The Cyclops Initiative (29 page)

“You think we'll find something useful in that place?” Julia asked. She sat down on the room's queen-­size bed and kicked off her shoes.

“I hope we will,” Chapel told her. “Angel believes that the command that launched the original drone attack in New Orleans came from there. If there are NSA ­people inside, we might be able to ask them some important questions.”

“I'm guessing they'll be uncooperative,” Julia pointed out.

Chapel nodded. “We'll find a way to get them to talk. But it probably won't even come to that. Most likely the place is deserted, just a bunch of servers running on automatic. The NSA was smart enough not to send the attack signal from one of their official data centers. Most likely this place is just a relay—­a cutout, designed to hide what they're doing. But that might be useful, too. If there's NSA hardware inside, then Angel can use it to get past their firewall and hack into their main servers.”

“Won't they instantly know what she's doing, like last time? It only took a few minutes for Wilkes to figure out where she was.”

“That was because she was working on an open, commercial Internet connection. Using the NSA's own hardware means she can sneak in undetected.” Chapel shrugged. “I don't understand how it works, but it sounds like it makes sense.”

Julia smiled. “And if she does find something, some evidence. What then?”

“Then we go to the director of national intelligence with it. Show him the NSA has been attacking American assets. He'll shut them down in a hurry. The evidence will show that we—­Angel, me, Director Hollingshead—­are innocent, and he'll call off Wilkes and anyone else who's looking for us.” He sat down in a chair by the door. “Anyway. That's the plan.”

Julia nodded. “You want me to be your lookout again?”

“Absolutely. I have no idea what kind of security this place has. It could just be that fence I saw and nothing else. Or they could have cameras, or even armed rapid response teams patrolling the place after dark. Though I doubt that—­the clerk here would have told us the place was guarded, when what he was telling us was we couldn't go up there.”

Julia leaned toward the bed, stretching her arms and arching her back. “When do we leave?”

“Not until the middle of the night. I want it as dark as I can get. Then we'll need to hike up there—­I don't want our friendly clerk here noticing that we're taking our car out of the lot.”

“Good,” Julia said. “That gives me a little time to relax. I still like the occasional road trip, but it's more draining than I remember. If you want to take a nap, you can use the bed. I'm thinking I'll take a very long, very hot bath.”

“Sounds good,” he said.

She went into the bathroom and soon he heard the sound of water running. He stripped off his shirt and checked on the bandage around his midriff. It looked like it was still in good shape. So he slipped off his artificial arm and plugged it into a wall socket, then lay down on the bed and tried to close his eyes.

A nap would be good. It would be useful. It was looking like a long night ahead. But he was just too wired—­every time he closed his eyes they just snapped open again.

The bathroom door opened and Julia stepped out. She looked down at him and gave him a smile he couldn't quite read.

Then she pulled her shirt over her head and draped it across the back of a chair. Her bra came next, and suddenly he had no interest in closing his eyes anymore. As she unbuttoned her pants she said, “I don't want to get my clothes wet in there.”

She was still smiling. She didn't stop as she stepped out of her panties and stood nude there in the doorway.

Chapel sat up. “You, uh, don't want any company in there, do you?” he asked.

“In the bath? Absolutely not,” she said, and her smile grew mischievous. “There's no room for two. Anyway, you can't get your side wet, not until you're properly healed.”

“Right.”

She turned to step inside the bathroom. “Of course,” she said, “you could come sit with me. Help me scrub my back.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, jumping off the bed.

MOREHEAD, KY: MARCH 24, 18:43

Julia got a washcloth good and wet, squeezing it until soap bubbles popped between her fingers. She handed it to him, then leaned forward so he could wash her shoulders and back. He moved it slowly across her smooth, freckled skin, feeling the knobs of her spine through the thin cloth.

“Mmm,” she said. “I'd forgotten how nice it is to have someone do this for me.” She glanced back over her shoulder at him. In the steaming bathroom, curls of her hair stuck to her forehead and her cheek. “I've had to get used to doing everything for myself since I sent you away.”

