she died.” Hunter’s never heard the whole story about Sasha before. Adam hadn’t told anyone before Rao.
She gets it. Doesn’t linger on unnecessary questions.
“And your brain made it plop into existence because of this Prophet junk?”
“Pretty much.”
“I thought you said you weren’t working for the Office, Rubenstein.”
“I’m not,” he grins.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Adam’s about to reply when Rao walks in. He pulls the chair next to Adam, sits, looks sidelong at Adam’s coffee, then makes a series of complicated facial movements indicating his desire to take it. Sighing, Adam slides the cup in front of him.
“It’s black,” he warns.
“That’s okay. I’m feeling continental today,” Rao says, pleased with himself. “Cheers. What are we talking about? Alright, Hunter.”
“Rao,” she responds. “Good to see you.”
Rao turns. “She means that, Adam.”
“Congratulations, Rao.”
“We’re waiting for them to get the paperwork to release Flores,” Hunter explains.
“Yeah,” Rao agrees. “But that’s not what you were talking about. That’s what you’re doing. Were you telling Hunter about my miracle-working shit?”
“You mean Raoki,” Hunter says. “Like Reiki, but Rao.”
“Raoflexology,” Adam offers. He gets up to pour himself another coffee. Rao’s glare of disgust has vanished by the time he returns. “Office Workers,” he says.
“What?”
“That’s what we were talking about.”
Rao huffs. “Adam, I can’t help but suspect that you’re getting off on being obtuse right now, and I’d like it to be perfectly fucking crystal clear that I don’t appreciate it.”
“It’s what people call the assholes who work in the Extranatural Incident Office,” Hunter explains.
“Oh! Mulder and Scully.”
“Yes,” Adam nods.
Hunter shakes her head. “No.”
“Yes,” Adam repeats. “Mulder and Scully.”
Rao snickers. “And by people, you mean . . .”
“Us,” Hunter says.
“Service,” Adam adds.
Rao hums sagely. “This would be interdivisional rivalry, then? Like the Chair Force?”
Adam lifts both eyebrows, says nothing.
“What?”
Hunter clears her throat. “He’s touchy about that, Rao.”
“Your dad was air force, wasn’t he, love?”
Adam shrugs. “Still is, as far as I know.”
“Adam?”
“Yes, Rao.”
“Do you outrank your father?”
Hunter laughs into her mug, mutters something that sounds like “good coffee.” Adam smiles, but it’s one with teeth. Real.
“Now that you mention it, I think I might,” he says slowly.
Rao beams. “You little shit.”
“Mm,” Adam says, as he tips his coffee and drinks.
Rhodes appears by their table. Adam’s impressed he didn’t see her coming; she’s a natural at silent interception. She’d probably breeze through Peary. Maybe she already did. He doesn’t have the intel. She’s wearing thin gold bracelets. Her hair has a slight wave today. He gets why Rao’s fascinated.
She smiles benevolently. “Dr. Veronica Rhodes,” she says. “And you must be Hunter. You’ve quite a reputation.” Hunter opens her mouth to reply. Rhodes doesn’t let her. “Colonel Rubenstein was insistent that you be given a visitor’s pass. And before it could be issued, of course, we needed to make ourselves intimately informed of your career.”
“If you know so much about me, then I guess it’s fair to ask about you.”
“You may ask what you like, Sergeant Wood.”
“I want to know what you’re running here.”
“I assume that Colonel Rubenstein will have—”
“I don’t care what he told me. I want you to tell me.”
Veronica moves to stand behind the only unoccupied chair at their table. She doesn’t pull it out. Doesn’t sit on it. Just rests her hands on its back as if she might.
“Lunastus-Dainsleif is in the fortunate position to have been given the chance to study, to understand, a novel substance with extraordinary properties. We’ve already determined that with the right application and control, this substance could be used in the field. We’re taking the first steps toward completely costless warfare.”
Hunter nods. “That’s a hell of a spiel. You’re shit out of luck, though. I’m not dumb enough to get lost in empty jargon like that.”
Rhodes looks amused. “I’m unsurprised our very own Lieutenant Colonel Rubenstein keeps such stellar, straight-talking company.”
“Your Colonel Rubenstein?”
“Ours, yes. I believe a decision on that will have already been made. What do you think of our project?”
“I think it sounds impossible.”
Veronica hums, angles her head a little to one side. “Well, feel free to drop by my office or come see me in the lab if you’re interested in the particularities of our impossible research. My door’s always open. It’s been a pleasure, Sergeant Wood.”
Hunter watches her leave. Two seconds pass. Four. Ten.
“I don’t like her vibe, Rubenstein,” she says.
