Imagine (Fuzed Trilogy Book 2) Page 11

  On his third day at the base and second day in class, he met Tim for lunch at the dining facility. After they ate in silence for several minutes, Josh asked, “How’s Sheri?”

  “She’s fine.”

  Josh waited for more, and finally asked, “How are you guys doing together?”

  “Fine.”

  Smiling, Josh said. “Hope Sheri didn’t say ‘fine.’ I’ve learned when women say ‘fine,’ it doesn’t mean that.”

  Tim looked up. “Part of learning how to be a good operative is to avoid talking about your personal life.”

  Josh shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Looking around, he saw some of the students from his class at a nearby table. He noticed they were watching him. Then realized it wasn’t him they were watching; it was Tim. Josh leaned in and said quietly, “Looks like you’ve got some admirers.”

  As Tim glanced over, Josh added, “I think you’re more famous here than Sheri is with the paparazzi.”

  Tim shook his head dismissively and kept eating.

  Josh persisted. “Tim, there have been, what, a couple dozen people ever awarded the Intelligence Cross in history?”

  Tim looked up abruptly. “How’d you know about that?”

  “Facebook.”

  Tim rolled his eyes.

  Josh smiled. “Brian Davidson told me.”

  “The award was classified.”

  With a slight smile, Josh said, “The only reason it’s classified is because it’s awkward explaining why your former boss shot a Tomahawk cruise missile at us.”

  Tim shrugged. “There are only a handful of people who know about that award.”

  Josh raised his eyebrows. “You think so?” Smiling, he nodded toward the student’s table. “You don’t think that type of news travels back-channel inside the agency?”

  Tim shook his head. “They don’t know who I am, and I prefer it that way.”

  Josh looked at him seriously. “Tim, hate to tell you this, but it’s not just about you. These men and women are about to put their lives on the line. They’ll never be able to talk about what they do, and some will die in the line of duty without anyone ever knowing. They need to know they’re making a difference and that there are some real heroes.”

  Tim looked back at the table of students.

  They all gave him a nod.

  With a slight frown, Tim gave them a nod back and then kept eating.

  Josh had an idea.

  17

  SURVEILLANCE

  After his afternoon class, Josh went for a run. It was just before sunset and the temperature was perfect. As he ran, he decided this was the cleanest, best-maintained base he’d ever seen, and he’d seen quite a few. Nestled among the tall southern pines, it looked more like a nature preserve. Even the base water tank was painted forest green. The only giveaway was a large collection of antennas sprouting from the top of the tank.

  Josh followed meandering roads that took him past ponds filled with geese and blue heron. He dodged a herd of deer and saw wild turkey. As he ran along the edge of a fresh-water marsh, it opened up onto the York River just in time for a spectacular sunset.

  Stopping, he watched the sun sink into the choppy, gray water. He breathed in the earthy smells of the marsh and listened to the sounds of the geese and ducks. He was enjoying the beauty and serenity ... until the distant sound of automatic gunfire broke the moment. The base’s gun ranges, and the many “Limited Access” signs, were reminders. As beautiful as it was here, this wasn’t a nature preserve. It was a training facility for operatives in a dangerous world.

  After cleaning up, Josh checked his phone. Sure enough, there were text messages from the two women in his life.

  Elizabeth let him know her schedule and asked how he was doing. Josh texted back that he was missing her but learning a lot about “agriculture,” and shared his most recent conversations with Jen.

  Jen’s text said, “I looked up guerillas. Did they try to shoot you?”

  He voice texted back, “No, Jen, they didn’t.”

  She responded quickly. “What if they had shot you? Would you die?”

  Her question could be simple curiosity, or having no parents, she might be concerned that something might happen to him. He suspected he was one of her few friends. He voice texted back, “Although people can die from a gunshot, I’m pretty tough. I was accidentally shot once, and I recovered just fine.” Time to change the subject. “Jen, what do you like to do?”

