The Operator
Page 19
“Bill’s been tweaking this for who knows how long, tweaking it to control drafters,” he said as he threw the strip away. “The most dangerous people on the face of the earth. You aren’t touching this until I’m sure it’s not going to kill you if you stop taking it.”
Her lips parted at the new thought. “He wouldn’t dare,” she said, not sure whether she was more angry at Silas as he tucked the syringe back into his shirt pocket and out of her reach, or Bill for trying to con her into taking it. “We’re too valuable.”
“Not if you go rogue.” Wide shoulders slumping, he lost his anger. “Sweet Jesus, Peri,” he said softly. “There’s nothing wrong with you the way you are, but if you want this, give me the time to check it out and make sure you’re not selling yourself to whoever has the best lab.”
Nothing wrong with her? She could reset time, but not remember it. Bitter, she turned to the tank, arms over her middle as she toyed with the idea of shoving him into the clutter and taking her drugs back. The ability to remember her drafts was in his pocket—and she wasn’t a coward. “Thanks for your input,” she said. “Can I have my stuff back, please?”
Jaw slack, Silas stood. But then his resolve grew. “Sure. You mind if I come with you to put the pieces back together again when this blows up in your face?”
Shocked, she hesitated. “You want to come with me?”
The desk phone rang, and she jumped. “Peri?” he questioned, ignoring it. “Don’t think. Yes or no. Will you slow down enough so that I can keep up with you and keep you alive when you do something stupid?”
He wanted to come with her? “Uh,” she fumbled, turning to the hammering on the door.
“Silas!” someone shouted, and then the door beeped and opened, and a young man all but fell in. “Silas. Tod is looking for you.”
Peri backed up into the shadows as Silas casually lifted the ringing phone from the cradle and set it back down. “Mark, this is Peri. Peri, Mark.”
“Hey. Hi. Silas, you need to get your butt downstairs. Tod is freaking out. The CIA is here. They say you’re part of a terrorist . . .” Mark’s eyes shot to Peri. “Holy shit! She’s a terrorist?”
Peri sighed. The CIA? Damn it, Allen. I am capable of making my own decisions.
The phone was ringing again. Wrapping the cord around his thick hand, Silas yanked it out of the wall. The need to leave swelled. Peri eyed the bumps the syringes made in Silas’s pocket, wanting them back. She edged past the desk, and Mark scrambled backward into the hall to make room. “Is there a service entrance out of here?” she asked.
In the hall, a bored, feminine voice called loudly, “There is. We’ll be leaving through it shortly, Agent Reed. I’m Special Agent Beam, CIA. Could you come out with your hands where I can see them, please? You, too, Dr. Denier.”
“You have the wrong man,” Mark said to the unseen woman. “That’s Dr. Sley.”
Peri looked at Silas, his hands clenched and his jaw set in frustration. “This is so bad for my asthma,” he whispered, and she started at her familiar phrase coming out of his mouth.
Mark yelped as he was yanked out of the doorway. “Go. Downstairs. Now,” the woman said, and then the soft patter of sneakers on the tiled floor followed by the squeak of a door.
Silas sighed. “Allen?” he guessed.
She nodded. “He came to see me a few days after you. He’s working for them in the mop-up, and apparently he thinks I should, too. Sorry. I think I blew your cover.”
Silas’s fists eased, but anger lingered. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll go first.”
“No, I’ll do it.” Mood bad, Peri strode forward. Her hands weren’t in the air, but they weren’t near her body, either. Opti had been an autonomous agency in the U.S. military, so it was no surprise the CIA was fronting the cleanup. The CIA, like the rest of the world, had been oblivious to the unique talents that Opti fostered, hiding them under lies and need-to-know. And no one had needed to know—until now.
Her eyebrows rose as she found only one official-looking woman waiting. Allen was beside her, an odd expression of grim persuasion on his face. One? They’d sent one agent? That was either really insulting or flattering as all hell that they might actually treat her like a person.
