The asset, p.15
The Asset, page 15
She didn’t respond to the HQ party line. If she found proof Blockwell had been holding her daughter in a POW camp for four years, she would end him herself.
“Are we okay, Hammer?”
He paused. “You and me?”
“Yes. You and me. We good?”
“We always are, Slade. Even when you scare the living shit out of me.”
She exhaled. “Nothing scares you, Hammer.”
He chuckled. “We both know that’s not true. Drive safely.”
“Always do. Bye, Hammer.”
“See you soon, Heather.”
Whatever Raven had been worried about back at the safe house seemed to have passed. Or had gone back into hiding. Was Hammer really on her side? She’d keep her eye on him and one day soon, she’d have a nice girl-to-girl chat with Raven.
She picked up speed and headed home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hammer’s blood pressure was up. He had been listening to Heather on the device in her purse. Things had been tense for a moment there, but she’d held her own and seemed to have gotten out of trouble without him having to send in the cavalry. For now.
She really was amazing.
“Hey, man, look at this,” Rat said.
“What’s up?” Roman bounced a ball off the wall, caught it, then bounced it again.
“Test results are coming in from the food substances that Slade snatched at that freakazoid food party.”
Hammer’s ears perked up.
“Yeah, and what do the results say?” Roman asked. Bounce. Bounce.
It was Hammer’s question too. He got up from his desk and joined the conversation by catching the ball over Roman’s head. “Knock that shit off. Let me see the results.”
“I want to see them too,” Raven said.
All four of them crowded around Rat’s computer.
“Hey guys, a little space, please. Let me project it.” Rat opened his hand and mirrored the screen into the air.
“Make the font bigger,” Hammer said.
“Why? Are you losing your eyesight, buddy?” Roman ribbed.
“No, I just want to be able to see it better. Make it darker, too.”
“All right. Fine. Here you go.” Rat widened his fingers again, and the font grew and became bold.
“So, what am I looking at?” Hammer asked.
“Right here, see? This is a picture of a sample of strawberries that Slade snagged from that party.” Rat pointed to the picture of the food sample.
“Yeah? It looks like a strawberry. So what?” Roman asked.
“The lab geek implies by all these exclamation points in the comments that something big is going on,” Rat said.
Roman laughed. “I see exclamation points, dude, but I can’t understand any of the rest of the gobbledygook. I don’t speak lab geek.”
“No, you just speak cyber geek.” Raven leaned closer and tried to read the scientific study. “Do you understand it, Hammer?”
“Not at all. Get Edgar in here.”
Rat pressed the button on his comms. “Hey, Lab Geek. The team needs you to explain your hieroglyphics. Can you come now?”
Two minutes later, Dr. Edgar Snyder rushed into the room. His comb-over was messier than usual. He carried a white bag and wore a goofy grin. “Amazing, isn’t it? I couldn’t believe what I saw, but yes, right there before my eyes, my very eyes…” He pushed his dark-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Astounding.”
Hammer frowned. “What is?”
“Hmm?” Edgar glanced around the room, and as if seeing Raven for the first time, smiled. “Hello, Ms. Raven. Good to see you again.”
“Hi, Edgar.”
Rat snapped his fingers in front of the scientist’s face. “Over here, man.” He pointed at the images projected in the air. “What’s all this about?”
The man raised both hands, palms up. “It’s science.”
Hammer rolled his eyes. “Look, Edgar. I don’t have time for ‘riddle me this.’ I need to get back to keeping an eye on…our spies. Start deciphering what you found in the lab right now.”
Edgar blinked. “Right. Okay. Okay. Sorry, Hammer. I think it’s better if I show you.” He dug into his white bag and pulled out a strawberry. “Agent Slade removed this juicy red berry from the Patriot food event.”
Raven stepped closer. “Impossible. It looks too fresh, like it was just picked.”
Edgar nodded. “Clever as always, Raven. You are correct. It is still fresh. But that’s not the most amazing thing about it.”