  “I like to look stuff up on the Internet.”

  Frowning, he asked, “Does anyone monitor what you do online?”

  “Not really. I know more about computers than they do.”

  He shook his head with a smile. Every year, kids understood and embraced technology faster than the previous generation. Josh carefully asked, “Jen, are the people who take care of you treating you well?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  That worried him. He had to find out what her situation was. “Jen, I’m sorry, I just want to make sure you’re OK and no one is hurting you.”

  “No one’s hurting me.” There was a delay. “Mostly they ignore me.”

  It was hard to know if this was just the normal frustrations of a little girl not getting enough attention, or if she really was being neglected. The fact that he was having extensive text conversations with a seven-year-old wasn’t a good sign.

  “Jen, what do you mean by ignore?”

  “Can we talk about something else?”

  Josh sighed. He committed to find out where she lived and who was responsible for her. Both to make sure she was OK, and because her situation might provide clues to his own existence. “OK, Jen, we can talk about it later. Do you know that not all the information on the Internet is correct?”

  “Yes, a lot of it doesn’t make sense or it says the opposite of something else, and the news makes me sad.”

  “Jen, you shouldn’t read the news all the time. News only reports the bad things that happen in the world, not the good things.” Josh was not happy with her guardians. They apparently weren’t monitoring her computer use or giving her any guidelines. He talked to her about how to verify information sources and gave her websites that reported news more appropriate for her age. He also told her that if she ever had trouble reaching him to contact Elizabeth.

  After finishing with Jen, Josh wasn’t sleepy, so he walked over to the Student Recreation Building. He got a beer and sat down at a table to watch the news. The big story was about a large drop in the stock market, but what caught his interest was that they were attributing it not to economic news, but to a fear of stock manipulation. Hackers had broken into the Wall Street financial system and artificially driven several stocks up. The reason for the fear was that they had yet to figure out how it had been done.

  As he was pondering that, four students from his class — two men and two women — asked if they could join him. Josh nodded. He knew he was a celebrity only by association. Like students everywhere, they talked about the courses and instructors.

  Sam, which was short for Samantha, said, “We heard through the grapevine that the man you were having lunch with was awarded the Intelligence Cross. Is that true?” Sam looked like a mid-twenties Halle Barry, but with striking golden-green eyes.

  Josh set his beer down and said, “I can neither confirm nor deny that.” Looking around, he quietly added, “But ... if it were true,” he smiled, “would you like to hear how it might have happened?”

  They grinned and leaned in.

  Tim couldn’t tell the story, and even if he could, he wouldn’t. Josh believed it was important for these people to know about men like Tim. Josh had taken no oath of secrecy, but the details weren’t required to illustrate Tim’s heroism. Without implicating the former director of the CIA or mentioning the SEALs, he told them how Tim cleverly sabotaged the bad guy’s vehicles and helicopter to buy precious time. He described how Tim turned the tables on a heavily armed soldier and to
ok him hostage. Finally, he gave them a blow-by-blow description of how Tim, facing certain death from an MP5 machine gun, activated a system that saved thousands of lives. He left out where the bullets intended for Tim ended up. Finally, wrapping up, he said, “And if that weren’t enough, less than a week ago, he saved my life and the lives of seven others in a daring helicopter rescue.” He winked. “I’ll tell you that story sometime, but now, if you’ll excuse me, we old folks need our beauty rest.” He exited quickly to avoid further questioning.

  Josh had always been a good storyteller and knew he’d captured their imagination. He smiled knowing they would quietly retell the story many times.

  Over the next couple of days, he finally got to the fun training; he and Tim played with cars. Tim set up situations that mimicked ones he’d actually faced. Josh found his fighter pilot skills helped, but some maneuvers weren’t intuitive; they went against everything Mr. Miller taught in Driver’s Ed.