“Thanks, Allen. You’re a real peach,” Peri said dryly as the African-American woman in her ugly black skirt and white top eyed her, feet spaced wide and sidearm unsnapped. “If you think I’m going to let you talk me into this, you are sadly mistaken. I forget things. I am not stupid.”
“Peri, this is Agent Harmony Beam,” Allen said, clearly trying to smooth things over, but Peri could tell he was worried she might blow this all to hell. “She’s part of the new WEFT program. World Enumeration Federal Taskforce?”
Harmony? Isn’t that a little flowery for the CIA?
“Agent Reed?” As if knowing her thoughts, Harmony gestured. “We have a car waiting.”
Peri grimaced as the woman looked her up and down in evaluation, attention lingering on her scraped jaw. “Same old Allen,” Silas said, his thick arms crossed over themselves. “She told you no, and you dragged her into it anyway.”
“This is not my fault,” Allen said, angry.
Peri looked askance at Silas. “Notice how it’s never his fault, but he’s always front and center of it?”
“It’s not my fault!” Allen exclaimed. “The CIA has always known where you were. I’m the one who’s been keeping them off your back.” His eyes narrowed in affront. “Both of you. They know about the Evocane and accelerator,” Allen added. “They’ve been able to look the other way until Bill tried to snag you—”
“You didn’t tell me he tried to abduct you,” Silas interrupted, his gaze returning to the scrape on her jaw, and Peri shrugged. It hadn’t seemed important.
“But when Bill tried to snag you,” Allen said louder, “they had no choice but to bring you both in. Peri, they need your help,” he added, softer now. “Bill isn’t the only option here. They have the facility to re-create Evocane. Will you be reasonable and listen for once? Not all my ideas are bad.”
But reasonable wasn’t one of her favorite words, and not when she wasn’t wearing the only gun in the room. Lips pressed together, she weighed the risk of drafting and forgetting the last few minutes against her need to run and disappear. She’d worked for the government before. All it took was a well-placed dart and a handgun to her gut to get her in a cell. And once there, there she would stay, trotted out to do their bidding when they needed her if she wasn’t outright erased. “I’m retired,” she said flatly. “End of story.”
Her lips parted at the new thought. “He wouldn’t dare,” she said, not sure whether she was more angry at Silas as he tucked the syringe back into his shirt pocket and out of her reach, or Bill for trying to con her into taking it. “We’re too valuable.”
“Not if you go rogue.” Wide shoulders slumping, he lost his anger. “Sweet Jesus, Peri,” he said softly. “There’s nothing wrong with you the way you are, but if you want this, give me the time to check it out and make sure you’re not selling yourself to whoever has the best lab.”
Nothing wrong with her? She could reset time, but not remember it. Bitter, she turned to the tank, arms over her middle as she toyed with the idea of shoving him into the clutter and taking her drugs back. The ability to remember her drafts was in his pocket—and she wasn’t a coward. “Thanks for your input,” she said. “Can I have my stuff back, please?”
Jaw slack, Silas stood. But then his resolve grew. “Sure. You mind if I come with you to put the pieces back together again when this blows up in your face?”
Shocked, she hesitated. “You want to come with me?”
The desk phone rang, and she jumped. “Peri?” he questioned, ignoring it. “Don’t think. Yes or no. Will you slow down enough so that I can keep up with you and keep you alive when you do something stupid?”
He wanted to come with her? “Uh,” she fumbled, turning to the hammering on the door.
“Silas!” someone shouted, and then the door beeped and opened, and a young man all but fell in. “Silas. Tod is looking for you.”
Peri backed up into the shadows as Silas casually lifted the ringing phone from the cradle and set it back down. “Mark, this is Peri. Peri, Mark.”
“Hey. Hi. Silas, you need to get your butt downstairs. Tod is freaking out. The CIA is here. They say you’re part of a terrorist . . .” Mark’s eyes shot to Peri. “Holy shit! She’s a terrorist?”
Peri sighed. The CIA? Damn it, Allen. I am capable of making my own decisions.
