Off the Grid (4 page)

“Manufacturer?” That got his attention.

Maline looked almost wistful, mother-like, and even in the very short time Ethan had known her, seeing the expression on her face surprised him. The woman did not strike him as the nurturing type.

“That girl has more smarts than probably the rest of us put together. She’s only twenty-six, but she’s already got a Ph.D. in Applied Physics and Material Sciences from CalTech and has been with us for around two years. If you do the math, that’s a Ph.D. by the time she turned twenty-four. We were lucky enough to recruit her right out of college.”

“Seems that way.” Ethan had no fucking clue what Applied Physics and Material Sciences even was, but it sounded impressive. He was no dumb jock by any means, but science had never been his forte.

“The inventions she comes up with are brilliant, and she makes them all herself. Well, except items that are more practical to buy, like guns. It would be silly to waste her time and talent on them. I’ll have her show you some of her weapons. If you decide to join us, a gun won’t be your primary mode of defense, just so you’re aware.” Maline folded her hands on the desk, still speaking in that calm, quiet voice as if they were discussing what they’d each had for breakfast. He wondered how long she’d been doing this, that she could speak about their operations in such matter-of-fact terms.

“So what would you expect from me?”

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “We’ll teach you how to use guns, of course, but we’re looking for something different from you. All of our operatives are trained in hand-to-hand combat, but not all possess the balance, reflexes, and core strength you do. We’d consider it an unwise use of your skillset to have you relying on a gun all the time. Besides, we actually avoid the use of firearms if possible. After all,
guns are loud even when suppressed, leave traceable bullets, make it hard to prevent killing someone from direct injury or loss of blood, and make a mess.
Many of our people have different specialties, and we combine them to make the best team possible for any mission.”

“So you would want me to fight, but not use a gun? I assume a lot of the bad guys do have guns? How am I going to do against them?”

“Surprisingly well, I think. But don’t worry about that now. Andre and I have an eye for talent, and there are players in every sport that we track, just in case.

“Our clean-up crew does a lot of our driving and other errands. Other than that, they mostly keep to themselves. They live nearby in case we need them, but not on the premises. It’s nice to have some eyes and ears on the streets.” She leaned forward. “Would you like to see the rest of our facility?”

“Um, sure.”

They rose and Maline gestured toward the door. “After you.”

When they stepped out of Maline’s office the hustle and bustle from before was gone. Maline stopped Andre. Without her having to say a word, he answered, “Still not sure. I sent the guys to the basement so they could burn off some energy.”

“Okay, good. And Danny’s got eyes and ears on it?”

“Of course. He’ll let us know if there are any updates.”

While the two conversed, Ethan took the opportunity to look around the room. He’d estimate it to be around fifty feet by thirty feet, including Malines’s and Andre’s offices. Televisions showing all manner of information were set into one wall. A man sat in front of a bank of computer monitors mounted on articulated arms, pushing them to the forefront and back as he checked god-only-knew-what out. Beside him sat a larger monitor laid at a shallow angle, probably around six foot square, with pieces scattered on top Ethan couldn’t identify scattered on it and currently displaying some sort of mountainous region.

Behind all that were several work tables with different tools and a fascinating array of objects spread out on their surfaces. Ethan wanted to get a closer look, as he assumed that area to be Ciana’s, but Maline still spoke in low tones to Andre, so he stayed where he was. Danny completely ignored him, and Ciana herself didn’t appear to be in the room.

He glanced over and noticed a couple of tables with various medical devices and machines next to them. If someone took a hit, they probably couldn’t go to the hospital, so it made sense to have stuff here, but right out in the open? Was that sterile?

Was the trainer’s room sterile? Not by far. And I’ve managed this long.

The more he saw and heard about the operation, the more the idea appealed to him. He thought about all those terrified children, kidnapped by some monster. Hopefully they were still alive and the asshole hadn’t messed them up.

I wanna take guys like that down.

It always pissed him off when a bigger guy picked on a smaller one on the ice, and now he felt that emotion, but ramped up about a hundred times. They were just kids; defenseless kids being used as pawns in some sick game of chess.

His situation with his parents flitted through his mind, and he almost felt bad for being so upset about it when this other shit went down every day. Really, though he definitely held a lot of anger toward them, along with a good measure of resentment, the prevailing emotion could best be described as aching, agonizing pain. A bone-deep sense of feeling wounded that Ethan couldn’t be sure would ever go away.

