Jaunt (29 page)

Arriving at his quarters, Roget produced his pass key and ran it through the slot. Giving a cursory glance to the Marine to his right, who nodded in return, Roget walked inside and closed the door behind him, noticing that his usual MP was absent.

Taking two steps into the darkened room, he ordered, “Lights.” After another two steps with no response from the domicile computer, he halted and stepped back to the door, his hand finding his pass key and the doorknob. After sliding the card through, he tried the knob, which remained stiff; he was locked inside.

“What the hell....” Roget beat against the door palm first, shouting, “Private, can you unlock the door?! Private, unlock the door now!”

Complete silence answered Roget. Beating his fist against the door again, he realized he wasn’t going to receive any assistance from the MP. Scurrying across his quarters, his hands scrabbled around a foot table, fumbling for a holobook he left, his only remaining contact with the rest of the U Complex.

A click behind him grabbed his attention. Turning, he discerned a shifting shadow along the depths of his quarters. Roget hopped onto the foot table and kicked a platter towards the far wall, hoping to distract the intruder in his quarters.

“What do you want?! I’ve done nothing!”

Stumbling backwards, Roget landed between the foot table and the near wall. His hands reached down and grabbed a leg of the table, which he lifted off the floor and held in front of him, using the ten-kilogram furniture piece as a makeshift shield.

The stranger’s hands gripped the front end of the table, and the two thrust about the room, growling and cursing. Roget finally found leverage and forced the table to the door, which pinned the intruder’s right hand, causing him to drop a metallic device on the floor with a clap. The assailant howled while Roget rocked the table over the intruder’s wrist, mustering every ounce of strength to incapacitate him. With one great heave, Roget pushed the table onto the man, taking him off his feet; the shadow fell with a loud thump, ceasing his struggle.

Roget peered over the edge of the table, looking for signs of unconsciousness. Satisfied the intruder was incapacitated, he dislodged him, hoisting the table to one side. He stepped away, scouring his quarters for several minutes before digging up his holobook, which he then used to call for help.

It would be the longest night of his life.

“Sit down, Lionel, and tell me again what this is all about.”

Perspiration beaded under Roget’s collar, which he tugged at apprehensively. Boring holes into his skull were the combined stares of Rauchambau, Dark Horse, and most disheartened of all, de Lis. The three men loomed over Roget, dissecting his every twitch, stammer and glance, probing him for additional information that his sparse words had not provided them, or perhaps could not.

“I—I cannot for the life of me,” he started again, his ancestral French accent rising to the surface, “understand why an intruder, let alone an MP, would assail me in my own quarters, Richard! I cannot fathom it!”

“Then what was he doing in there?” de Lis spat, his fuse fraying faster than he would care to admit. “Given your statement so far, nothing in your quarters had been disturbed. Yet, the private was there nonetheless, waiting for you. Fortunately, you managed to overcome him, but the question remains what his motive was. Can you enlighten us? Is there something else you wish to share?”

De Lis’ tone was more akin to a paternal need to understand a child’s incomplete compliance, which wasn’t far from the truth; de Lis was the guiding force, the father figure, the man who had assembled his “family,” who had given all in bringing the theoretical studies laboratory together, who had expected nothing but loyalty. Anything less struck him as disrespectful, if not perfidy.

Roget felt the seat tighten around his pelvis, forcing him to endure the flaying.

“Richard, I—I don’t have any answer good enough—”

De Lis thrust his reddened face into Roget’s eyes. “Well by God you’d better start thinking of one!!!”

From behind, Dark Horse grabbed de Lis’ arms and pulled him back, fearing that de Lis would do something to Roget that the doctor would later regret. Walking him a good two meters away, Dark Horse turned his back to the seated man. “De Lis, what the hell do you think you’re doing?! He’s not a suspect yet! And you’re sure as hell not an inspector!”

De Lis clenched his jaw, half-listening to the colonel’s harangue.
Of all the blastedarrogance...what was wrong here? What was with Lionel? Why, of all the talented men—

what was Lionel hiding? And why? Why?!!