Apparently Badass Julia was in a playful mood.

Chapel scrubbed lower down, paying special attention to the small of her back. He knew how much she liked that. It made her squirm now, pulling her knees up to her chest. A little water splashed out of the tub and got his feet wet. He didn't mind.

He leaned over to kiss her shoulder. Putting the washcloth down, he lifted the hair away from the back of her neck and kissed her there, dragging his lips across the incredibly soft skin as she bent her head forward to receive his mouth.

“I'm never going to get clean if you keep doing that,” she told him.

“I don't mind if you're a little dirty,” he told her.

She laughed and then pushed him away. Leaning back in the tub, she looked up at him and suddenly her eyes turned serious. “We're doing this?” she asked.

“Looks like.”

She nodded. “I want it, Jim. I want us to be like this again. Things—­things can't be the same as before, though. Too much has changed.”

His heart sank a little. “I know.”

“I still can't believe you've forgiven me,” she told him. “When I broke things off—­I was so cruel—­”

“I know why you had to do it,” he told her. “It doesn't matter.”

“I've changed, too,” she told him. “I'm not sure I understand how, but I feel it.”

“Julia,” he said, “whatever can be between us, whatever it means. I want that. Things haven't changed for me at all.”

“God. Listen to me,” she said, with a laugh. “I'm talking about feelings when we should be focused on just enjoying this.”

“So let's stop talking,” he told her.

He found the washcloth and scrubbed her arms, feeling the tight muscles in her biceps, running his hand down into the water to her wrists, to twine his fingers in hers. He brought the cloth up and worked it across the top of her breasts, watching the soap bubbles slide down those perfect curves, parting around the mounds of her hard nipples. He took his time, stopping now and again to kiss her deeply.

He dropped the washcloth in the tub and took one of her breasts in his hand, cupping it, caressing it, his thumb brushing against her nipple and making her gasp. She reached up and grabbed his wrist, then pulled his hand down across her smooth, flat stomach, locking her eyes to his as his fingertips found the red hair between her legs. She parted her thighs a little and he found her clitoris, rubbed it in small circles until she trembled. He slipped his index finger inside her and she let out a little cry, then slapped a hand over her mouth.

“We have to be quiet,” she whispered. “I don't want Angel to hear us and get jealous.”

He leaned in close until his mouth was just millimeters from her ear. “Then be quiet,” he told her and slipped a second finger inside her body.

After that he made no attempt to take things slow. He worked her clit with the ball of his thumb while his fingers slipped in and out. Her body shook from head to toe and she whimpered behind her hand as a bead of sweat rolled down her forehead.

He kept up the rhythm, moving nothing but his hand, feeling how her whole body curled around him. One of her feet came out of the tub and he saw her toes clench against the enamel as if she was trying desperately to find something to hold on to. Her breath came out of her in quick gasps and then water went everywhere as she flung her arms around him, pulling him close and then she shoved her face into his bare skin, smearing her mouth across him as she suppressed the noise she couldn't help but make. And still he kept stroking her, his fingers moving faster and faster—­

—­and then her whole body tensed, her hands squeezing his skin, her face buried in his chest and her hair bouncing against him as she cried out as she came, the sound reverberating through his body. She bit him a little and he laughed and she waved one hand in mock threat.

Eventually she stopped shaking and lay back against the tub, staring up at the ceiling, her hair floating on the soapy water.

She was so beautiful like that, so perfect he wanted to just stare at her forever. Instead he leaned over and kissed her, lightly, gently, on the lips.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Whatever happens between us, Jim, whatever we are in the future . . .”

“Yes?” he asked.

“It's going to include that. A lot of that.”

MOREHEAD, KY: MARCH 24, 23:07

Angel had recovered quite well by the time they knocked on her door and told her it was time to head out. She wore a navy blue windbreaker and a pair of black slacks she'd borrowed from Dolores. Julia was similarly outfitted in clothes from Suzie, including a dark knit cap to cover her red hair. Each of them had a flashlight, and Chapel had a satchel full of tools. “Where'd you get those?” Angel asked.