  After doing a high-speed, wheel-screeching, tire-smoking power slide into a spinout, Josh yelled, “That was awesome! Let’s do it again.”

  Tim, sitting next to him and still holding on to the roof handle, said quietly, “In addition to killing us, you probably would have taken out quite a few innocent bystanders.”

  Josh still grinning said, “You don’t like roller coasters, do you?”

  Between the sessions with Tim, Josh attended class, where he learned surveillance, counter-surveillance detection, clandestine communication, etc. Since he had his own personal tutor, he didn’t participate with the class in the exercises outside the classroom. This was probably good because he quickly realized ... he sucked at this. He’d found something for which he had no talent or patience.

  After a particularly unproductive session, Tim brought him back over to talk to the school’s director. Nickles was an expert in many of the areas in which Josh struggled.

  Nickles asked him, “Are you familiar with the OODA Loop?”

  Josh said, “Yeah, it stands for Observe, Orient, Decide, Act.” Most fighter pilots were familiar with the heretical John Boyd and his legendary loop. It was a high-speed thought process designed to keep the enemy off balance, and drove everything from fighter engagements to the Blitzkrieg.

  Tim said, “Josh was a fighter pilot.”

  Nickles said, “Tim told me you’re exceptionally good at three out of four.”

  Josh said flatly, “Observe.”

  Nickles nodded. “Yeah, that’s the missing piece. Unfortunately, the success of the rest of the loop depends on your situational awareness.”

  After an hour with Nickles, Josh learned a lot. He also learned he’d probably never excel in spy tradecraft. Following the session, Josh grabbed dinner by himself at the dining facility. Sam, the classmate who’d asked him about Tim, came over to his table as he was finishing up.

  “Didn’t see you in class today.”

  Josh gave her a wry smile. “Got sent to the principal’s office.”

  She laughed. “You know. You haven’t told us your story.”

  Josh shrugged. “Nothing to tell. I’m just Mr. Smith’s assistant.”

  Studying him with surprising intensity, she raised an eyebrow and said, “Is that so?”

  Not wanting to carry the conversation further, he picked up his tray and winked. “See you in class.”

  Josh walked slowly over to the indoor pool. It was right next to the dining hall, but of course, he’d have to wait 20 minutes so he wouldn’t get a cramp and drown. He smiled at the tale perpetuated by moms across the world.

  When he got there, the pool was empty. He liked having the place to himself. After changing in the locker room, he jumped in and started doing laps. Within a few minutes, he heard a splash. He glanced over and saw someone swimming in the lane next to his. As they passed, he could tell it was a woman.

  He finished his last lap and stood up in the shallow end with his head and shoulders out of the water. Catching his breath, he watched the other swimmer approach. She stopped next to him and stood up. It was Sam.

  With a half-smile, she said, “You know you’re not supposed to be swimming here alone.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  She nodded toward a sign on the wall — ‘No lifeguard on duty.’ “For safety, we’re supposed to use the buddy system.”

  Josh laughed. “That’s a bit ironic, don’t you think?”

  She smiled.

  Tilting his head, he asked, “Sam, did you follow me over here?”

  She gave him a challenging look. “Didn’t see me, did you?”

  “No. No, I didn’t.”

  Still smiling, she said, “We’re in one of the few places in the world where stalking is not only allowed, it’s graded.” Tapping a finger on her lips, she added, “Let me guess. The reason you were sent to the principal’s office was ... counter-surveillance detection?”

  He shrugged.

  With confidence, she said, “I’m very good at it. Maybe I can help you?”

  “Thanks, Sam, I really appreciate the offer, but I’m not going to be here long, and you don’t need any distractions from your studies.”

  Looking at his shoulder, she asked, “Is that one of the scars from the bullet wounds?”

  Narrowing his eyes, he said, “What are you talking about?”

  She said, “We had to validate your story, so some of us cornered Mr. Smith. He wouldn’t say much, but he did tell us one thing.” She looked him in the eye. “He said he wouldn’t have been able to do what he did, if you hadn’t taken three bullets intended for him.”

