The Siren Project (43 page)

“For most people,” Christa said, “It’d be
enough.”

“For those who are not frightened by the
deception,” Gunter said, “The area defense system disables their cars, and they
are tricked into leaving by Ackerman.”

“Exactly,” Mitch said.  “So if they’re
using deception to hide their presence rather than force, it’s because that’s
all they’ve got.  If they had a battalion of marines, they’d damn well use
them.”

“The loss of the helicopter pilots was
probably more disastrous, than losing the helicopter,” Gunter said

“This is an illegal, covert operation,”
Mitch said.  “That's why they have to keep the number of people who know what's
going on to as few as possible.”  He selected an image of a two story L-shaped
building with windows evenly spaced along the walls and a small swimming pool
placed in the corner of the L.  A man floated in the blue water of the pool,
soaking up the hot Arizona sun.  “This looks like the accommodation block. 
It’s a safe bet the base personnel are housed here.  The question is, how many?”

Gunter counted the windows.  “That building
could house fifty to one hundred people.”

“If most are scientific and technical
people,” Mitch said,  “The security force guarding the installation is small.  That’s
a weakness.”

“We don’t exactly have an infantry division
backing us up,” Mouse said.

“No, but we have this.”  Mitch switched to
a picture of a white satellite dish sitting atop a low building.

“How does that help us?”

“Don’t you remember?  We know what it’s
looking at, and we know how to look back.”

“The spook in the sky!”  Mouse pulled the
crumpled piece of paper from his wallet, containing the satellite access code. 
“Or should I say, Mouse Zero One, my personal satellite.”

Mitch chuckled.  “You use the NSA satellite
to take down their automated defenses, from the inside.  It’s the one direction
they won’t expect an attack from.”

“I'll need a satellite dish.”

“We’ll steal one.  Maricopa is big enough
for a local TV station.  They’ll have what we need.”

Christa looked puzzled.  “Do you really
think you can hijack a NSA satellite?  Won’t they miss it?”

“It'll take them a while to figure out what
happened.  By then, we’ll give it back.”

“I want to keep it!” Mouse declared.  “I’ve
always wanted my own satellite!”

“So we borrow the satellite, then what?”
Gunter asked.

“We play hide and seek with Sincom One.  Only
we cheat.”

* * * *

She dreamt of flames, swirling,
biting, searing, and of falling helplessly through space toward onrushing
boulders that never drew close. The scream sounded in her mind, then in her
ears.

“Christa!” Mitch shook her awake.

She opened her eyes, realizing she'd been
screaming through the nightmare. Mitch held his gun in one hand and shook her
shoulder gently with the other, while the look of concern subsided from his
face.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, sitting up. “Bad
dream.”

He pocketed his gun, relaxing. “When I
heard you scream, I thought . . .”

She breathed deeply, calming herself. “Sorry.
I’m having trouble detaching myself from . . . today.”

Mitch glanced at the door, which he'd
forced open, tearing it from the architrave. “Looks like I made a mess of your
door.”

“At least I know doors can’t keep you out,”
she said, breaking into a whimsical smile.

“Can I get you something? Coffee?”

“A coffee would be nice, now that I’m
awake.”

“You can take my room. The lock still works
on my door.” He pushed the door closed on his way to the coffee making
facilities.

“Was I loud?”

“Well, you didn’t wake Mouse. And Gunter
could sleep through an earthquake.” He emptied coffee satchels into two cups. “I
was still awake.”

“So you came charging in here with all guns
blazing. My hero.” She feigned swooning.

“Careful, or next time I hear you scream,
I’ll just roll over and go back to sleep.”

She strolled toward him. “You wouldn’t do
that.”

“Watch me,” he retorted, then poured hot
water into the cups. “Powdered milk, or powdered skim milk?”

“Black,” she said, standing close by. “One
sugar.”

Mitch was stirred by her gentle curves,
revealing themselves against her silky night clothes. He looked away. “I’ll
pass on the powdered milk too.”

She took the cup he offered, and sipped
experimentally. Mitch found he was uncomfortably distracted by her golden hair,
and by how firmly the silk of her nightgown pressed against her in several
interesting places. He felt he should speak, to fill the void, but the
electricity left his mind blank. The longer the silence continued, the more
awkward he felt.

She looked up from her coffee, smiling as
her cheeks took on a rosy hue. “You’re making me blush.”

“I am?” he said confused, certain he'd
concealed the first stirrings of passion.

“I don’t read minds,” she smiled, “But I do
sense them, and the signals are loud and clear.”

“Oh!” Mitch said, suddenly realizing how
naked his feelings were before her. He was about to apologize, when he realized
there was nothing to apologize for. He put his coffee down, stepped back, as if
placing distance between them lessened her powers and pointed his finger at
her. “Not fair! Women’s intuition is bad enough, but your secret weapons don’t
give a guy a chance.”

“That’s right,” she replied grinning,
putting her coffee cup down. “When it comes to
this
,”
she said, placing one hand around his neck and tapping the side of his head
with the other. “I know everything that's happening in there.”

Her gentle touch on his neck was electric,
raising his desire for her to a new pitch. “Everything?”

“Yes. Every dark, lurid, urge.” She pulled
his head down toward her face. “But don’t worry, you’re in luck,” she whispered
and kissed him gently.

