Psion Omega (Psion series Book 5) (18 page)

Sammy stroked her hair. “You’re just worried about
me.”

“It could get bad. And you’ll be deep underground.
Not a lot of exits if things get crazy. Right?”

“We have contingencies in place. We’ll be fine.”

“I guess so.” She didn’t sound satisfied, which made
Sammy wonder if there was something else.

“Really, Jeffie. You don’t have to worry.”

She sat up and hugged her legs. “Okay.”

They didn’t speak for at least a minute until Sammy
said, “Best man at Li’s wedding … What is a best man supposed to do? Doesn’t
that mean I give a toast and wear a fancier suit than everyone else?”

Jeffie shrugged. “What’s a maid of honor supposed to
do?”

They snickered together. “I guess they’ll tell us.”

Jeffie’s smile vanished. “I need you to promise me
you won’t use your Anomaly Thirteen.” She said the words so fast that Sammy
took a moment to process them.

“No. We talked about this. I can’t keep that
promise.”

“You can. I need you to do it. I need to hear you
say the words that you’ll never use it again.”

“Why?”

“Because I know that if you don’t promise, I’m going
to lose you. You’re going to think you’re strong enough to control it, and you
won’t. Remember what Trapper said to you? I think he’s right.”

“How do you know what Trapper—”

“I’m not deaf, Sammy. I heard him through the door.
I heard it all. I—I think you should listen to him.”

Sammy’s hands started to shake, and for an instant
he wanted to choke Jeffie—to squeeze her neck until it snapped. He closed
his eyes and mentally transformed the urge into a leaf on a stream and watched
it pass. It was something Croz had advised him to do in their session to help
him deal with the Anomaly Thirteen.

“I wish the choice was that simple.”

“It is.”

“It’s not. Would you really prefer to die than I use
my anomaly to save you?” He locked eyes with her and waited for her response.

She nodded. He watched to see if her nostrils would
flare, the sign that she was lying, but they didn’t. Sammy let out a long
breath through his nose and shook his head.

“Well, I would rather use it than see you die.”

“Do you want to be a Thirteen?”

“What kind of question is that? I can control it.”

Jeffie pulled away and kneeled next to him. “You are
not special!”

“I’m not saying I am, but I’m strong.”

“This is your weakness, not your strength. If you
can’t recognize that, it will beat you.” Jeffie swallowed and ran her fingers
through her hair. “I don’t need you to be strong, I need you to be a little
more humble and see some sense!”

Sammy knew he could not make Jeffie understand.
She would change her mind if it came down to
it. She would ask me to break my promise.

Jeffie frowned when she saw the defiance on Sammy’s
face. Her tone softened when she spoke again. “Who is your best friend?”

“Besides you? Brickert.”

“And you would never hurt him, right?”

“That was one time. One mistake.” The urge to
strangle her returned. Sammy pictured leaf after leaf to calm himself.

“If it happened once, it can happen again.”

“It won’t!” His voice sounded more like a growl, and
his eyes narrowed on her.

Jeffie jabbed him in the chest. “Tell that to
Brickert’s swollen face when you punched him how many times?”

Sammy ground his teeth together.

“Didn’t matter when you felt his bones break.” Her
voice was hard and accusing. “Or heard his whimpering. Or saw him bleed all
over your fist, did it? You just kept hitting him over and over and over
and—”

“SHUT UP!” Sammy bellowed, and his hand flew back,
cocked and ready to fly at Jeffie.

She jumped back and covered herself. Then Sammy
realized what she had done. His cheeks and neck grew hot. The rage slowly
collapsed until it was gone. In its place was emptiness and guilt.

“I’m sorry,” Jeffie mumbled. “I wanted you to see.”

Sammy hugged her and held her until she started to
shake from her tears.

“I don’t want to lose you, Sammy.”

“You’re right. Okay?” He stroked her hair and held
her tighter. The thought that he might have hurt her sickened him. It would
have been something he could never take back. No apologies or sorrow could undo
that. Even if she forgave him, he would never be able to look someone in the
eye and say that he’d never hit her. “I promise, Jeffie. I promise I’ll never
use it again.”

