Hybrid Zone Revelation, page 21
A shower sounded great. Sleep even better. “You’re sure it can wait until tomorrow?” I asked, failing to disguise my hope.
“Yes,” she laughed and pulled me from the couch. “Wash, girl. You stink. Again. And, I’m relatively certain that the skirt I gave you did not offer a preview of your underpants before you left this morning.”
“Well,” I said, looking down at my skirt. “You know how I love to show off my underwear.”
She shoved me in the direction of the bathroom. “At least you had some on this time,” she snorted.
“Hey,” I protested. “When have I ever been without—oh, never mind.” You lost your underwear one time and suddenly it was a way of life. Granted, it was all of my underwear at one time. But, it wasn’t my fault. Oh, forget it. I couldn’t even justify it to myself.
“I’ll let myself out,” she called after me.
“It happened one time,” I yelled weakly.
“That was enough, believe you me,” she mumbled as she stepped through the door.
I turned and watched the door close behind her. We’d been through a lot together. Re-outfitting my underwear drawer was just one among many of the M&M files. It hadn’t helped that my choices were limited by time and budget, primarily budget. I found out real quick what designs were on every woman’s, Not if it was the last pair of underwear left in this world list. Ah, good times.
Who would have ever thought that I’d be rifling through a man’s underwear drawer looking for something to put on. Was I about to answer the age old question of boxers or briefs? This was just plain weird, but not weirder than streaking around his suite naked would have been, hence the rifling. In the end, I bypassed the undies and opted for a t-shirt, which, fortunately for me, hung to my knees. True, I was underwearless at the moment, but it wasn’t my fault.
Dad gum it. I had to remember to add underwear to the emergency pack.
Rather than preparing me for bed, the shower had the opposite effect. It left me feeling invigorated, ready to tackle the puzzle manipulating my life. Sitting down in Adam’s desk chair, I tucked one leg underneath me and used the other to slowly spin the chair. When I faced the whiteboard, I dropped my heel to the floor. The notes I’d made earlier in the week no longer accurately represented the situation.
Sliding from the chair, I picked up the eraser and wiped the board clean. Then I wrote Garrison in all caps right in the middle. I just had a feeling that he was at the center of it all, the one gear around which everything else was rotating.
Out to the side, I wrote GM and DTP on separate branches. I thought I knew what the GM stood for, but I was still fuzzy on the DTP. I looked back to the computer on the desk. It seemed to be up and running. That didn’t mean I could access it, of course, but I wouldn’t know until I tried.
Retaking my seat, I moved the mouse to see if it was password protected.
“Please state your name,” the computer requested.
Oh, Lord, I groaned inwardly. My experience with talking equipment since I’d encountered the Organization had not ended in my favor. “Macy Greer?” I said hesitantly.
“Was that a statement or a question?”
Say what? “It’s an answer,” I sneered.
“To what question?”
“What do you mean what question? My name.”
“Macy Greer is not your name.”
“Yes it is,” I vehemently disagreed.
“Is defines a state of being. Please state your name.”
We’d come full circle. “Listen you expensive piece of metal with a bad attitude, my name is Macy Greer.”
“Should you wish to be granted access, please state your name.”
“I am going to grant your access if you don’t stop,” I growled, staring evilly at the screen as though that would intimidate the pretend male computer voice. This was ridiculous. I was arguing with a computer. I didn’t remember Adam going through this.
“Hostility is a prevalent sign of stress. Please state your name?”
I straightened in sudden understanding. It was a riddle. In order to gain access, I had to give the correct answer which was not my name. After thinking about it a minute, I did just as instructed. “Your name,” I repeated back to the computer.
“Excellent. What is my name?”
Aw, c’mon. How the heck was I supposed to know his name? Quickly, I searched the edges of the monitor for any indication. Wait. I said your name to him, and he responded with excellent. Frowning slightly, I guessed, “Excellent?”
“Define excellent.”
Are you serious? “Superb. Perfect,” I threw out, neither of which solicited a response. “Fantastic. Great. Outstanding.” Each attempt was met with silence. “What? No obtuse comebacks?” I ground angrily at the monitor.
Sitting back, I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the screen. I was stumped. How many words in the English language could define excellent? But this was Adam’s computer I reminded myself. I had to pick an answer he would choose. Lifting my eyes to the ceiling, I tried to imagine where Adam was going with this. Then I remembered that the entry code to the suite was based on me. I had a thought, but surely it was wrong.
“Macy,” I whispered.
“Macy is excellent,” the computer agreed. “Access granted.” The search engine appeared in place of the black screen.
“Dad gum it, Adam,” I whispered as I squeezed back tears. One might get the impression that he was serious about me. All the more reason to figure this thing out and get him back.
“No crying tonight, Macy Greer,” I scolded myself. I had much more important things to do, like nail Gene Mallet’s hind quarters to the wall.
Searching for Mallet in the cyber world might be like the proverbial needle in the haystack, but I did have a pretty good idea which haystack to search. Extremist groups. I figured with his hatred of hybrids, he’d need a safe place, a supportive place to air his grievances. That’s how most tyrants worked. They found people willing to stroke their egos and applaud them when they took action. It was sickening.
