Chapter 22
I heaved myself out of Spider’s guest chair and trudged down the hall, my heart thumping at the thought of confronting the guard in Harchman’s server room. Even if I created some distraction outside the server room it wouldn’t draw him out; it would only attract more of Harchman’s security personnel. Top agents like Kane or Holt would undoubtedly have some brilliant plan to get in, but I was just a bookkeeper…
Realization struck. “No, dammit, I’m an idiot,” I muttered.
“Not really; you’re just a weirdo who talks to herself in public.” The voice came from behind me, and I spun with a gasp to confront a half-melted nightmare of a face.
“Speak of the devil!” My voice came out a little shriller than I’d intended. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Reggie Chow snorted, the undamaged side of his mouth twisting in a sardonic grin. “Fuck, Kelly, I scare the shit out of everybody, but I’ve never been called the devil before… to my face.”
I patted my chest in an attempt to calm my hammering heart. “No, I said ‘speak of the devil’ because I’d just thought of you, and I’m an idiot for not thinking of you sooner.”
“What, you’re finally realizing what a prize I am and you want to have my baby?”
I batted my eyelashes at him and leaned in. “Absolutely…” I breathed. Then I straightened. “Not.”
His remaining black brow drew down in a scowl. “It’s because of my left nut, isn’t it?”
Continuing our long-running joke, I deadpanned, “No, your nuts are fine. It’s because you spend your days thinking up creative ways to kill people.”
“Chickenshit,” he growled, but wicked humour sparkled in his good eye. “At least you’re still thinking about my balls.”
“They’re never far from my thoughts,” I assured him. “But believe it or not, I actually managed to tear my attention away from them for a minute…”
“…which makes you an idiot,” he finished smugly.
I dropped the banter with a sigh. “Yeah. That part’s not up for dispute.” One of the civilian analysts emerged from the stairwell at the other end of the hall and I added, “Can we talk in your lab?”
“Sure.” Chow fell into step beside me, his prosthetic legs giving him a slightly springy gait.
“Wearing your blades today?” I inquired, nodding down at the high-tech footpads.
“Just finished my lunchtime run.”
“How’s it going? Are you in your final ramp-up for the Paralympics yet?”
“Not yet. I’ve still got nine months. I’ll be ready.” He gave me penetrating glance. “So why are you beating yourself up?”
“Oh…” I grimaced and admitted the truth. “I’m so used to reacting to crises without backup, I keep forgetting that sometimes I can ask for help.”
“Hm.” After a few silent strides he added, “More like you don’t ask for help because you’re trying to prove you can handle everything, plus you have serious trust issues.”
I gave him my best poker face. “As a shrink, you make a great head of weapons research.”
Chow returned his distorted half-grin-half-grimace. “I’m better than a shrink. I’ve been there.”
We halted in front of the door to the secured area and he leaned down to activate the retinal scan. When the door to the time-delay chamber closed behind us, he stepped forward to trigger the next scan. Fighting claustrophobia in the tiny space, I closed my eyes and concentrated on keeping my breathing steady.
“So, did you kick the shit out of Holt yet?” Chow asked.
My eyes flew wide open. “What?”
“Did you kick the shit out of Holt yet?” he repeated. “Come on, say you did. I’ve got good money riding on this.”
My mouth opened and closed soundlessly, fighting off shock and debating whether to tell the truth.
“Sorry,” I equivocated at last. “You’re not going to get rich this week.”
“Damn.” The chamber door unlatched, and Chow shot a triumphant glance over his shoulder as he bounded down the stairs. “Made you forget about your claustrophobia, though, didn’t I?”
“Asshole.” I softened the epithet with a grin and followed him.
When we stepped into the Weapons lab a doleful-looking man looked up from his work at one of the counters, brightening at the sight of me.
“So?” he asked. “She didn’t, did she?”
Chow shot him a disgusted look. “No, West, she fucking didn’t. But you can wipe that stupid grin off your face. It’s not over yet. It could still happen.”