Monday, July 28, 2087

SAMMY STARED OUT the front passenger window of the SUV as it pulled
to a stop across the street from the magnificent memorial erected in downtown
Mexico City: a bronze statue of men, women, and children reaching to the sky,
eyes fixed heavenward. Floating above them and spinning serenely was a golden
earth with a black scar where Mexico City was located. Similar edifices stood
in Los Angeles, Lima, and other sites where supposed NWG terrorists had
committed unthinkable acts over the last several years.

Behind Sammy sat the four members of his team:
Commander Byron, Anna Lukic, Li, and Kawai. As Sammy had promised, Jeffie drove
the team to the mission site. Sammy absentmindedly played with his closely
trimmed mustache as he watched people cross the street around the memorial
block. His hair reached his shoulders and gave him a look of distinguished
refinement, even for someone posing to be in his mid-twenties. He planned to
cut it the moment he got home. The fake glasses he didn’t mind so much. As he’d
predicted, Sammy looked nothing like the pictures shown all over the news.

With her makeup and hairstyle, Kawai also looked to
be in her mid-twenties. Li wore makeup as well, but it had been done very light
and fine, with his hair doctored to make him look like a thirty-year-old man
suffering from an early receding hairline. Byron, on the other hand, had dyed
his hair to a graying brown, and a few anti-aging shots took about five years
off his appearance. He looked like a man in his early forties instead of
pushing fifty. Anna, meanwhile, did absolutely nothing to change her
appearance.

“Good luck,” Jeffie said to the team as they climbed
out of the vehicle, but mostly addressing Sammy. “Be safe.”

Sammy gave her a reassuring smile. “What could go
wrong?”

Jeffie grimaced. “Why would you tempt the fates and
ask such a thing?”

Byron, Kawai, and Anna closed their doors and
crossed the street. Sammy got out, too. Blistering summer air blew his hair,
instantly eliciting a sheen of moisture from his brow. He lingered a moment
longer at the window with Jeffie. She grabbed his hand and held it, caressing
the back of it with her thumb.

“I love you.”

Sammy grinned. “Thanks. I’ll take care of myself.
Don’t worry.”

Jeffie nodded and let him go. “One more thing,” she
called to him.

“What?”

She grinned and kissed him. “You look really hot in
that suit.”

“I feel hot, too. Sweltering, even.” Smirking, Sammy
joined the others just as they crossed the street, a messenger bag at his side.
Li carried a small briefcase, while Anna had an even smaller attaché case.
Inside the three cases were compartments of weaponized gas to be used if
needed. All wore professional business clothes, retina-altering eye contacts,
and nose filters to allow Sammy’s team to breathe the gas harmlessly. Sammy
hadn’t worn a suit since his graduation from Psion Beta, but the dark green
material and yellow dress shirt made him feel like a lawyer.

The commander strode stoically as he led the team
through the crowds streaming into the memorial: a steel dome supported by over
seven hundred flat beams, a name and face of one victim of the bombing engraved
on each. A large pool surrounded the dome, its waters ever flowing over the
edge into a deep trough. Sammy and his team headed toward the nearby visitor
center.

Hundreds of bodies were crammed into the building to
escape the relentless heat. The visitor center was half museum and half gift
shop. Sammy and Anna pushed through the bodies until they came to the help desk
where a man in a red blazer sporting a mustache thinner than a twig stood. “May
I offer you my assistance?”

“Actually you can,” Byron said, handing the man a
business card. “We’re here as part of the inspection team. We have business
downstairs.”

The man in the blazer regarded Sammy’s team a second
time, now with more interest. “Of course. I trust you have an appointment?”

Trapper’s data had warned that this would be the
exact question asked according to the system put in place by the fox’s
organization, and that the response required had to be worded with equal
specificity.

“Everything has been arranged according to
protocol.”

