Virtually His (12 page)

She arched a brow at him. He grinned. The car started with a smooth growl, like a wild animal ready to take off. Flyboy gave her a grin and an A-OK signal. “You ready?” he yelled above the engine.

“Show me what you got,” she challenged back.

Minutes later, they were flying down the scenic route. Not that there was much of that to see, Helen mused, as everything zipped by at an alarming blur. She glanced at the man beside her, his attention totally focused on the road. He changed gears and accelerated smoothly, one hand on the wheel and the other still on the stick shift. She watched the speedometer going up into the red zone.

She liked fast cars, always had. And she was totally fascinated at the ease with which Flyboy was handling the vehicle. Minimum movement, as if the car was an extension of his body. Just a totally relaxed man, enjoying something that would have most people at the edge of their seats. He made her forget how noisy these cars were. There was joy radiating from him that would make a woman jealous.

She didn’t interrupt his pleasure, preferring to let him take her wherever he wanted. This was probably a side of him that he seldom shared, when he dropped that heartthrob image and became pure pilot. Here, that teasing streak had taken on a quiet intensity that she had never seen in him before.

When he finally slowed down, the car purring to a more manageable speed, he turned and flashed her a smile sexy enough to curl her toes. The man was definitely turned on by speed.

“Thanks,” he said, simply.

She understood. They had a love for living on the edge and not caring about the consequences. “Was it good for you, too?” she teased.

He laughed, a carefree sound, as if this was the best ride of his life. “Ah, Helen, Helen. What you do to a guy.”

“Tell me what you think of this car.”

He took the turn off the scenic route, back to normal highway traffic. “It corners extremely well. I barely needed to move the steering wheel. That’s what makes a great car, in my opinion, the cornering speed.”

“It’s a good driver that makes the cornering speed,” Helen pointed out.

He glanced at her briefly. “How did you get to like racing? You’re obviously familiar with cars. I know you’ve driven very fast before because you didn’t even hold on to anything just now. Either that, or you’re an adrenaline junkie.”

Helen laughed. “Or both,” she suggested, as a slight evasion. “Speed is fun, and being the one in control of it is an indescribable feeling—like being at one with the world.”

“As close to Zen as one can get,” agreed Flyboy. “How experienced are you behind the wheel?”

“Not as experienced as you think. I don’t have the resources that you have.”

“So, who owned the few cars you did drive?”

She studied her nails. “Boyfriends.”

“Whoa. Wealthy boyfriends. I’m not in your league, Miss Roston.”

“Yeah, I’m a picky girl,” Helen mocked, “but you got one thing going for you, babe.”

His laughing eyes met hers. “What’s that? Fantastic sex?”

Oh, he would be fantastic in bed. All he had to do was lounge there and be devoured, but of course he knew that already. “Nope.” She leaned closer conspiratorially. “Being a pilot, you have other bigger things for me to ride in.”

They both laughed. One thing fun about flirting with Flyboy. He didn’t take himself too seriously. That was very important in Helen’s playbook, especially in a good-looking guy.

Lunch gave a good opportunity to ask some questions outside the Center. Helen was never sure who was listening in at that place. She’d watched T. carefully scan the ladies’ room, where they usually met, with one of her special rings. Granted, her operations chief was a very careful woman by nature, but if even she was paranoid about her workplace, then Helen figured she had better be, too.

Flyboy and she had a mutual passion—racing—and she understood his love for speed very well. He actually described it better than she could, probably because he had traveled at faster speeds than she would ever have the chance to try.

“Euphoria, or close to it. You’re flowing and floating, even though you know you aren’t, and you have total control of the craft. You can go upside down or nosedive, and still feel perfectly at ease. There’s no conscious effort, yet…” He trailed off, studying her. “Not boring you, I hope.”

“No, no, not at all. It’s the feeling of fearlessness. Or lack of fear. It’s just you and…well, if it’s driving, you and the road and total focus.”

He seemed surprised and pleased at her words, as if he hadn’t expected her to understand. But Helen had enough information to know that despite his flirtatious demeanor, Flyboy wasn’t all heartbreaker; he could fly some of the most sensitive aircrafts in the world. Besides that, he was a COS commando, a man who had undergone extreme experiments and training, just as she had.