Hammer crossed his arms. “What is? Spit it out.”
“It’s this!” Edgar pointed at what seemed like gibberish on the computer screen and was mirrored in the air.
“What am I looking at? Explain it,” Hammer ordered.
“All the samples Agent Slade brought in. Carrots, zucchini, all of them are still fresh, not decaying at all. And the skin of this strawberry…” He laughed like a child who had his first taste of chocolate cake. “It is astounding.”
Hammer glanced at Raven. She shrugged. Raven didn’t know what in the hell the scientist was talking about, either.
“Talk to us like we are third graders, man,” Rat said.
“Yeah, you better start explainin’, or Hammer is going to send you back to third grade,” Roman said.
“Look here, see these symbols and letters on the left side of the screen?” Edgar pointed. They all leaned in and looked closer. “That is the DNA from the skin of the strawberry.”
“Cool,” Rat said.
“Now look at the symbols and letters on the right side of the screen.”
“Blow it up bigger,” Hammer said.
Rat spread his fingers and both sides of the screen were easier to see.
“They’re the same!” Raven said.
“Exactly.” Edgar grinned like a teacher does when his students finally see the point of the lesson.
“They do look the same,” Roman said. “Are they both strawberry skins?”
“No, definitely not. Want to guess again?” Edgar seemed to wait to see if they could figure it out.
“I’m out. Your scribbles are worse than Greek to me, Lab Geek.”
“Oh…wait. I recognize it. That’s…” Raven’s eyes widened. “No. It can’t be.”
They all scooched closer and looked very, very closely at the right side of the screen and then the left. Hammer frowned. He stared at the squiggles and shapes. It all did look sort of familiar.
“I still don’t get it,” Rat said.
Raven spun around and grabbed Hammer’s shirt in her excitement. “It’s human!”
“What’s human?”
She swished her hand in front of the screen. “All of it. Both sides are human DNA. The skin of this strawberry has the same building blocks as the skin of a baby.”
“I knew you’d figure it out.” Edgar was beaming.
Hammer narrowed his eyes at the scientist. “How is that possible? How can both sides be human and strawberry?”
“It’s a puzzle, isn’t it? I am formulating a few hypotheses, but nothing firm to share yet,” Edgar said.
“Try me,” Hammer ordered. “Give it your best shot.”
“I got it! Someone in the lab injected human DNA into this strawberry to mess with us!” Rat laughed and slapped Edgar on the back. “Great joke, Lab Geek.”
Edgar’s cheeks turned red. “I don’t joke about science.”
Raven sat heavily in a desk chair, as if the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Hammer had seen that expression on her face before. It usually meant something bad.
“What is it?” Hammer asked.
“They are using human beings to grow food. Somehow.” She lifted her eyes to him. “They are using people.”
Rat jumped up. “Ew! Are you saying patriots at the freakazoid party were eating people?”
“That’s messed up, man,” Roman said.
Edgar rubbed his stubbled chin. “I am not sure what they are doing, exactly, but it is clear humans were used to engineer the fruit that doesn’t decay quickly. With human DNA.”
“Shit,” Hammer snarled.
“Yeah. Not only do we have to worry about getting caught, now we gotta worry about getting eaten?”
“Totally messed up, man.”
“Please don’t make any rash assumptions until we finish our tests in the lab, okay, gentlemen? And sweet lady. There are still a few things we need to suss out,” Edgar said as he left the room.
“Freaky as hell,” Roman said, grabbed the ball from Hammer’s fingers, and went back to bouncing it on the ceiling.
“The human fruit, or the lab geek?” Rat asked.
“Both,” Roman said.