“Good to hear,” the man in the blazer answered with
a smile. Sammy couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not. “Please proceed after
me.”

He led the group through a door marked
EMPLOYEES ONLY
, which opened to a short hallway with
an employee break room, a stock room, and four offices. At the end of the hall
was another door, this one made of metal, and a sign that read
ELECTRICAL ROOM
, and underneath, the symbol of a hand
struck by a lightning bolt.

The room was about the size of a walk-in closet with
a concrete floor, electrical panels, and master switches controlling the power
flow. Sammy wondered if a secret wall had been installed inside. The man in the
blazer entered first, then beckoned the others to follow. Once they were all
inside, the man in the blazer flipped three switches and the room began to
descend. Sammy tried not to appear curious or impressed. While he recognized
the danger the mission presented, Sammy couldn’t deny that being back in the field
felt good. And infiltrating yet another secret CAG facility was even better.

Then came the sudden urge to kill the man in the
blazer.
Grab his ugly coat, pull it over
his head, and strangle him with your bare hands. Imagine how good that will
feel. The throbbing heartbeat racing … then slowing … and
stopping
.

Sammy cleared his throat and let the thought drift
from his mind. But like a rubber band, it snapped right back with force.

KILL.
The force was
so powerful it flowed through his body like a physical need.

Sammy closed his eyes, but waiting for him were the
images of himself shooting, stabbing, hacking, and ripping. Blood, limbs, and
carnage everywhere. It dripped from him, pooling at his feet.

The elevator descended for a full minute into the
earth. When it opened, a woman with platinum blonde hair greeted them. “Hello,”
she said with a nervous smile. Sammy noted the way she gripped her holo-tablet
too tightly to her chest, how she glanced momentarily at the man in the blazer,
and her overly wide eyes. “I’m Judy. We’re so pleased to have you here.”

She’s nervous.

According to the intel from Trapper’s cube, the
inspection teams carried great weight with the fox regarding the operation of
classified, off-the-books CAG programs. Employees deemed unfit for work in
secure areas either received reassignment to remote, barren locations or went
missing.

“Let me introduce you to the Project Director,” Judy
said. Then she thanked the man in the blazer with a curt nod.

The Project Director was a thin, black man with
slicked-back gray hair and bulbous eyes. He reminded Sammy of an aged praying
mantis. When he smiled and surveyed them all, Sammy got the impression that the
man wanted to eat them. His eyes rested the longest on Kawai in a slimy,
wanting sort of way.

“A pleasure to welcome you to my facility. I
am—”

“Fabian Earl,” Anna finished with her hand ready to
shake his. “We’ve heard many things about you and the way you run this
facility.”

“Only good, I hope,” Fabian said, clearing his
throat.

“I’m sure you do hope,” Anna said in a straight
voice.

Fabian didn’t seem to know whether to laugh or not.
“Well, you’ll see for yourself. The work we’re doing—the progress we’ve
made—it’s remarkable. I’m confident you’ll be able to return to our
sponsors with your highest commendations.”

“We hope so, too,” Kawai said.

“Then let’s begin!” Fabian clapped his hands
together noiselessly.

First he took them through the facility called
H.A.M.M.E.R. The tour lasted almost two hours, filled with questions and
notes—things inspectors would do. Inside, they observed the mental
reconditioning of teenagers ranging in age from twelve to twenty-one. Sammy
gripped the handle of his briefcase with both hands to stop them from shaking.
He remembered vividly the metal helmet that had spun him around in cognitive
circles day after day. When they walked past the cells, and Sammy saw the
conditions some of the subjects lived in, he almost went ballistic. One kid was
huddled on the floor, wet and bruised, muttering repeatedly to himself, “Happiness
is obedience. True happiness is at the next level.” His eyes were glazed and
dull.

“Why does he keep saying that?” Anna asked.

