Embracing Midnight (17 page)

Or whom to trust.

She considered a moment. There was an old saying that good judgment came from experience. And experience came from bad judgment. She’d never been known for having good judgment. She did, however, have a hell of a lot of experience.

“Tell me.”

Roger turned to Doctor Collins. “Do it.”

Collins considered for a second. She took off her heavy framed glasses. Serious dark eyes drew Callie in with their intense power. “This is going to be tough to accept.”

Fighting to keep patience and sanity, Callie searched her abused mind. No easy answers appeared. Her brain just wouldn’t function fast enough to answer the questions.

Callie’s jaw tightened. “It’s pretty tough waking up blindfolded and tied to a bed with a needle in your fucking arm. I see bars on my windows and I don’t know where the hell I am or where I’ve been.” A harsh laugh escaped her. “I feel like shit. And on top of that I have you three nattering nitwits telling me I can’t handle what’s in my own fucking head. So please, stuff your concern up your tight asses and give me back my memories.”

Collins’s eyebrows rose above her frames, but she gave no rebuttal. “Perfectly understandable, Agent Whitten.” She cleared her throat. “If you would follow my instructions, we can do exactly as you’ve asked.”

“Thanks,” she said and met the doctor’s gaze. “Let’s do this.”

A pause. “Close your eyes and relax, please.”

Callie settled back against her pillow. “Okay.”

“Now, take three deep breaths,” Collins instructed, her tone soothing and firm. “As you take these breaths you will feel very calm and relaxed.”

Callie closed her eyes, acutely aware of each slow breath expanding her lungs.

“Imagine yourself standing on the top of a staircase and as you go down from the top step you are getting more and more relaxed,” Collins said. “Count backwards from ten, very slowly. As you reach the last step you will be deeply relaxed, so relaxed that you cannot move the muscles of your body even if you want to.”

Callie counted, mentally picturing and descending the imaginary staircase.

“At the bottom of the stairs is a door,” Doctor Collins said. “When you open it, you will know what you have forgotten.” A pause. “Is your hand on the doorknob?”

Her hand rose, reaching for the imaginary door. “Yes.”

“Do you want to hear your word, Callie?”

Her throat tightened. “Yes.”

One word.

“Drake.”

Slowly, a slew of images began to take shape in her mind. A tremor went through her whole body. She shut her eyes. Painful longing stabbed through her as memories of Iollan Drake solidified and fell into place.

She squeezed her eyelids tighter. “Oh. God.”

“Do you remember now?” Doctor Collins asked.

Callie whimpered. What she remembered couldn’t possibly be believed. God, his touch. Those strong steady hands exploring her naked flesh, the fullness of her breasts, the soft valley between her thighs. The press of his solid male body against the yielding softness of hers. Then the bites, the exquisite feel of sharp teeth penetrating her neck.

No.

She drew a shuddering breath, wanting—no, needing—to deny everything she remembered in a rush of sights, sounds, and sensations.

Impossible.

Memories poured in like water through a sieve, filtering into her harried brain from all sides, giving no peace and offering no respite. More than filled, more than tasted, she’d been possessed body and soul by a man whose unique hunger would forever haunt her memory. She’d been so thoroughly conquered she didn’t think she’d fully recover.

The flood of emotions turned her limbs liquid. Her psyche took a blow. “He’s not human.”

The words tore from her lips, half disbelief, half anger. Bitter acid rose in the back of her throat as conflicting feelings raged through her. Every emotion she’d ever experienced over a lifetime now came to center and focus around a man she’d found darkly alluring, and perilously deadly.

Doctor Collins laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I tried to ease you into the idea during our sessions. It’s difficult to take, I know.”

An understatement.

H
eart beating a mile a minute, Callie walked between Roger Reinke and Paul Norton. Her head turned every which way as they progressed down a wide corridor. On the outside, the facilities looked like an ordinary seven-story office building.

Inside was a far different story.

The building sat on a four-mile circle of government property, perfectly landscaped, pristine, as still as a fly trapped in amber. Property restricted to civilian personnel. Property fenced and patrolled by armed security guards.

Callie fingered the badge clipped at her waist. Her security clearances were written into the small piece of plastic that now granted her access into the government’s most secret of inner sanctums. They’d only made it inside after enduring innumerable security checks. All movement through the complex was accomplished through badges and codes. When she’d slid her newly minted ID badge into the scanner, she’d held her breath, expecting the red light to remain red. To her relief, it switched to green and she was allowed to punch in her code and proceed along with Norton and Reinke.

Where they had proceeded to boggled the mind.

A new guide led the way through the maze. A tall cadaverous man who rather reminded Callie of the actor who’d played Lurch in the
Addams Family
television show in the sixties. He lumbered, a giant of commanding presence and booming voice. The blind and dead couldn’t fail to see him coming. Those who did steered a quick path out of his for fear of being run over. He, too, wore the all-telling white lab coat.