“No. Neither do I.”
“She’s just a psycho,” Rao explains helpfully. “That’s all you need to know about Veronica.”
“So?” Hunter hisses, addressing Adam.
“What?”
“You’re being headhunted.”
“I don’t think that’s what she was saying, Hunter.”
“Is that right?” She narrows her eyes. “Seemed pretty clear to me. What aren’t you telling me?”
Adam takes a sip of coffee. “I can tell you later. It’s not important right now.”
She raises an accusatory finger. “Don’t try to feed me that sack of shit and call it a hamburger.”
Rao cuts in. “I’m . . . sorry, what seems to be the problem?”
“Rubenstein’s keeping secrets,” Hunter says.
“From who?”
“Hunter,” Adam cautions.
She ignores him. “My guess is that he’s keeping secrets from you, Rao.”
“Well,” Rao says. “We don’t do that any longer. Do we, Adam?”
“No.”
Rao folds his arms. “So what the fuck is going on?”
“Fucking—fine,” Adam says. “My only angle with Rhodes is testing. I have one card to play, so I’m playing it.”
“Does that make sense to you, Rao?”
“Yes, it bloody does,” Rao says. “You’re auctioning your, what, Adam? Your samples? For what?”
“Hunter’s visitor’s pass, to begin with.”
Rao’s eyebrows rise. “To begin with? And what did this pass cost?”
“She’s pushing for a biopsy.”
Hunter’s shaking her head. Rao groans. “Fucking hell, Adam. This was phenomenally stupid of you.”
“I know what I’m doing. Both of you can stand down.”
“Stand down?” Rao raises his voice. “You’re not my fucking CO, Adam, and now is not the time for this Captain Oates bullshit.”
“Oates?” Hunter says.
“Scott of the Antarctic,” Rao says, turning to her. “You know. Everyone on the expedition was starving. Oates was the guy with scurvy and frostbite who kept telling them to leave him behind, and they wouldn’t. So he hobbled out of the tent into a blizzard on purpose, sacrificed himself to save the rest of the team. Said, ‘I am just going outside and I may be some time.’” Rao sits back in his seat, lets the silence hang, then turns his head to look pointedly at Adam. “And they all fucking died anyway.”
“Rubenstein’s not Oates,” Hunter says firmly.
“Hunter, that was a spur-of-the-moment analogy, I wasn’t—”
“Shut up. I get the analogy, but Rubenstein’s got the best operational brains out there. He’s a legend at the DIA. My advice is you put your faith in him and your trust in whatever course of action he determines is the most expedient.” She looks at Adam. “Even if he is acting like a four-star idiot.”
“Hunter,” Adam says.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
Adam doesn’t reply, just picks at the corner of his left eye. He knows it’s a tell. Tiredness. Stress, maybe. Whatever. It doesn’t matter.
“Rao,” Hunter says. “Are they paying you for this?”
“Spending time with Adam?”
“Putting yourself inside this fucked-up project.”
“They are. Lunastus values me at five hundred dollars a day.”
Her eyes widen. “Jesus. Well. If you’re not busy watching QVC, you’re both buying me dinner later. Somewhere that isn’t here. Guy on the base says there’s an Indian place, it’s—”
“Absolutely not,” Rao interrupts.
Adam snorts. “Let’s find a Vietnamese.”
CHAPTER 50
His Tahoe desk is heaped with papers and meal replacement drinks. His lips are bitten raw. He’s steepling his fingers. None of these signs are optimal. Veronica steels herself.
“We have to understand the biomechanics of what he does,” De Witte whispers.
“That, Steven,” she says, “is my goal also.”
“So we can replicate it.”
She nods. He shakes his head. “Your methodology has been, um, messy, Veronica. We need him in our Pensacola facility. Get him there and put him in one of your restraint units. Immobilize him. Don’t give him analgesics. I don’t want him sedated. Administer Prophet to him until we can model his extraction method.”
Veronica knows this was inevitable. But it doesn’t have to happen yet. There’s so much she can learn using Rao as he is right now. While he’s still willing to help. Still able to talk.
“He’s useful here,” she murmurs. “I’m—”
“But I don’t want him there,” De Witte cuts in, looking right at her down the camera. His eyes are pale, peculiarly clear. Veronica makes some rapid calculations.
“I understand,” she replies in tones that sound like she doesn’t. Waits to see how he responds.
“I hope issues related to his, uh, rendition aren’t a concern. He already attempted suicide and was a liability to his previous employers. Elisabeth Miller is, uh, out of the frame. Except for us, nobody wants him. Not even himself.”
“What about Rubenstein?”