Fabian itched his ear and cleared his throat.
“That’s the goal we fixate them on, the H.A.M.M.E.R. subjects. We want them to believe
that downstairs is happiness, achievement, a sense of victory and
accomplishment. Whenever one of the students graduates H.A.M.M.E.R., we make a
very big deal out of it to remind the others that success is attainable.”

“How many subjects are currently in each program?”
Byron asked.

“One hundred and twelve in H.A.M.M.E.R. We don’t
consider S.H.I.E.L.D. participants to be subjects. They are agents or
agents-in-training.”

“Do they have field experience?” Anna asked.

“Limited. Shall we go down and have a look?” Fabian
asked eagerly.

As they filed into the elevator, Anna rounded on
Fabian. “You never answered the question about S.H.I.E.L.D. How many are
there?”

Fabian cleared his throat again. “Isn’t all that
information available to you?”

“It should be available to you at all times,” Byron
answered, tapping his head with his tablet stylus. “You are the Program
Director.”

“We have fifty-two participants in S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“What is the breakdown by anomaly?” Sammy asked.

For a moment Sammy thought he saw a hint of
insolence on the director’s face before he responded. “Eighteen with Anomaly
Eleven. Twelve with Anomaly Fourteen. And the rest are Anomaly Fifteen.”

“In the reports I read,” Kawai stated, “the
anomalies call themselves by the NWG nicknames. Why is that?”

“Ah, yes.” A deep chuckle came from the director. “I
was only a specialist here at the time when the first participants entered the
S.H.I.E.L.D. level. The Program Director at the time was a high-ranking
military defector from Quebec. He mentioned the names to the students. They
came up with the idea for Psion Dark, Tensai Dark, and Ultra Dark. They thought
themselves quite clever. We, the directors of the program, refer to them all as
just ‘agents.’”

When the elevator doors opened, Sammy stepped out into
a hallway of black paneling on the ceiling, walls, and floor with white
highlights.

“Why such a dearth of color?” Kawai asked.

“Keeps them focused,” Fabian said. “This way please.
The Dark agents are in the middle of an exercise right now. I think you’ll find
witnessing it to be far more fascinating than reading about it in my reports.”

Fabian led the group to an observation room with a
sprawling glass window above what reminded Sammy very much of the Arena back at
Psion Beta headquarters, only far more deadly. The shirtless males wore black
form-fitting swim trunks that did not reach halfway down their thighs, and the
females’ shockingly revealing attire made Sammy want to look away in
embarrassment. Fabian drank in the sight with his eyes, his eerie, lecherous
grin returning as he cleared his throat multiple times.

“Who designed the uniforms?” Anna asked, not
bothering to conceal the venom in her voice. “A thirteen-year-old boy?”

Fabian chuckled again. Something in his laugh told
Sammy exactly who’d designed the uniforms and why. Worse, Fabian’s eyes
followed the girls around the room, his lip curling and uncurling, his tongue
occasionally flickering out to wet his lips. It made Sammy’s stomach roil.
“Their bodies are indeed specimens, aren’t they?” Then he leaned close to Sammy
and said, “If any of them catch your eye, I can arrange a more intimate
introduction.”

Ignoring the desire to splatter Fabian’s brains all
over the observation glass, Sammy turned his attention to their activities,
mimicking the signs of lust Fabian displayed. In a low voice he asked, “Are the
female agents trained in
other
activities as well? Perhaps things more … domestic?”

Fabian raised his eyebrows and leaned in even
closer. “Trained quite well. I sample them, even take a personal hand in their
education. And I find them all to be, in a word,
exquisite
.”

Sammy chuckled in a deep, primal growl. “I bet.”
Then, in his normal voice, said, “Describe to me what is happening.”

“This is what we call the Tri-Skill Challenge. The
three teams do not interact, but race to complete Anomaly-specific tasks. The
Tensais must manage multiple problems at once, forcing them to delegate,
interact socially, and cooperate. Tensais struggle with such social dilemmas.
Currently they have to diffuse a bomb, program a device to remotely disable a
security system, and design an underwater flotation craft using a select number
of resources.”