  Josh shook his head and headed for the edge of the pool. Over his shoulder, he said, “He shouldn’t have said that.”

  She replied, “Turnabout’s fair play.”

  He hopped out of the pool. Trying to keep it light, he added, “Thanks for keeping me out of trouble with the pool Nazis.”

  Toweling off, he headed for the shower, but just before he got to the locker room, he heard, “Josh, wait.”

  He turned around. He’d only seen Sam in jeans, sweatshirts and combat boots. As she climbed gracefully out of the pool in a one-piece swimsuit, he saw an amazingly sleek and beautiful design as well as a nice-looking swimsuit.

  She flipped her long black hair over her shoulder. Gently dabbing herself with a towel, she sauntered toward him. Stopping directly in front of him, she tilted her head slightly as she reached out and touched the scar on his shoulder. “One.” Then she slid her finger slowly down his chest to the scar on his stomach. “Two.” Finally, looking up at him with those golden-green eyes, she slid her finger down to the top of his swimsuit, which covered the third scar. “Three?”

  Stepping back slightly, he said, “Sam, I’m—”

  She interrupted, “Our next class covers ways to expedite information acquisition. Of course, everyone calls it seduction class.” With raised eyebrows she said, “Maybe you can help me with my homework.”

  Before he could respond, she turned and headed into the woman’s locker room, peeling her swimsuit down as she turned the corner.

  18

  CONSPIRACY

  Josh exhaled slowly and shook his head in amazement. He couldn’t help but smile. That was the sexiest invitation he’d ever received in his life ... right out of a Bond movie.

  The next day was particularly difficult. Josh blew a couple exercises with Tim.

  Finally, Tim said, “It’s late, and it’s Friday. Sheri’s in town and told me to bring you over for dinner. We have a little place nearby.”

  Relieved to be finished, and remembering she was an awesome cook, he said, “Great.”

  Tim said, “Meet me at the base marina.”

  “Marina?” He shrugged. “OK.” After a quick stop at his quarters, Josh drove to the small marina.

  Tim was untying a 24-foot Boston Whaler. The center console design and robust construction kept them popular with law enforcement and the military.

  Josh stepped aboard. “Where are we going?”


  Tim pointed across the river.

  It was overcast, hazy and just past sunset. Josh couldn’t make out anything on the opposite shore about two miles away. A 15-knot wind made the gray water choppy and the ride rough.

  Tim conned the boat from the standup center console with Josh standing beside him. Tim was unusually talkative. Yelling over the twin outboards, he said, “I bought this place 10 years ago when I was an instructor at The Farm. It originally belonged to a writer named William Fitzgerald Jenkins. He was one of the most prolific science fiction authors of the mid-1900s.”

  Josh nodded.

  Halfway across the river, Josh was surprised there weren’t more houses on the wooded shoreline, and the ones he did see were modest.

  Tim said, “He came up with the idea of parallel universes.”

  Josh nodded again. “I’ve always been fascinated with cosmology.” He smiled. “Think there’s another you out there somewhere?”

  Tim shrugged. “Not sure the universe needs another me, but it’s hard to believe that would be allowed.”

  Curious, Josh asked, “Do you believe in a supreme being?”

  Tim frowned and then cryptically said, “We’re not on speaking terms.”

  Josh waited to see if there would be any clarification. As usual, there wasn’t.

  As they got closer to the shore, he saw a two-story boathouse dead ahead. It looked old, with heavily weathered, gray wood siding and a simple gabled roof. The bottom level was a big boat garage with two large slips. As Tim guided the boat into one of the slips, Josh asked, “Are you related to Jenkins?”

  Tim cut the engines and said, “No, but my grandfather worked at the base during WWII. Jenkins spent most of his time in New York and rented this house to my grandfather.”