Hammer’s focus was on Raven. She had that look on her face. No matter Edgar’s warning to not jump to conclusions—Raven had figured something out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Heather drove to Martin’s mansion first. She circled the driveway slowly, while monitoring for Patriot cameras and explosives. Nothing registered on the handheld computer system she’d borrowed from I-Q-T. Cautiously, she searched the entire house for any lingering bad guys hiding like spiders in the corners. She popped a device finder to sniff the air. It came up clean too. No listening devices had been left behind, no trackers, no bombs. Once the PDs had grabbed Martin, they’d simply left, as if assuming the man was no longer a threat. Relief rushed through her. Once she brought him home, Martin would be safe.
She drove to her house and did the same scan for any Patriot devices left outside. Finding none, she parked the McLaren in the garage and went inside. After searching her home for PD bogeymen and listening devices, she plopped down on her comfortable couch and put her feet up.
It was good to be home.
A bang on the door a minute later made her bolt upright. Crap. Who knew she was here?
She crept toward the entryway, weapon in hand, and caught two familiar figures on the security camera. Rat held up an envelope so she could see it through the camera. Roman waved.
She opened the door.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Rat said.
“Hey yourself. What are you two doing in my neck of the woods?”
“I came to bow down to your badassery.” Roman did an exaggerated bow. “We heard you negotiated with the devil himself and won. That took massive balls, Slade. To go into the New White House alone and kick his fat ass? You are my hero.”
“And I brought the two files you requested.” Rat handed her the envelope and walked past her into her home. “Nice digs, by the way.”
“Thanks. You got both files?”
“Yep. Dunbar and Henkle. Your two boyfriends.”
She rolled her eyes.
Roman followed his partner inside. “Yeah, and Hammer ordered us to do a bastard’s sweep in your place. Make sure you are safe.”
“I already did it,” she said. “It’s clean.”
Roman nodded. “We knew you would, but orders are orders.”
“Yeah, I’m not going to get my pretty behind handed to me for disobeying the big guy. He cares about you, Slade.”
“Micromanages me, you mean.” She motioned for them to continue their sweep.
Rat put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s the same thing. Hammer worries about you. I watched him while he was listening to your New White House takeover. Shit, man, I thought the guy was going to have a heart attack. Or a stroke.”
“No lie,” Roman said over his shoulder while he scanned the room. “Straight up lost three years of his life. I don’t think he breathed until he knew you were clear of the gates.”
What could she say to that?
“Well.” She sat on the couch and opened the envelope. “Tell me about Patrick Dunbar. What did you learn?”
Rat sat beside her. His expression was serious. “It’s all in there, but be careful. Slade. This file was buried deep. Core-of-the-earth deep. Someone at HQ does not want us to have it.”
She bit her tongue. She didn’t want to mention at this point that she’d encountered and purposefully ticked off Dunbar at the foodie event. Had she inadvertently put a target on her back? “Why? Who is this guy?”
“The key points? Dunbar is a sadistic, womanizing, opportunistic pig. A low-life scum. A dangerous conman. His name is linked to all the worst Patriot policies.”
Heather nodded as she looked at his picture in the file.
“He was a political wannabe, a nobody running cons on his college peers. Blockwell didn’t even know who Patrick Dunbar was until he positioned himself in one key play.” Rat pointed to the next picture in the file. “He started dating a billionaire’s daughter. He targeted Heather Slade.”
Heather looked at the young woman’s photograph. It was the same picture that used to be on her Patriot Identification card before HQ updated it to the current Heather Slade’s face. The woman in the file wasn’t strikingly beautiful, and some would probably argue she was plain-looking. Still, there was a superior air about the way she held her head and looked straight into the camera as if challenging the photographer. Daring. It was the image of a rich, intelligent woman who owned the world. Or rather, her daddy did.
Madame X had trained Heather to mimic the real daughter’s image. Even now, she held the same pose, as if she were gazing into a mirror.
“Dunbar targeted her?” Something clicked in her head. “Does that mean he was involved with the kidnapping?”
“My guess? Yes. Read the file and see what you think.”
Her head nearly exploded. To this day, Martin thought his daughter had been kidnapped by Revos, not a member of IC. Would he have contributed all those millions to Blockwell’s campaign if he had known the truth?