The phone was ringing again. Wrapping the cord around his thick hand, Silas yanked it out of the wall. The need to leave swelled. Peri eyed the bumps the syringes made in Silas’s pocket, wanting them back. She edged past the desk, and Mark scrambled backward into the hall to make room. “Is there a service entrance out of here?” she asked.
In the hall, a bored, feminine voice called loudly, “There is. We’ll be leaving through it shortly, Agent Reed. I’m Special Agent Beam, CIA. Could you come out with your hands where I can see them, please? You, too, Dr. Denier.”
“You have the wrong man,” Mark said to the unseen woman. “That’s Dr. Sley.”
Peri looked at Silas, his hands clenched and his jaw set in frustration. “This is so bad for my asthma,” he whispered, and she started at her familiar phrase coming out of his mouth.
Mark yelped as he was yanked out of the doorway. “Go. Downstairs. Now,” the woman said, and then the soft patter of sneakers on the tiled floor followed by the squeak of a door.
Silas sighed. “Allen?” he guessed.
She nodded. “He came to see me a few days after you. He’s working for them in the mop-up, and apparently he thinks I should, too. Sorry. I think I blew your cover.”
Silas’s fists eased, but anger lingered. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll go first.”
“No, I’ll do it.” Mood bad, Peri strode forward. Her hands weren’t in the air, but they weren’t near her body, either. Opti had been an autonomous agency in the U.S. military, so it was no surprise the CIA was fronting the cleanup. The CIA, like the rest of the world, had been oblivious to the unique talents that Opti fostered, hiding them under lies and need-to-know. And no one had needed to know—until now.
Her eyebrows rose as she found only one official-looking woman waiting. Allen was beside her, an odd expression of grim persuasion on his face. One? They’d sent one agent? That was either really insulting or flattering as all hell that they might actually treat her like a person.
“Thanks, Allen. You’re a real peach,” Peri said dryly as the African-American woman in her ugly black skirt and white top eyed her, feet spaced wide and sidearm unsnapped. “If you think I’m going to let you talk me into this, you are sadly mistaken. I forget things. I am not stupid.”
“Peri, this is Agent Harmony Beam,” Allen said, clearly trying to smooth things over, but Peri could tell he was worried she might blow this all to hell. “She’s part of the new WEFT program. World Enumeration Federal Taskforce?”
Harmony? Isn’t that a little flowery for the CIA?
“Agent Reed?” As if knowing her thoughts, Harmony gestured. “We have a car waiting.”
Peri grimaced as the woman looked her up and down in evaluation, attention lingering on her scraped jaw. “Same old Allen,” Silas said, his thick arms crossed over themselves. “She told you no, and you dragged her into it anyway.”
“This is not my fault,” Allen said, angry.
Peri looked askance at Silas. “Notice how it’s never his fault, but he’s always front and center of it?”
“It’s not my fault!” Allen exclaimed. “The CIA has always known where you were. I’m the one who’s been keeping them off your back.” His eyes narrowed in affront. “Both of you. They know about the Evocane and accelerator,” Allen added. “They’ve been able to look the other way until Bill tried to snag you—”
“You didn’t tell me he tried to abduct you,” Silas interrupted, his gaze returning to the scrape on her jaw, and Peri shrugged. It hadn’t seemed important.
“But when Bill tried to snag you,” Allen said louder, “they had no choice but to bring you both in. Peri, they need your help,” he added, softer now. “Bill isn’t the only option here. They have the facility to re-create Evocane. Will you be reasonable and listen for once? Not all my ideas are bad.”
But reasonable wasn’t one of her favorite words, and not when she wasn’t wearing the only gun in the room. Lips pressed together, she weighed the risk of drafting and forgetting the last few minutes against her need to run and disappear. She’d worked for the government before. All it took was a well-placed dart and a handgun to her gut to get her in a cell. And once there, there she would stay, trotted out to do their bidding when they needed her if she wasn’t outright erased. “I’m retired,” she said flatly. “End of story.”