“You seriously do have a bet?” I demanded.
“Yep,” Chow confirmed. “So hurry up and smack that asshole. I’ll split my winnings with you if you do. Fifty-fifty.”
“How much are we talking?”
“Twenty bucks.”
I raised a cynical eyebrow. “So I’d make ten bucks for committing an assault on a fellow agent that would probably send me to jail. Or get me dead. You know Holt’s a martial arts expert.”
Chow shrugged. “So? You’ve got a gun. Go on, you know you want to belt him. Think of the ten bucks as icing on the cake.”
“Don’t do it,” Murray West urged, eyes wide and hound-dog jowls quivering with sincerity. “I told Reggie you were far too good an agent to do that.” He turned an accusing gaze on Chow. “She’s a true professional. You don’t have a hope of winning this bet.” Returning his attention to me with a smile that looked frighteningly like hero-worship, he added, “It’s really good to see you again, Aydan. You did such a great job of testing our last inventions! Can we do something to help you this time?”
“Get back to work, West,” Chow growled. “Come on, Kelly, we can talk in my office.” He jerked his head toward a door in the corner.
I followed him inside, and he made a point of swinging the door shut behind us. “Sorry about West and his fanboy hard-on,” he said. “He has a major thing for smart competent women.”
“Like his wife?” I dropped into the guest chair, hiding my small glow at Chow’s implied compliment.
“Don’t worry, he’s completely devoted to Melinda.” Chow took a seat behind his desk. “He doesn’t want to bone you, just worship at your feet.”
“Don’t want to know. So, down to business…”
Chow grinned. “Don’t tell me; let me guess. You want to sneak that ultrasound weapon out of here and liquefy Holt’s brain.”
I shuddered. “I can’t even joke about that.”
“Wussy.”
“You’re a sick twisted son of a bitch,” I said mildly. “Which is why I’m consulting you right now.”
“Ah, flattery will get you everywhere. Are you sure you don’t want to have my baby?”
“Very sure. But I want to have your puke-pen.”
“I hope that’s a dirty euphemism.”
“Keep hoping.” I stretched out my legs, the unwholesome badinage easing my tension. “I’m talking about your nice little fake ballpoint pen that makes people fall down and vomit uncontrollably.”
“Hm.” Chow leaned back, frowning. “It’s not in production yet. I still only have the prototype.”
“So it needs testing, right? I could do that,” I wheedled.
He laughed. “Oh, sure, hit me in a weak spot. How long will you need it? And where are you taking it?”
“I’d only need it for a day or two, and I’d be down around Calgary. I need to sneak into a manned server room. I’ve got fake fingerprints to get me through the biometric security, but I need to create a distraction once I’m inside.”
“The ultrasound pen isn’t a good choice for that,” Chow argued. “You might as well just yell out ‘hey, look at my classified weapon’ if you walk into a room and point it at a guy and he promptly falls down vomiting.”
“Yeah…” Inspiration struck and I gave him a hopeful look. “Don’t you have a smoke bomb or something I could stick under the door so he sees the smoke before he sees me? If it was thick enough he’d just run for the door without even noticing me or the pen…”
Reality intruded and I slumped. “…oh. Shit. Never mind. It’s a server room; it’ll have a fire suppression system. At the first whiff of smoke it’d set off alarms and inert gas and sprinklers and God knows what else.”
Chow leaned forward to plant his elbows on the desk, clearly switching into analysis mode. “Why not just use a crowd-control gas grenade that would cause vomiting all on its own? Those are standard-issue, and you could wear a gas mask. That way if he pulled an alarm or something, anybody who responded would be too busy puking to bother you, too.”
I grimaced. “With my luck, I’d accidentally set it off in my room and gas myself. And if somebody searched me, a grenade would be hard to explain. At least the pen is unobtrusive.”
His brow drew down. “If there’s that much risk of being searched, you shouldn’t carry classified tech. And you were thinking of carrying a smoke bomb anyway.”