“Yes,” he agreed. “And trust, total trust in yourself and the vehicle.”

Which brought up the subject of
her
vehicle, the Portal. Of the people she had been introduced to these past few months, Flyboy was the most approachable. Because he had used VR for his work, their conversation naturally turned to aspects of her training.

“Yes, I want to try out the Portal.” He answered her questions in between bites of hamburger. “It’s modeled after the one I’m famous for, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“They were creating a new simulation program to train aviators. I was the Flybot,” he said, then threw back his head and laughed at his own pun.

“I’ve seen that film package with a simulated you,” Helen admitted. “Very patriotic, very nice…you looked marvelous.”

Flyboy shrugged. “That one was a funding package for Congress. I haven’t seen that version, actually. Part of my work was to help improve sim-flight training and that was my main interest. The other thing was more…” He shrugged again, his blue eyes scornful, as he searched for the right word. “For show.”

Helen tapped his hand playfully with a straw. “Hey, you never know, your sacrifice probably brought some funding into the research for the Portal. And my training, too!”

He smiled. “Well, put in that way, I suppose being treated like a piece of marketing meat is okay.”

“I hope I don’t treat you that way.”

Flyboy cocked his head. “No,” he said softly. “You don’t.”

Helen chewed on one end of the straw. “You know, you really do have the nicest blue eyes, not a tinge of gray in them at all. And when you smile, all a girl can think about is…meat.”

She burst out laughing, unable to continue her teasing. Flyboy joined her.

“You’re a scamp, that’s what you are,” he told her, leaning over to tweak her nose. “You almost had me there. How they mistake you for a serious dedicated operative is a mystery.”

She shrugged. Life couldn’t be all business all the time. “Are you going to be there tonight? I heard a couple of the commandos are interested in checking out X.”

They had agreed to refer to the serum as X in public. The serum was, of course, the drug to be tried out on her later. Helen Roston, female supersoldier-spy. Say that fast three times. She grinned at the thought. After a year of training, she was well past the apprehensive state and into the macabre. That was, as any seasoned operative knew, as ready as one could possibly get before restless anxiety settled in.

“I think I’ll be there, barring some commitments. But I know Armando Chang will, for sure. He’ll be there to answer your questions.”

“Armando. I don’t think I’ve met him.”

“No, he hasn’t been around lately, but of all of us, he’s the one you should talk to.”

“Oh.” She made a mental note about Armando Chang. “Tell me what you know anyway.”

“You mean, other than the chemical reports you’ve read? I don’t know how the new stuff will be different personally.”

“No, how did the original version work on you?” Helen had read enough to understand the effects on a human body. They were words. She was interested in the experience. “What did it do to you?”

Flyboy sat back, studying her as he weighed his words. Interesting that he would need to do that, since he had answered all her previous questions quickly. Maybe he thought she wasn’t ready to hear whatever it was he had to say. Again, interesting.

“Armando should be answering this because he took the new stuff,” he began, “but I’ll try to give you just my take on it. Our dosages were small. It didn’t work on a few of us. For me, I felt very alert, which is great for flying. As far as I could tell, everything functioned normally except that everything was also noticeably easier to do.”

More questions floated through Helen’s mind. Armando Chang had tried the new stuff? Could he remote view? “What do you mean?”

“The most difficult tasks were…” Flyboy pointed to his dessert “…a piece of cake. I was very goal-oriented, but then, I am a pretty focused person when I’m working, anyway.”

She had noticed that. “Yes, flying aircraft needs that. I imagine X makes an ordinary person extremely attentive to details,” Helen said thoughtfully.

Flyboy took her hand in his. “It’s a drug. Always remember that. No matter how you feel, just keep that in mind, that it’s the drugs. You said you see the Portal as your vehicle, and yeah, in a way you have to trust it to help you do your job. But you have to trust X, too, and that’s tougher than you think.”

She had already thought about that. Drugs, after all, invaded a body, took control of some aspects of it. To allow them to work, she had to trust them. Same as she had to trust Hades. Who in his right mind would? Yet, millions of people took drugs day in and day out, without thought, with total trust.

“Why did you let them inject the stuff in you, anyway?” she asked, curious now that she had some answers. “Did you have a choice?”