Roman called from her bedroom. “Your place is clean!”
She cocked her head at Rat. “Told you so.”
He chuckled. “You did.”
Roman joined them in the family room. He was looking at his watch. “We’ve got to jet, brother. Lab Geek has updated intel on the”—Rat fake-coughed twice, interrupting him—“uh, yeah. The, uh, lab experiment.”
“What experiment?” Heather asked. “The food samples I gave you?”
“Top secret, need to know,” Rat said. “Sorry.”
She studied their faces. Both men were as guilty as sin.
“Are you sure I don’t need to know?” she pressed. “I get the feeling this is about me. And the samples I supplied.”
Rat didn’t make eye contact with her. “When Hammer gives the clearance, we’ll fill you in. Until then—”
“We cover our pretty behinds,” Roman finished.
Rat rose. “Mine is prettier than yours, Rom, but clearly not as gorgeous as Slade’s.”
She followed them to the front door and yanked it open. “I’ll kick both of your asses straight to Region 2 if Lab Geek has intel related to my play and you don’t share. I am done with I-Q-T hoarding intel that could get assets killed. I’m the one in the field. I run cover missions that affect other assets. I need to know!”
Roman raised his hands. “Don’t hurt me. I’d tell you if I could, I swear.”
She groaned. Damn Hammer. “Fine. You two go see Lab Geek. I want an update when King Hammer clears it.”
“You’ve got it,” Rat said, meeting her gaze that time.
Roman bowed one more time and walked out the door.
Rat whispered as he passed her, “Give the file back to me when you are done. No one else. I’ve got to rebury it deep before anyone knows I dug it up.”
“You’ve got it.” Repeating his words, she closed the door behind him.
She was still fuming. How dare Hammer micromanage her and not share intel with her? When she finished reading the file, she’d give Hammer a piece of her mind. Better yet, she’d invite him to the gym and take her frustrations out on him in the boxing ring.
Going to the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of Mexican beer and scooted up on a barstool. It was time to get down to business. She spread the file contents across the counter and started reading. The file was technical and dry with significant holes. And it didn’t seem to get to the point. To the emotions. Heather had learned that people are driven to make dangerous and seemingly uncharacteristic decisions in their lives due to emotions, not for dry, technical reasons.
Heather and Patrick had met at Harvard in a political science class. She paused and remembered that Martin had apologized for sending her to Harvard. Was this why? Because she had met Dunbar there? Was it a coincidental meeting in class or a con? The data didn’t give her what she wanted to know.
Something else caught her eye. No, that can’t be. The file said that Martin Slade was once a large donor to the Save Democracy campaign. Curious. Why would he have given money to one of the groups that supported the Revos?
Heather needed to go deeper into the file, to the emotional level, in order to understand why information had been hidden from her and the team. She closed her eyes and turned up her imagination skills. Soon it was as if she’d gone back in time to become the real billionaire’s daughter…
Heather Slade sat at the back of the Winokur Family Hall at Harvard, scrolling through her apps and ignoring the speaker. The lecture hall was full, due to the political unrest in the nation and the threat of civil war. Political science bored her to death, but Dad had convinced her to take the class. As if a class could make a difference. War was coming. Everyone knew it. Dad had funded candidates who opposed civil unrest and strove for peace and democracy. Heather knew it was a losing proposition. No matter how much Martin Slade paid to back democratic organizations, forked out hundreds of thousands of dollars to support peaceful programs, and tried to convince foreign sympathizers to join the cause, it wouldn’t change anything.
Because Blockwell was killing it in the polls.
Blockwell—one of the candidates running for the presidency—represented the majority of the country who wanted war because they thought they would win. They had nicknamed themselves Patriots. They had weapons and brutal anger behind them. Rage beat thoughtful talks every day of the week. If Dad didn’t get the Europeans to assist, he might as well be throwing his money into an abyss.