The results of my search for extremist groups related to hybrids in the last five years were mostly dominated by God’s Light and their very vocal leader. Too vocal. Mallet would never stand for sharing the spotlight like that. After twenty more minutes and an equal amount of pages, I identified a blog belonging to a group called Born to Rule that seemed to have a similar agenda. Their website had hundreds, if not thousands of entries.
Not fancying searching through each one, I scrolled back up to the top and read over the tabs. The events section would probably give me a good idea of the real pulse of the group. I clicked on the tab. They were certainly a busy group, I’d give them that. God’s Light might have had all the publicity, but these guys knew how to party. And there was ample documentation to prove it.
I selected the most recent rally summary. Along with the text, there were loads of pictures with each set organized into specific categories. Little bit on the OCD side, if you asked me. After viewing a few subsets, I knew I would have picked better titles too. Like, Numbskulls Holding Posters, Idiots Guzzling Beer…oh, you’re kidding me. A barfing contest? Who takes pictures of that? No, who does that? Moving on to guest speaker—hold up.
I zoomed in on the page. “Well, I declare. I do believe that is one Mr. Gene Mallet.” I should have checked top billing first. “And what’s that on your shirt, General?” Zooming in again, I read the logo, Department of the President. “So that’s what that stands for. I bet that’s a department the president’s never heard of,” I joked as I opened another window and typed it in the search field.
Instead of whisking me to a list of corresponding possibilities, the computer froze. Jiggling the mouse rapidly didn’t help release it from the freeze frame either. Frustrated by the delay, I reached out to restart the computer. Just as my hand made contact with the power button, the computer started hissing and gurgling. No longer a stranger to the danger concealed within innocuous looking items, I wasted no time in reacting.
Snatching my hand back, I vaulted from the chair and grabbed the most dangerous weapon in the near vicinity. I now stood poised with Adam’s umbrella held high should the computer actually go all transformer on me. But after a few seconds, the noises stopped and the screen displayed the homepage of the Department of the President.
Feeling like an idiot, I sheepishly lowered my make-do weapon. The pop the umbrella made as it unexpectedly opened caught me completely off guard. I screeched an expletive even as my startled release slung the umbrella across the room. With both hands clamped over my mouth in shock, I watched the umbrella bounce off the wall and roll to a leisurely stop in front of the door.
Everything was silent until I caught a glimpse of my shifted self in the mirror hanging next to the door. “Really,” I mumbled into my hands as I reversed the shift. Once I looked normal again, I lowered my hands to my sides like nothing had happened. “Sincerely hoping this whole episode doesn’t show up in a blooper reel somewhere,” I muttered, recalling the NOLA footage that had done precisely that. “And for the record, I meant shoot.”
Huffing in aggravation at myself, I ignored the umbrella for the time being and returned to the computer to resume searching. The DTP website was a no frills, just the facts experience. Of the three headings listed, Personnel looked the most promising. I wasn’t surprised by the size of the picture that popped up to go along with the title of Acting Director. It matched the ego of the man it belonged to.
I went to the board and wrote Gene Mallet next to GM and moved DTP to the same branch. There was no question now where the bullets were coming from. It must have really irritated him to see me still very much alive. It probably made his skin crawl to have to interact with me, the one he was hunting. Well, the tables were turned now. We’d see how much he liked being hunted.
Chunking the marker on the desk, I sat back down to study the website in depth. The mission statement of the department was listed as the protection of the purity of the human race. As such, it had determined that the most effective way to achieve this was the elimination of all mutant humans whether created by nature or man. Wasn’t that a glaring example of prejudice.
Clicking on the Operations heading pulled up a list of targets. Not surprisingly, I didn’t recognize hardly any of them, but if this list was accurate, there were way more hybrids than anyone here knew about. Page after page scrolled by. Most of the targets seemed to be merely proposed at this point in time, with no strike team or date assigned. And there was no indication of success or failure until the Colony’s name appeared.
My hand stilled on the keyboard. There was a big red “Mission Complete” stamped across the Colony’s name. Slowly, I read it again. I knew Mallet was responsible for the shooting incident in the woods near New Orleans, but this put him at the Colony too. Neither Trace nor Mallet had indicated that Mallet had any authority over the HCF. But for Mallet to move on the Colony, he had to pull the HCF guys out. He had to have someone on the inside.
I got up and began to pace as I worked it over in my mind. Given Mallet’s attitude towards hybrids, it wasn’t likely that he would have worked with Millsap. But I knew Millsap had been there. His scent had been just as strong as Adam’s. And the brutality with which the hybrids were killed was all Millsap. But not everyone had been killed. Kenny had said they had been disappearing for days, coinciding with the arrival of the new guards. Assuming that Millsap was responsible for the murders, the disappearances were left to Mallet. But why go through the trouble of taking over the place and not dispose of them there. Why take them somewhere else?