His smile was flippant. “I’m a COS commando,” he stated simply. “We’re different.”

“And that means you aren’t ever going to tell me.”

“You’ll understand more about it soon, so why go into details?”

“Does that mean you know more about my program than I do?” She arched her brows. He was still holding her hand, his thumb massaging the fleshy part under hers.

“They call you V2. What does that tell you?”

Quite a bit, Helen admitted. Quite a bit.

T
he meeting was supposed to be informally formal, one of those terms at Center that Helen hadn’t quite figured out yet. She took it to mean that they didn’t have a dress code. Whatever. Q and A meant mean exactly that, no matter how they did it. Those attending had to do with her training in one form or another here, and this was the first time Helen would get to see them together. Flyboy had told her at lunch that Center was a very tight-knit community, especially within its special programs. The Q and A sessions before any mission cleared the air.

Most of all, she wanted to meet Armando Chang. T. had told her that Center was keeping an eye on him. The newest COS commando, he had used the new version of the serum the most, and of them all, according to T., he was the most affected.

“He has changed, Hell,” she had said during one of their private briefings. “Not just the way he acts, but the way he talks, too. I’ve met him before he was part of the program, so I can tell the difference. But the change is slow enough that Center can’t actually pinpoint it to the drugs themselves, you know? He’s still effective, he’s somehow worked his change into an asset for the operations.”

“How so? How did the drugs change him?”

“You watch him at Q and A. We’ll talk more later. He’s a matter of concern for GEM because we certainly don’t want to put you in any danger of losing your mind, darling.”

Helen’s eyes widened. “You care, you really care!”

“I don’t let any of my agents take unnecessary risks,” said T. “Even you, although I’ve always encouraged you to take chances more than the others.”

That had been a revelation. She hadn’t known T. had such confidence in her. “I know I’ve sometimes gone against your orders. I don’t know why you put up with me.”

“You work with what you have. And who said you hadn’t done exactly what I wanted you to do?”

Helen had made a face. That was so T.

“How am I doing so far with this contract?”

“Everything showed that you’re the perfect candidate, Hell. They were looking for someone who had what they called ‘visions’ with proven results. GEM can vouch for your record. Of course, they could pull any number of government-tested psychics for that but they also wanted a highly-trained operative who could do covert work. Your training with them gave them an idea what kind of skills you have and calmed the fears of those against hiring a contract agent for something so special.”

“There was only one snag, right?”

They both had laughed because it had been very apparent the last year and a half that some of the more traditional departments were very miffed that the best candidate for supersoldier-spy was a woman. The sole exception had been the group of individuals from the remote viewing program. Their training had opened a brand-new world inside of Hell, one that had taught her how special she really was. She knew she had surprised many of them with her rapid progress; they had remarked that very few had gone through each level of training that quickly.

Helen unzipped her jacket, popped a fresh piece of gum in her mouth, and entered the conference room. It was thoughtful of them to let her ask some questions before injecting her with their experimental drug, but part of her didn’t really trust that this was only to “clear the air.” Perhaps this was a test, too, to see how she handled anxiety and fear.

Her long months of training was basically a walk through fire. Each government department had a piece of her, had molded her for its purpose. Each of the programs in which she had undergone training had tested her in its insidious little ways. The worst was the CIA bunch; they had tried their damnedest to make her paranoid. But that was good. It trained her to always keep an eye on everyone and everything around her.

She walked past all the eyes watching. She was used to all that staring by now. It was amusing, really. She actually had had her fill of macho men; living in close quarters with two different special operations forces had made her very comfortable with having them as companions. Or enemies. Not everyone believed in using female contract agents.

She wasn’t quite the object of lust for many of these men, so there went her ego down the drain. Yet she represented something more, even might have struck a note of fear in a couple of them, and so there her ego soared again. Boy, it was tough to be a woman.

Normally, she would turn and give everyone a chirpy greeting but she didn’t feel like it today. After all, this was serious stuff. Later tonight, she was going to prove how all these months’ work and COS Center’s new training had molded her into their objective. It was time to put her game face on.