In Callie’s mind, white coats didn’t exactly bode well. She was noticing a lot of white coats. Those troubling coats below unsmiling and serious faces meant business. Bad business. Under the seeming serenity, a more sinister note vibrated. Maleficent and corrupt forces were in power. The strings of fear they pulled taut sought to restrain free thought and independent action. Those who had control wouldn’t easily relinquish it.

The good professor’s name was Terrence Forque, pronounced like the eating utensil. The grand tour of a captive audience was his forte and he took ample advantage to remind them several times that only the best of the best walked these hallowed hallways.

Officially, the building was known under the code of A-51 ASD. What it meant, few knew.

Now Callie knew.

Area 51, Alien Sciences Division. Location, just outside Belmonde, Virginia. The U.S. government didn’t explicitly acknowledge the existence of the A-51 ASD facility, nor did it deny it. The area surrounding the facility was permanently off-limits both to civilians and normal air traffic, and protected by radar stations. Uninvited guests were met by armed guards. Deadly force was authorized if violators attempting to breach the secured area failed to heed warnings of security to halt.

“The project dates back to nineteen forty-seven, with the advent of the crash in Roswell, New Mexico,” Forque explained. “At that time we encountered conclusive proof of aliens and their existence among us. This in turn prompted then-president Truman and J. Edgar Hoover to implement a program geared toward the study of alien species and technologies as they were discovered. Needless to say, we have uncovered evidence of many types of aliens among us. Most, I am glad to say, are benign.”

An unpleasant weight settled in the center of Callie’s chest. She’d learned from her career in the bureau there were times when an agent wasn’t told every detail about an assignment. The know-how and determination were usually all the government felt it necessary to arm agents with. Sometimes having the knowledge was more of a burden than knowing nothing.

Callie almost wished to go back to blissful ignorance. Any feelings she’d foolishly allowed to develop for Iollan Drake needed to be squashed, something easier said than done. She needed her work. And the focus of climbing the ladder in the area of national security was certainly a goal to reach for. She had to keep that goal in sight and stop permitting memories of a hot man and hotter sex from overriding her good sense.

“Is Drake one of these Roswell aliens?” she asked.

Forque shook his head. “Not of the species found that day. They call themselves the
Niviane Idesha
, which we have determined to mean
shifting spirit
. From the history we’ve gathered, these are interdimensional travelers. Their universe of origin is not known, nor do we know exactly how long they’ve been among humankind. Our estimates date back to the time of Christ, give or take a
BC
or an
AD
, though we’ve only been aware of them through the last few decades. They’ve integrated well into human society—almost to the point of invisibility.”

“Makes sense,” Paul Norton piped up.

Lumbering along at top speed, Forque nodded amiably. “They’re notoriously slippery and require very delicate handling once in captivity. We’ve lost several nice specimens. They don’t seem capable of surviving long in an artificial environment. Overall I find them to be an entirely unique and fascinating species, very intelligent and crafty.”

“And dangerous,” Roger Reinke said, frowning. “Not only can they change their physical form, they can shift energy, as well as erase memory. One talent would be bad enough. Given all three, plus a hunger for blood, and this is nothing we need running around unmonitored.”

Callie glanced at Reinke. “You knew all along what he was and you let me fuck him. Thanks, Roger. I appreciate your putting my ass in the sling and my neck on the line.”

Reinke gave a good-natured grin. “If we didn’t think you could handle it, you wouldn’t have gotten into the game to begin with.” He shrugged. “Besides, you’d already fucked him. Or did you think we didn’t know that when Faber gave you a free pass?”

Scowling, she pushed out a breath. “Christ. You knew?”

The corner of Reinke’s mouth lifted at the irony. “We’re the FBI, honey. We know who, what, where, when, why, and how.”

It occurred to Callie that the country was truly becoming a surveillance society, where CCTV cameras and listening devices were used to track people minute by minute. “Nice to know the government screws its own.” The words leapt out before she checked them.

Politeness flew out the window. “The government reams everyone. You knew the risks when you came onto the job. From what I heard, it seemed to me you enjoyed yourself quite nicely.” A single eyebrow rose in mischief. “As for that bastard comment…”

She stared at him, scandalized. “Stuff it, Roger,” she growled. “You might have warned me he’d be drinking my blood. I didn’t sign up to be a donor.”

“Seems to me that you didn’t discourage him,” Reinke said. “Anyway, you earned your badge to the ASD.”

That career triumph seemed bitter and empty now. Instead of feeling proud of herself, regret and remorse filled her. And she didn’t even know why. She just felt hollow inside. When she wasn’t feeling bloated and queasy.

Stress.

Professor Forque ignored them all, bestowing a patient smile on what he considered a slower and lesser species than himself. “This is your new headquarters now,” he reminded with a slight hint of impatience. “One of the United States’ most sensitive areas of research.”

Norton just looked miserable. If his chin dropped any lower to the floor, he’d trip over it. Clearly he wasn’t happy with his new adventure in the land of science fiction turned science fact.