“Yeah, but not a gas mask. And anyway, the smoke bomb is a no-go.”
“Why not just trank him? You don’t even need to make him vomit.”
I sighed. “I thought about that, but it’s a small room and the aerosolized trank from the shot would knock me out as well. And the trank guns are classified tech, too, so unless I got lucky enough to be able to shoot without him seeing me, I’ve got the same problem. Plus, the trank injected by the dart lasts too long. If he stays out cold for twenty minutes, ambulances get called and people get suspicious. If he’s dizzy and vomiting for ten minutes and then he slowly recovers, that looks natural.”
“Hmph.” Chow regarded me in silence for a few moments. “I still think the gas mask and grenade is a better solution. You wouldn’t have to use one of the big crowd-control grenades; we’ve got another type in production that’s about the size of a cigar. Slip it in the door, wait a few seconds, then go in with your gas mask. The guard’s on the floor puking; you do your thing; pick up the empty gas canister on your way out, and nobody knows what happened. Perfect.”
“Except for the gas mask sticking out like a third tit under my T-shirt while I escape.”
Chow snickered. “Well, that’s it; if you’re a three-titted freak, I’m not having a baby with you.” He sprang up and headed for the door. “Seriously, though, you’re thinking about a World-War-Two-era gas mask. We’ve got something ‘way better than that. Come on.”
Grinning at his infectious enthusiasm for all things weapon-related, I followed.
“Check these out,” he commanded a few minutes later, dropping a couple of small foam cylinders onto my palm.
“Um… I need a gas mask, not ear plugs,” I said cautiously.
“You whined about not wanting a third tit…” Chow gave me his scar-twisted grin. “…So stick it up your nose.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Obviously they’re no good for contact irritants like tear gas, but they’ll filter out the nauseating gas as long as you don’t accidentally breathe through your mouth. And they’re extremely discreet. People can walk right up to you and never even notice them.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “Or maybe you just want to watch me stuff a pair of cheapo earplugs up my nose.”
Chow guffawed. “That’d be almost worth the pain you’d inflict on me later.”
“Almost?” I prodded.
Murray West sidled over wearing an ingratiating expression. “It’s okay, Aydan, they really are nasal filters. I’d never let him play a trick like that on you.”
Bestowing my best smile on him, I said, “Thank you, Murray,” and gingerly inserted a plug in each nostril. While I inhaled, Chow turned to West. “Let off one of those godawful cabbage farts you do so well. Might as well make it a good test.”
West went crimson. “I… I… don’t…”
“Ignore him, Murray, he’s a jerk,” I said, my voice sounding slightly congested. “Damn, there’s not a lot of air flow in these things…”
“There is a bit of restriction,” West agreed hurriedly. “You may want to wear them for a while to get used to them so you don’t accidentally suck in a mouthful of gas when you’re using them for real.”
Clamping my lips shut, I breathed slowly through my nose. It wasn’t as bad as having a head cold, but nonetheless the first fingers of claustrophobia gripped my throat.
Slowly suffocating…
I fought the fear, closing my eyes to concentrate. It would only be for a few minutes. I could do this.
Slow breaths. In… Out… Just like ocean waves…
“Never mind; take them out, Kelly.” Chow’s voice made me twitch, and I gasped a mouthful of air as my eyes popped open. “I can give you something else,” he added.
Trying to figure out a graceful way to extract the plugs without sticking my fingers up my nose, I panted a few grateful breaths through my mouth. Then I abandoned dignity and plucked the filters out. “I really hope these are disposable.”
“Ah, just lick ‘em off and they’ll be as good as new,” Chow wisecracked.
“That’s disgusting!” My loyal Murray held out a garbage bin. “Here, Aydan. Of course they’re disposable.”
“Thanks.” I discarded the plugs and turned back to Chow. “You have something else?”