So, Helen my dear, how does it feel to be a weapon?
She sat down, crossed her legs daintily, crossed her arms, and blew a bubble. It felt pretty damn cool to have everyone wondering. At the moment, she felt like the strongest woman on earth, which was very strange. She should be feeling vulnerable and tense…shouldn’t she? Yet, she couldn’t deny the excitement surging inside.

She was just tired of waiting. A body could only train so much. A mind could only absorb so much. Her well of patience was almost dry. She missed the real stuff, where the real danger was. She missed speed. This afternoon with Flyboy punctuated how out of touch she was with what she really, really loved, and that was living on the edge. No amount of training under simulated conditions would take the place of real fear. No amount of testing could take away the real unknown.

The serum was the unknown here. She was ready for the next phase.

“Miss Roston.” Dr. Kirkland joined her at the table.

“Helen.”

He smiled. “Helen. Do you need any introductions with anyone in the room? I think almost everyone is here.”

Helen looked around. She recognized most of them. “Who are those two talking to T.?”

“Dr. Marilyn Vaughn and Dr. Vasilia Kasparov. They will answer any questions you might have about the serum.”

Marilyn Vaughn didn’t look like a scientist, or Helen’s image of one, anyway. She was dressed in a black frumpy housewife-looking dress, with bright red flower-print. Her hair was combed into a Victorian-style chignon. From where Helen sat, she looked more motherly than scientist. On the other hand, Dr. Kasparov looked exactly right, with a shock of white hair and sharp, intelligent features. Helen remembered reading that he had defected from the former Soviet Union.

“Were they part of the team with the original serum?”

“Marilyn was, but Dr. Kasparov joined a bit later.”

“Who else isn’t here, then?”

Dr. Kirkland looked around and checked his watch. “Armando should be here any moment now. He’s always the last to arrive. There he is…good God.”

Helen turned to the door. She bit her lip in amusement. They weren’t kidding when they said the meeting was informal. The man they were talking about had everyone’s attention now.

Armando Chang didn’t look like a scientist, commando, or any special operative she’d ever seen. He had on a black cloak, the kind that flowed to the ground. His hair was long and a diamond stud glinted from his ear. His mixed heritage—high intelligent forehead, widow’s peak, slanted catlike brooding eyes over high cheekbones—gave him a very exotic air.

Every pair of eyes looked in his direction. The atmosphere in the room had gone considerably more apprehensive. Apparently, Armando Chang made everyone a bit nervous.

“You look like a damn vampire,” someone said.

Helen had to agree. The cloak covered him from neck to foot, and with that hair and those eyes…all he needed were red lips and fangs. He caught her looking at him and acknowledged her with something like a smile, but not quite. No fangs…yet. Helen raised her brows in greeting. With the cloak hiding his body, arms and legs, he definitely looked unworldly. Except that he had stubble. Vampires—not in any books or movies she’d ever read—rarely had five o’clock shadows.

“It’s cold out,” he said, as if that explained away the cloak, and with a swift motion, he had the front of it parted and it fell off his shoulders dramatically.

All Helen knew about Armando Chang was that he was the weapons expert of the V-Program commandos. But as she very well knew, words did not make a person. The man sauntering toward Dr. Kirkland and her, cloak draped over one arm now, walked with the air of a bad boy. Files with asterisks and notes didn’t tell her that. It was the all-black getup, the black biker T-shirt with the picture of a skull on the front, the worn and rumpled black jeans with the silver belt, legs tucked into black leather boots. Uncombed and unshaven, Armando Chang looked as if he had come to work after having tumbled some biker chick and had just thrown on the clothes by his bed. With T.’s words in mind, she wondered again how the serum had affected him.

“We meet at last,” he stated, his arresting eyes sweeping over her from the top of her head to her feet. “You don’t look anything like the picture in your file.”

“Nor do you,” countered Helen, not bothering to stand up. The one she saw showed him with a short haircut, combed to the side. Same arrogant look in those dark eyes, though, as if he thought he’d better things to do than to be there.

Or, right now, here, at the meeting. There was an air of impatience about him, even though he was standing still and acting strangely.

Acting.
Her senses whispered as his gaze met hers.

He had the American accent down pat, but the file had told her he wasn’t an American. Right now, his voice held a tinge of mockery, as he subjected her to a head-to-toe inspection. “You were all glammed up in the file. Different color hair. In fact, I didn’t even think you could possibly be able to train with Special Forces, not with those pretty pink nails.”