Leading them into an elevator, Forque pushed the
DOWN
button. Callie caught her breath when the car plunged straight down, passing several floors by the look of the digital readout on the wall. “We actually go a quarter of a mile underground.”

Callie pressed a hand against her queasy stomach. The urge to vomit had never been stronger. “I feel every inch of it, too.”

She clamped her teeth together, wondering if her breakfast of eggs, sausage, and hotcakes was going to come back on her. At the time, she’d been starved, shoving food into her mouth like a refugee who hadn’t seen a decent meal in months. No amount of food seemed hearty enough to fill the hole in her middle.

Two uniformed guards manned the desk. They flipped open a log, once again checked IDs, and entered the names into record.

Callie scanned the floor. Her stomach did another backflip. This place had a curiously familiar feel.

Forque outpaced them. He navigated them down the hall, pointing and saying. “I’ve prepared a short visual lecture on the Niviane Idesha—their biology and how we are faring in the area of weaponry to combat their spread among the general population. I believe you will find this very interesting.”

“No doubt,” Callie muttered under her breath. At this moment all she was feeling was surreal, as if she’d stepped into a funhouse that had no way out. Less than a month ago, she was manning a desk in the Siberia of cold cases, unhappy in her exile from the coveted inner circle of fieldwork. Now she was smack in the middle of a nice fat government conspiracy.

Never believe anything until it has been officially denied.
For the good of the public, the government would marginalize, intimidate, and silence the truth.

In this case, maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

Time would tell.

Professor Forque briskly led them into a morgue.

This one was no different than so many others she’d seen before. Even the body stretched out on the gurney looked familiar. Too familiar.

Fuck.

Callie wasn’t in any mood or frame of mind to be viewing yet another corpse.

A tiny Asian woman with beautiful almond-shaped eyes and a sleek fall of blue-black hair greeted them. Wearing a pair of green scrubs, she was in the process of sliding on a pair of rubber gloves.

“Agents, meet Doctor Akemi Yuan, head of our pathology department,” Forque said. “She’s been leading and developing our knowledge of the Niviane Idesha.”

Doctor Yuan didn’t offer a hand, holding up her gloved ones. “Just getting this one ready for you,” she said by way of an apology.

“Please proceed,” Forque urged, eager to show off the specimen.

Akemi Yuan countered with an easy grin. “It’s not like he’s going anywhere, Terrence.” She nodded to her assistant, who tugged the white sheet off.

The body was a naked male, early twenties. Lank hair, staring eyes, jaw locked in a painful scream. Hands and arms were contorted, back slightly arched.

Norton winced. “Jesus, he didn’t die easily, did he?”

Doctor Yuan shook her head. “Unfortunately most of them don’t survive the extraction.”

Eyebrows shot up.

“Extraction?” Callie asked, swallowing to keep the rise of vomit at bay.

Yuan nodded toward a nearby glass jar. “Agents, meet one of the Niviane Idesha.”

All eyes turned. A sickening sight greeted them. A snake-shaped squiggly mass having the transparency of a jellyfish floated in formaldehyde. Wide eyes, big jaws, a set of fangs to die for. Bristly ridges along its spine gave it the appearance of a porcupine mated with a reptile.

Everyone moved in for a closer look. It looked nothing like anyone would ever imagine an alien would: dwarflike, erect, vaguely human-shaped, gray-skinned aliens with large craniums, large egg-shaped eyes, small mouths and noses, and long, nimble fingers. No. This thing was entirely different.

Norton wrinkled his nose and said, “It’s all fucking fangs.”

The spectacle of the creature in the jar made Callie’s skin crawl. A wave of dizziness left her swaying. She moved away from it. Oddly enough she wasn’t disgusted by the idea of what the opaque lifeless thing represented. She was repulsed that scientists wanted to cut it out and put it on display.

“Holy shit.” Norton looked horrified. “Is this for real?”

“Very real,” Yuan said crisply, eyes taking on an emerald gleam, that of the scientist in her element. “The symbionts are alien life-forms inhabiting the base of the neck of the human host. When a host and a symbiont are joined, the resulting individual is an entirely new being. When the symbiont dies, the host also dies. This is our first successful extraction of a symbiont. Unfortunately, their cellular structure begins to deteriorate almost immediately upon death. To date we’ve not extracted one usable strand of DNA.”

The feeling that something wasn’t right was strangely, weirdly strong. “How does the symbiont merge with its human host?”

Doctor Yuan shook her head. “We don’t quite understand the complete process yet. What we do know is that the guest is fully capable of rewriting the cellular DNA of the host, altering the human biochemistry into an entirely new structure. Once the merging is complete, symbiont and host are essentially a single being. A being, I might add, with some dangerous abilities.”

That word again. Dangerous.

The uneasiness in the pit of her gut was impossible to ignore. “How come we consider these things antagonistic toward humans when they are still an entity unknown to most of the public?”