Roget’s hands trembled, despite having clawed them into the seat’s wooden arms.

“Richard, I think they tried to kill me,” he sighed.

De Lis and Dark Horse faced the man again. Crossing over to him, Dark Horse asked, “Who wants to kill you, Doctor?”

Raising his head limply, he blinked several times, gaining the composure and courage to finally say, “The Confederation.”

Dark Horse and Rauchambau exchanged heavy, but confused, glances.

“You see...” Roget continued, tears coming to his eyes, “I’m...I’m HADRON....”

“You
sonovabitch
!!! You fucking killed my partner!!! You fucking killed him, didn’t you?!!!”

Gilmour yelled, ambushing Roget as he, de Lis and Dark Horse exited U5-29.

In the adjacent corridor, Waters and Marlane restrained Gilmour, who still managed to connect a swipe to Roget’s cheek, knocking his glasses to the floor. Constantine and McKean ran up behind Waters and Marlane to help contain the rabid Gilmour.

“Stand down, Gilmour!” Constantine shouted in Gilmour’s ear, securing his right wrist. “Get a hold of yourself, Agent!”

“I—I’m gonna kill you! Goddammit, let me go, Constantine! I’m gonna send him to hell for Mason!”

While Constantine pushed Gilmour further from the scrape, Roget crawled on all fours, his hands sweeping the floor for his spectacles. Finding them, he rose gingerly, dabbing his cheek with a handkerchief to sop up the streaming blood. “You...you don’t understand, Agent Gilmour...no one understands. No one!”

“Count your blessings they were here, Roget!” Gilmour shouted, pointing his left index finger in Roget’s direction. “I’d kill you, just the way you tried to kill me! Don’t forget it!”

“Come on, Gilmour, let him go,” McKean said, leading him back against the wall to cool off.

Already four Marines, led by Dark Horse, had arrived to escort Roget down the hallway, each officer bearing a submachine rifle for Roget’s protection after the incident two hours earlier, and Gilmour’s more recent threat. Dark Horse did not look back as he passed the witnesses, locking Roget’s right arm with his, the disgraced scientist’s head lowered in shame.

“What will happen to him now?” Waters asked de Lis and Rauchambau.

“A stern debriefing from the lieutenant colonel,” de Lis answered, not at all satisfied with this Pyrrhic victory.

“Doctor,” Marlane began, “Crowe and Ivan are competent, but Lionel is the only one who really can run his department. We’ll still need him if we’re going to succeed in reprogramming the codes.”

“I agree, Carol, he’s still an invaluable member of our team...that’s what hurts the most about this.” Rubbing his forehead, de Lis turned to the seething Gilmour. “Special Agent, are you in need of a breather? I can arrange for a temporary leave of absence, if you

—”

Gilmour waved his hand, dismissing the idea. “No, Doctor, we can’t afford that, especially now. I need to recollect my thoughts and get back to work on our task, if only double now because of what HADRON—Roget—has done.”

The bitterness invoked in Gilmour’s last words colored everyone’s mood to some degree, and just about summed up the real lessons of the past hour: their work was only going to get harder. They would have to strive to overcome the damage inflicted, and hope all their previous work was good enough to pass muster. If not, even rooting out HADRON

now wasn’t going to save them or the world.

“It’s worse than we thought,” Waters said, slamming the holobook onto de Lis’ desk. “He gave them all the pertinent data on our Casimir chamber...judging by
Strela
’s advanced design, he’s been at it for at least a year, if not longer.”

De Lis pursed his lips while reading the holobook’s report. “Then
Strela
is indeed a hybrid of our data and their trials?”

“Yes. Now granted, Lionel did work to improve our existing technology here, even downsizing the Casimirs to fit into the hazard suits. The problem remains, though, that he enabled the Confederation to get a jump on us by providing the Casimir schematics.” She crossed her arms and sighed. “Honestly, I think they’d be three years behind us in test detonations if it wasn’t for Lionel.”