“And you look like you’ve seen wilder days since your picture was taken, Mr. Chang,” she said coolly.

“T. has been a great teacher. I’m sure you’re just as good with deception.” He dropped the cloak on a nearby seat. “Hi there, Doc Kirkland. Didn’t mean to ignore ya.”

Dr. Kirkland gave a faint smile. “That cloak must be part of your new act.”

“Yes, I have a show later.”

Helen frowned. Act? That word had just crossed her mind moments before.

“Armando, darling.” T. appeared. “Helen, you haven’t met Armando yet. You have to see one of his shows in town one of these nights.”

“Sorry, lost me there…shows?” Maybe Bad Boy Armando played in a band.

“Armando is studying to be a part-time magician. He travels all over the world with his bag of tricks…useful for Center, of course. He’s building quite a reputation.”

“T., love, it’s illusionist.” Armando looked around. “Is Diamond around?”

“No, he isn’t.”

Armando smiled. “Good,” he said, and brought T.’s hand to his lips, his dark secretive eyes gleaming. “I have you all to myself at last…although it’s much more fun with him scowling at me across the room.”

T. laughed. “Don’t let this devil persuade you to assist him in his tricks, Hell. He has a way of making you disappear for hours.”

T. had her ways of warning her operatives. Helen didn’t need it, though. She could tell Armando Chang was a troublemaker. “Did you get into trouble?” she asked lightly.

Armando looked down at Helen. “T. always gets out of trouble. Would you like to magically disappear?”

Helen cocked her head. She should stand up. The man was issuing some kind of challenge, although she wasn’t sure what it was yet. “I didn’t mean T.,” she said softly. “I meant you. Did you get into trouble?”

Armando’s eyes didn’t leave hers as he pulled out the chair next to hers. “Assist me in my next illusion and you’ll find out.”

Helen shook her head. “I have other important things on my plate.”

“Ah, yes, you are the new anointed one, the ace up the sleeve, the fat in the fire.” His mockery was spoken in that same low tone, so that only their circle heard them.

Helen broke eye contact and turned to her operations chief, giving her an inquiring look. “Don’t tell me—he’s the poet of the V-group. You know, there’s always one in a story—the cynic with the acid tongue who throws out ambiguous lines.”

T. gave her one of her amused looks. Her amber eyes darted back to the man sitting next to Helen and they narrowed fractionally. “We’ll have to discuss Armando’s talents later, Hell. I think the session is about to start.”

Everyone had slowly moved to take a seat around the table. The two doctors sat directly across from Helen. A big screen lit up behind them with the dissected image of the human brain.

Armando leaned closer and whispered, “Here’s the scientific part.”

Helen whispered back, “All illusion, just like your area of expertise.”

“Flyboy did mention your wonderful wit,” he said with amusement, then relaxed indolently back into his seat as Dr. Vaughn tapped on the mike clipped on her collar.

After the initial welcome and introductions, both scientists gave a brief presentation, using the brain chart on the screen to explain what the serum did, some of which Helen already understood. Most of the first questions by those present concentrated on the general medical aspects of synthetic biochemistry. Everyone participated with answers and suggestions, bringing up operational procedures for clarification, showing that this was the usual practice for them. Perhaps, she mused, this wasn’t a test of her, after all.

She noted that Armando Chang didn’t ask any questions or offer any suggestions. Unlike the others, he hadn’t taken any notes. In fact, looking down at his lap, she noticed he was rolling two balls in his right hand.

“SYMBIOS research uses controlled substances to create the necessary chemical that will bind with opiate receptors at different sites of the central nervous system—the brain, the brain stem and spinal cord—thus altering both perception of and emotional response to pain through an unknown mechanism.”

“Why unknown?” Helen asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she now counted three balls rolling around in Armando’s hand.

“We don’t really understand exactly how the drugs work, Miss Roston, even though they do work,” Dr. Vaughn replied.

“It’s very normal,” Dr. Kasparov said, in a heavy accent. “We still don’t comprehend much about the human brain, how even something like an over-the-counter drug inhibits or blocks certain brain responses. It’s often explained as ‘through an unknown mechanism.’”