“The motel has a shed out back full of gardening stuff,” he said. “The lock on the door wasn't exactly secure.”

Julia shook her head. “If I didn't know you were one of the good guys,” she said, “I would worry about all the shady things you do.”

“Lucky for me I have a winning personality,” he told her.

The three of them set out quietly, not even turning on their flashlights until they were deep into the woods behind the motel. They took their time, staying as far from the road as possible, cutting through tangled growths of forest when they could. When they had to cross a farmer's field, they moved fast with no light, keeping their heads down. Chapel felt ridiculously exposed as they dashed across the stubble and irrigation ditches, but sometimes they had no choice.

Once they had to walk within a hundred yards of a big, rambling farmhouse, close enough they could see the blue light of a television flickering inside. Once they heard dogs barking from close by as they pressed through a stand of trees. As far as Chapel could tell, though, no human being noticed them passing.

It was well after midnight by the time they reached the fence surrounding the mansion. Chapel told the women to stand well back while he investigated it. He didn't see any cameras mounted on the fence posts, and no suspicious cables or junction boxes that might suggest the fence was electrified. Still, he wanted to be careful. He studied the fence for long minutes, taking in the fact that the chain link was rigorously secured and that the coils of razor wire on top weren't rusted at all. That suggested somebody was taking care of this fence on a regular basis. A good sign in itself, though it meant it would be harder to get inside.

His final test was the one that scared him the most, but it had to be done. He reached out and grabbed the chain link with his artificial hand. The silicone flesh of his prosthesis would insulate him if it was electrified, but if the current running through it was strong enough—­

He breathed a sigh of relief. The fence wasn't electrified. Nor did he hear any alarms go off the second he touched it. Of course he knew there could be a silent alarm—­maybe a light had just gone on in a security office inside the mansion, or maybe an automated system had already called the police to tell them someone was breaking into the old Chobham place. But if that was the case, there was nothing he could do about it. He had to get through this fence somehow, no matter the consequences.

“You aren't climbing that,” Julia pointed out. “Not without reopening your wound.”

“That's why I brought these,” Chapel said. He pulled a pair of long-­handled wire cutters out of his satchel. “You two spread out, and keep your ears open. If you hear anyone coming, let me know and we'll book it. This'll take some time.”

The women nodded and disappeared into the trees. Chapel got to work.

In the movies, when someone cut their way through a fence, it seemed to take only a few seconds, or at best the director would cut away while the would-­be intruder handled the laborious task. In real life, chain-­link fences were designed to keep ­people out, and they were designed very well.

It took all of Chapel's strength to cut through the first link. The fence was made of thick galvanized steel and woven in such a way that breaking any one thread didn't help you much. He worked as fast as he could, but before he'd even made a dent in the fence he was sweating profusely and his living hand had started to cramp up. Then there was the fact that the fence rattled every time he touched it, and each link he cut made a sound like a little gunshot. If anyone was paying attention inside the fence, he was certain they would hear him before he got through.

In time, though, he made an L-­shaped cut long enough that he thought they could wriggle through it. He put down the wire cutters and leaned against a nearby tree, getting his breath back and letting his hand relax. Before he was done recovering, Julia and Angel had returned. “The only thing I heard was you cursing at the damned fence,” Angel said.

“Yeah,” Julia said. “There's nobody out here. It's kind of spooky. I kept expecting a security guard to shine a light in my face. But I didn't see so much as a squirrel.”

“It's possible there's nobody inside,” Chapel pointed out. “This could just be an automated server farm. But we're not going to take any chances. Once we're inside this fence, no talking, okay? And don't do anything I don't do first. I'll walk a little ahead, keeping my eyes open for . . . I don't know what. Anything from trip wires to land mines. When I stop, you stop. When I walk, you walk. Got it?”