Damn
, de Lis repeated over in his head. All the while Roget was designing, modifying and improving the Casimir chamber so that the USNA could keep up with the CIS’ programs, his after hours HADRON guise was feeding them valuable data, rendering impotent the entire theoretical studies laboratory’s efforts to neutralize
Strela
.

Of course, if not more important, the Confederation now possessed portions of the first samples of jewels, thanks to what everyone now assumed was Roget/HADRON who broke into the Lockbox several months ago; this single act seemed to be the starting point for one long domino effect, culminating in the deaths of Mason and Louris and the murders Nicolenko had committed back in the twentieth century, during Gilmour’s jaunt.

But still, the question of why rattled in his brain, baffling him. Why did he do it?

Money did not seem to be an influential motive to Roget, nor did any power the Confederation could have bestowed upon him. Politics? Roget seemed to be a loyal American....

Perhaps de Lis could appeal to his junior colleague, maybe give him a reason to repent...after all, Lionel was still a member of this team. If nothing else, de Lis knew that Roget could quite possibly be the man most capable of getting those illegals out of danger before the Russians suspected what they were about to do.

A series of chirps broke his spiraling thoughts. De Lis shoved his hand into his jacket, then removed his phone. “De Lis.” He listened for a moment before nodding. “I understand...right, then. Thank you.”

De Lis stood and threw his phone back into his jacket. Looking to the intrigued Waters, he ordered, “Gather the team, Stacia—what’s left of them. Just got the word from the DoD. We’re a go for
Strela
.

“Reports are coming in from all over Irkutsk,” Dark Horse said, reading his holobook. “The DoD confirms eight of the ten illegals are in position and ready for the signal link-up.”

De Lis nodded. He and Dark Horse entered the gallery, where Valagua, Waters and Marlane manned the holographic weblinking equipment, awaiting the pair’s arrival. Next to the group, Gilmour, Constantine and McKean rehashed, for the final time, the reprogramming procedures they were about to relay halfway around the world.

“All right everyone,” de Lis said, raising his voice above the chatter. The team members momentarily paused and gave their full attention to him. “We have eight positives from Irkutsk. The DoD has given us full permission to begin when we are in position. Anyone who needs more time, give us an ‘aye.’”

The various senior and junior scientists glanced at each other, and in unison looked to the three special agents; no one wanted to waste another second.

De Lis nodded. “Right. Let’s go.”

Gilmour, Constantine and McKean slapped hands. Constantine and McKean stepped away from Gilmour, who was first on deck, while they entered the gallery’s observation anteroom to watch Gilmour’s maiden performance. The special agent booted up his holobook and loaded the
Strela
schematics.

Around him, the theoretical studies team put the final touches on the weblinked computers, executing the final diagnostics on Valagua’s holographic equipment before the first realtime run would prove or disprove their faith in this once-harebrained scheme, and possibly just save the lives of everyone on Earth.

After completing a myriad of equipment checks, each of the junior scientists came over and clapped Gilmour’s shoulders, wishing him luck. Once evacuated, they left Gilmour to Valagua, Waters, Marlane, de Lis and Dark Horse.

“Javier,” de Lis commanded, “begin preliminary procedures.”

Valagua tapped an array of buttons on the gallery’s holo-controls. At once, the gallery’s normal fluorescence flicked off, allowing only the two ceiling-mounted track lights to illuminate the equipment.

On Valagua’s cue, Marlane tapped a button on one of the weblinked computers, which proceeded to feed the gallery’s holographic equipment footage from the very eyes of the illegal operatives. After pausing a moment to verify the signal was indeed correct, Valagua activated the gallery’s holographic equipment.

The gallery was soon flooded with raw photons, saturating the room with a resounding brilliance. Shielding their eyes from the light storm, all save Valagua were oblivious to the forms which shimmered into existence. Blobs of pure whiteness were fabricated on a latticework of projected light, almost as if Valagua himself were building the crudely reproduced objects by hand from a set of construction plans.