“Nothing as unobtrusive as that, but I do have another compact option.” He jerked his chin and I followed him to another counter. “This is good for half an hour, less if you’re trying to breathe something really nasty.” He reached into a drawer to withdraw a cupped oval patch. “It’s self-adhesive and disposable; just slap it over your nose and mouth and seal the edges to your skin.” He held it out to me. “Give it a try.”
I sealed the patch over my nose and mouth as directed. Exhaling was easy, but on inhalation the patch sucked back against my nose and mouth, restricting my breath almost as much as the nasal filters but with the added bonus of recalling the sensations of being bound and gagged. My pulse spiked in response and I fought panic.
Settle down, for chrissake…
Chow reached over and ripped the patch off.
“Ow!” Sucking in a breath, I patted the stinging areas and glared at him. “What the hell? Could you at least leave me a little skin?”
“You were having a panic attack.”
“I was not.”
“Bullshit. You went white, your pupils dilated, your respiration increased, and that little vein in your throat popped out like a garden hose. It was ‘way worse than the nasal filters.”
I shook my head stubbornly. “I would have been fine. I was dealing with it.”
Gripping my elbow, Chow steered me around a corner out of West’s sight and lowered his voice. “You don’t have to be a fucking hero here. When you’re in the field, you’re going to have heightened anxiety and increased heart rate and respiration on top of whatever issues you’re dealing with now. You really want to take a chance on sucking in a lungful of gas and getting caught puking your guts out right beside the guard? Or trying to deal with a panic attack in the middle of an op?”
“No, but I need to get in there and I can’t think of another way. Can you?”
“Exactly what have you got to work with?”
“Windowless room, manned 24 hours, one exit controlled with biometric security. End of story.”
He scowled. “Fine, I’ll lend you the pen. But take a set of the nasal filters just in case. If things go sideways and you end up having to trank him after all, they’ll protect you from the aerosolized gas.”
My relief came out on a long breath. “Thanks, Reggie.”
“You’re welcome.” He studied me for a moment, the gaze of his good eye disturbingly keen next to the blank stare of his prosthetic one. “I get the whole trust-issue thing, believe me. But don’t bullshit me again. I’m a fucking weapons genius, but I can’t make stuff work for you if you won’t tell me when you’re having a problem.”
Heat rose in my cheeks. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I don’t do trust very well.”
Chow grunted. “You don’t do it at all. I’ll get the pen. Just don’t let anybody see you using it.” He headed for one of the secured rooms.
Waiting, I drifted around the corner again only to come face to face with Murray West’s eager basset-hound features.
“Aydan…” He leaned in confidentially. “I just wanted to mention, if you ever need anything… any kind of specialized research… just let me know and I’ll do it for you. I sometimes help Melinda with the research for her books; in fact, she used some of my work in her latest bestseller. Of course, she’s so brilliant she doesn’t need my help, but…” He drew himself up. “I’m the one who told her about the short-beaked echidna’s four-headed penis and long fast tongue, and she used it for one of her alien sex scenes…”
Chow mercifully returned with the pen and a fresh set of nasal filters, so I limited my response to a choked, “Thanks, Murray, I’ll keep that in mind”, and hurried for the door.
Chow trailed me, grinning. “Let me guess, West just dropped the quadruple-cock story on you.”
Shaking my head in an attempt to dislodge the thought, I muttered, “That’s a mental image I just didn’t need to have.”
Chow snorted. “Hell, try sharing a lab with him and Melinda. I swear, every time I turn around they’re fucking in the supply closet. I’m so traumatized that even when I’m at home, I still look away before I open a closet door.”
“Better you than me,” I said without sympathy. Halfway out the door, I paused and turned back. “Reggie…” I raised the pen. “Thanks. I, um… I do trust you, you know.”
His mouth softened for an instant before curling into his usual sardonic half-smile. “Nice try at sucking up, Kelly, but your ass is still going to be in a sling if you lose that pen.”
I grinned and faked confidence. “I won’t.”