“A cog in the war machine,” De Witte says with almost no trace of his usual diffidence. “He barely exists as it is. Easily removed. To the wider world, neither of them matter.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she replies. “And of course Rubenstein’s air force colleague could be sent back to Afghanistan.”
He nods. “She’ll be deployed there anyway. She doesn’t have to return. Remember the stakes, Veronica.”
“They’re not forgotten.”
De Witte’s eyes lift beyond the screen for a moment, focus on the far wall. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles. “Designing a repository for excess stocks of Prophet has been . . . complicated. But now we can cut that expense from our books.”
“You want to use him as a live disposal unit.”
“Absolutely,” he says, his smile broadening. “Our very own human Yucca Mountain.”
CHAPTER 51
“Where’s Hunter?” Rao enquires over his canteen breakfast.
“She’s with Flores.”
He sighs happily. “I must thank you for introducing me to Hunter, Adam. She’s so incredibly emasculating. It’s brilliant.”
“Is she,” Adam says, mouth quirked. Then his face shifts wistful. “Miller has that effect on some people too. You should see her on the range. Her groupings are insane.”
Silence follows. Rao hastens to fill it. “Veronica said she’ll get me to Miller,” he assures Adam. “I’ll fix what happened. You know I will. She’ll be back on the range shrinking everyone’s balls before you know it.”
“Yeah,” Adam says after a while, like he doesn’t believe it. “You done? We should join Hunter.”
When they walk in, Hunter’s perched cross-legged on the bed and Flores is hunched in an armchair, a cream-coloured robe over his shoulders. His face has regained some colour, but it’s still haunted. Pinched.
“Hey, Danny,” Hunter says. “This is Rao, the guy who woke you up.”
“Thanks,” he says. “I owe you.”
“You really don’t. I’m glad to have helped. How are you?”
“Good. Good,” Flores says. His hand trembles as he places his mug on the table by his side. “Rubenstein. Been a while. You still DIA?”
“Yeah. They looking after you?”
“Never had food like in this place.”
Rao nods enthusiastically. “Have you had the tagliatelle yet?”
“It’s good,” Flores says, then his eyes rise slowly to the flat-screen TV on the wall, where CNN plays silently with subtitles. Footage of fighter jets. Helicopters. A sixty-billion-dollar weapons deal with Saudi Arabia.
“Fucking with Iran,” Flores observes. “Keeping Saudi onside. They’ve been working on this one for years.”
“Pretty intense for convalescence,” Rao says. “Want me to switch it over?”
“No thanks. Old shows give me headaches,” Flores replies. “News is ok. Hey, sit down.” He nods at the button on the table. “I can get coffee, if you want?”
“No, we’re all set,” Adam says.
They sit watching CNN for a while.
“Flores,” Adam says. “Can you tell us what happened to you?”
Flores’s face twists with distaste. “I had a bad reaction to that formula. Put me in a coma. I’m just glad they found a doctor who knew what he was doing.” His eyes flick towards Rao.
Rao opens his mouth but Adam speaks first. “And now?”
“Disoriented, like a concussion. It’s still hard to sleep, but they’re taking care of that. I got the shakes. It’s sort of like the flu.”
“I got dosed,” Adam says. “Didn’t work the same on me, but that’s how I felt too.”
“Rough?”
“Rough. It’ll pass.”
“Adam’s therapeutic regimen involved bed rest and beating the shit out of a couple of goons,” Rao explains.
“It helped,” Adam deadpans.
Flores huffs a mirthless laugh. “June’s been taking care of me. My nurse. I get a bunch of vitamins, have to drink a lot of water. But I’ll pass your recommendations on.”
“I spoke to her,” Hunter says. “Looks like you might be able to get out of here soon.”
Flores stiffens. “Will they make me go home?” He swallows. “That sounds crazy, I know. I’ve got to see my mom. She’s not doing well. And I miss my dogs. But . . .”
“You got troubles back in Boulder?”
“No. No.” He scrubs his face, embarrassed. “Feels safer here, is all. But I’m good. Really.”
He doesn’t look it, Rao thinks. He might be better than before, but the man’s so far from right it’s wrong hearing him speak. Every word is like the jolt of expecting a step on a staircase that isn’t there. “Danny,” he ventures. “Can you tell me what it was like, when you were out?”
His face contorts. Like Rao’d driven a splinter under a nail.
“Dr Rhodes already asked me,” he says, eyes flicking towards the door.
“She’s not here today,” Rao says. “She’s on holiday. Back tomorrow. And she doesn’t know we’re talking.” Hunter gives him an accusatory glare. She might not, but she will. There’s a security camera right above the door.