Standing back from the board, I scanned the notes again. My eyes settled on Garrison. He had been there too. Kenny said that Garrison had told someone, a female, that it had gone too far and that he would deal with it now. Sighing in frustration, I turned and started back for the desk. Any of the three could have taken Adam. My steps faltered, leaving me standing in front of the desk as I realized why it could have been any of them. Because we had shown up at the exact wrong moment.
Gripping the desk with both hands, I leaned over the top. I had been the one to push Adam to go. I was the reason that Adam was missing, and that the other Organization cadets had died. It was my fault.
Releasing my hold on the desk, I turned and perched on the edge. How did Adam do this all the time? Make these kinds of life and death decisions? Drawing in a ragged breath, I scrubbed my hands across my eyes. Guilt could not be allowed to master me this time. Everyone, including the president I’d made promises to, was counting on me to solve this mess. I had no time to waste on unproductive feelings of guilt.
Breathing deeply, I pushed away from the desk and began pacing again. Whoever had Adam, it wasn’t their intent to kill him. At least not right away. They seemed to be trying to control the shift, to induce the more base animal instincts. That seemed more up Millsap’s alley. Then another thought struck me. Had Millsap known we were going to be there or had it been a coincidence? Because if he knew, it confirmed that we still had a traitor in our midst.
I went back to the board and added Millsap back in along with an arrow pointing to nothing. Could Julia have told him? She’d been there. Did she still have a hand in the Organization? I added her to the board.
The image the notes made resembled a hurricane logo used by meteorologists. It was a pretty good synopsis, I thought. Everything spinning and spinning. Someone was bound to be thrown out. I’d have to make sure to have my catcher’s mitt handy when it happened.
Leaving the notes behind, I collected the print out I’d made of the DTP’s operations. Folding it in half, I wrote Cedars name across it. I’d give it to him first thing in the morning. I was certain he’d want to lead the charge in eliminating their operations. And the hybrids we located because of it, well, it looked like Kenny might get his wish after all. Because that’s what we needed around here, more hybrids. I should find out from Margaret how many this facility would accommodate.
The unexpected ringing of the phone startled me. Rubbing my knee where it had collided with the desk, I looked at the caller id. It was blank. I shrugged and picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Dr. Greer?”
It was the president. “Yes, sir.”
“I need you to handle something for me.”
More? Were you kidding me? Out loud, I said, “What would that be?”
“I need you to be the face of the rebirth of hybrid research into the public conscience.”
I was sure my heart stopped beating. “You want me to what?”
“I need you to handle presenting this to the public in the terms you painted earlier today.”
“Mr. President,” I began, not even trying to hide the exasperation I felt. “I don’t know if I’m the best person for the job.”
“Sure you are,” he interrupted. “You already have a good public persona. The military likes you. Not Mallet, of course. But Hurser and Murdock like you well enough. And, what’s more important than all of that, is that I trust you. I know you have just as much riding on this as I do.”
I heaved a deep sigh. Those were decent arguments. “Mr. President, I feel compelled to issue a warning. Lately, everything that I attempt to clean up gets a whole lot messier first.”
“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat in a failed attempt to stop his laugh. “I did notice the rather peculiar nature of your attire.”
“Mr. President—” I stopped. How was I supposed to explain to the president why my skirt was ripped to my hip?
“Don’t worry, Dr. Greer,” the president chuckled. “I thought the bunnies were cute. I’ll be in touch,” he choked out as he hung up.
Dad gum it. The president really had seen my underwear. Correction. Every man in that room had seen my underwear. And why’d it have to be bunnies? That’s it. From now on, nothing but fierce underwear. Like wolverines or spiders. Oh yeah, that’ll work. They’ll really respect me when they get a look at my Marvel underoos.
“Uugh,” I groaned loudly. I didn’t even get to ask him about the DTP.
Chapter 12
The clock said it was ten. I didn’t think I could sleep, but I knew I needed to. Leaving the desk, I climbed into bed and held my breath as Adam’s scent settled around me. After a moment, I grasped his pillow and pulled it to my chest. If I saw Adam tonight, I was going to get something I could use to solve this mess. That was going to be harder than it sounded. Each dream I’d had of him didn’t last very long and had mainly consisted of making sure he was alive. Tonight needed to be different.
“I’m coming, Adam,” I whispered as I hugged the pillow. That was the last thing I remembered until I woke up inside of him.
It was dark where he was. Looking out through his eyes and being able to see well let me know that he was still in leopard form. And given the bars surrounding him, still in the cage. The relative quiet within him led me to believe that he was sleeping. But then, how could I see through his eyes? This nanobot metaphysics stuff was just plain weird.
From the little probing that I did, he didn’t seem to be physically injured. And his mind had lost that thick molasses feeling. Hopefully, that meant he was finding a way to cope with what they were doing to him. Feeling him stir, I tried to tamp down on my presence. It was that effort that found me suddenly standing outside of Adam, like I was a ghost or something.
Macy? Adam said sleepily.
It’s me. I think. Frowning at my new waif like form, I pinched myself. Ow. Definitely me. I’m here, but not here. Can you see me?