He slid his hands around her back and
pulled her close to him, feeling the pressure of her curves against his body,
and returned her kiss with a surging appetite. His hands roamed over her body,
devouring her with his touch, while she melted into the unique psychic pleasure
only she knew.

The ringing beside her bed roused
Christa from a deep sleep. She yawned, luxuriating in the memory of a night of
passion as Mitch slept soundly beside her, the bed sheet drawn to his waist. She
took him in appreciatively with a glance, as she reached for the telephone.

“Hello?” she whispered.

“Christa?” It was a woman’s voice, one she
instantly recognized. Christa suppressed a gasp, coming fully awake. For a
moment, she was unable to speak, barely able to believe her ears. “Christa, can
you hear me?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’m here. I have to see you.” There was a
desperate urgency in her voice that twisted Christa’s heart.

“I thought you were dead . . .”
How could she be here?

“I escaped. They’re after me. Hurry, I need
you. I’m waiting for you outside.”

A lie!
The thought flashed clearly into her mind.
She’s
got to be lying!

Christa tried to attune her special senses
to the woman’s voice and discern the truth, but her emotions were swirling
chaotically within, blurring her perception. “Come up here. We’ll meet you.”

“No. I can’t. I don’t trust the men you’re
with. I don’t know them. Meet me down here, I’m just outside.”

Before Christa could say anything further,
the woman hung up. Christa quietly replaced the telephone, glanced at Mitch
uncertainly, then slipped out of bed. She pulled on her clothes, went to the
window and looked down into the deserted street. It was still dark outside and peaceful,
the only visible movement was a solitary dog trotting across the road. She
hesitated by the window for more than a minute, debating with herself if she
should wake Mitch.

They would never let
her escape!

If she was telling the truth, Christa could
bring her in, but if she saw Mitch, she’d be too frightened to show herself.

No, it’s a trap. She’s
one of them now.

If it was a trap, she’d be walking straight
into it. If it wasn’t and she didn’t go, the woman might be recaptured.

What is she doing here?

Christa’s emotions rocked like a stormy
sea, but in her heart, she knew she could not refuse the woman.

They know that!
The voice of reason screamed.
But she needs me!

Christa picked up her purse, checking her
small pistol as she started for the door.

“Where are you going?” Mitch mumbled,
barely awake.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be back in a few
minutes.”

Before Mitch could inquire further, she was
gone. He started to drift back to sleep, but something in her tone made him
uncomfortable, a brittleness he'd not heard before. He forced his eyes open,
blinking himself awake as he sat up. A glance told him Christa's clothes and
purse were gone.

Her gun was in the purse!

* * * *

Christa hurried down the stairs from
her room, knowing Mitch would not be far behind. She pulled the front door’s
window curtain back, enough to steal a look outside, seeing the street was
deserted, with only the first hint of dawn breaking the darkness. She tried
calming herself, so she could reach out with her perception, searching for
other presences beyond the door, but her emotions blinded her. She pulled the
front door open cautiously, setting the entrance bell tinkling as she heard
Mitch’s heavy footsteps above.

A woman, almost thirty years older than Christa,
peeked nervously around the corner of the building and motioned her to
approach. Christa felt her stomach knot as she saw the woman. She'd convinced
herself the woman was dead by now, or at least dead to everything she'd been. Now
an impossible apparition stood before her, enticing her out.

She couldn't have escaped!
Christa told herself as she started toward the
woman tentatively, looking around for signs of others. Her heart beat rapidly
as her mind screamed powerlessly in her ears,
You can't trust her!

She fought to regain the inner composure
she needed to focus clearly, as the older woman stepped out from behind the
building, raising her arms welcomingly.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Caroline said as
she hugged Christa warmly, holding her close.

Christa relaxed, giving the older woman a
loving embrace. “I’ve missed you too,” she said, then as her emotions calmed,
she sensed the forced aspect pervading the other woman's nature.

“We must hurry. We have to get away from
here.”

“How did you know I was here?” she asked,
easing herself back to study the older woman’s face.

“It was the credit card you used to pay Mr
Ackerman with. They traced it. You've used it before, in other places you’ve
been, and he verified your photograph. They know you’re here.”

“We must warn the others,” Christa said, as
the veil drawn by her tumultuous emotions lifted. Instantly she knew, the older
woman’s mind had been forced to conform to a pattern alien to its true nature,
a nature Christa knew better than any other mind. “You’re one of them,” she
whispered heartbroken.

Caroline smiled, realizing Christa had
regained her emotional balance, and with that, her inner sight. “Yes, dear. It’s
really not so bad, not as bad as you might think. You’ll see.”

“No!” Christa yelled, twisting free of the
older woman and stepping back.

“You’ve improved. I thought it would’ve
taken you a few more minutes to see me.” She smiled knowingly. “You’ll be
better than I ever was.”

Caroline darted forward and attempted a
restraining hold on Christa, who blocked instinctively, but didn't counter
attack savagely as she'd been trained to do, choosing instead to surrender
ground. With surprising strength for someone with such a slight build, the
older woman threw a punch at her stomach, trying to knock the wind out of her,
but again she blocked and retreated. The older woman launched attack after attack,
but each time Christa blocked, but couldn't bring herself to strike back. Even
as they fought, she remembered the countless' times they'd trained in this way,
always with the same result, always the older woman had won, the master
triumphant over her student. But now there was a difference in their sparing,
the older woman was not pulling her attacks, she was striking with real
purpose.