Maybe doing this could help. If I made the world a better place, this hole in my gut might start to close.

A woman who had rich, honey-colored hair in a braid down her back and was wearing a blue dress burst into the room, a man the size of Cleveland lumbering behind her.

Holy fuck. That guy’s gotta be seven feet tall.

The woman continued her animated conversation with the man. “And I finally got the compound stabilized. I put it into some syringes for you guys. You should be able to just throw them in one of your pockets when you’re ready to go.” Ah, so maybe this was Ciana?

“And it’ll keep the guards down while we go in and get the kids?” The oversized lumberjack-looking dude asked.

“It should, and without causing, those, um,” a small, seemingly embarrassed smile passed over her face, “unpleasant side effects.”

“Hey, it didn’t bother me none to have those guys puking their guts out when we found that armored car thief.”

Ciana shrugged. “It’s not good business sense for you, not to mention unsafe, to use an item if we don’t fully understand the ramifications of the aftereffects.”

They stopped dead about ten feet away from Ethan. Maline stepped in front of him. “I’m so sorry, Ethan. Andre and I got carried away.” She raised her hand. “This is Ciana, who I mentioned to you, and this hulking guy is Frank.”

Ethan turned toward her. “I thought you didn’t use real names, or is that only when you’re away from here?”

Frank laughed. “It’s short for Frankenstein. These guys have a real imaginative sense of humor.”

Now that he said it, Ethan could see the reason why, but kept his mouth shut.

Maline ignored his question, addressing her comments to Frank and Ciana. “Ethan is considering joining us.”

That got a toothy grin from Frank and an assessing look from Ciana. She jerked her head toward him. “What’s his background, or can’t you say? He doesn’t look military or law enforcement.”

“Ethan, do you feel comfortable telling them? I trust everyone I work with, so you don’t have to worry about your current location showing up on the evening news. We wouldn’t stand for that. Discretion is of the upmost importance in a job like this.”

He wondered briefly what would happen if someone broke that rule. For a moment he hesitated to tell them but then figured, what the hell? If he was going to join the team they should know why he was doing it.

“I can imagine. I’m a professional hockey player. I played for Carolina. This morning I found out my parents had totally fucked up all my money. Like,
all of it.
I gave control over it to them and they spent it and way more. Then two guys broke into my house and one pulled a gun on me. I, um, defended myself.” Ethan didn’t want to say more than that, though he was sure if they saw the news they’d find out about it, so what the hell. “I killed him with a hockey stick to the temple.”

Ciana gasped.

“Yeah,” he went on. “So I pretty much needed to leave. Didn’t say goodbye, didn’t leave a note, just fucking left.” He looked at Ciana. “Sorry, I tend to swear a lot. Occupational hazard.”

“You’re not bothering me,” she answered. “When one of my projects isn’t going right I swear like a sailor on shore leave.” She shifted her weight and tilted her head. “Okay, yeah, that’s why you look familiar. Sorry to tell you, but the story is out. When you didn’t show up for practice someone—a teammate, I think—went by your house and saw you were gone.”

Reg. Oh, fuck.
He was the only guy with a key. It hadn’t really dawned on him until then that his teammates or friends might think he’d been murdered, especially once they saw the dead guy.

“Are you all right?” Ciana asked, placing a small hand on his arm.

“Yeah. It’s just kinda overwhelming. I feel bad for leaving my team in the lurch. I was their leading scorer and an assistant captain.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Tell me the rest. I might as well know what’s going on.” At first, he hadn’t wanted to know, but now Ethan felt a compulsion to know what the media were reporting.

She looked unsure, but said, “They said there was a man found dead, but the rest of the house didn’t appear to be touched. There was no indication of what happened, or where you’d gone if I recall. The police are investigating to see if foul play was involved.” Ciana winced.

Ethan swallowed thickly, staring down at the floor. Then he forced himself to look up again. He couldn’t stop the situation now; go back to how his life had been.

As if she realized his mood had plummeted even more with the news, Ciana said, “Oh, if you join us I have the perfect thing for you.” She bounced up to the balls of her feet, her expression brightening. “I’m developing a whole bunch of different pods that you guys can slide along the floor to distract people while you all move in. My newest gives off this horrible scent of sulfur, which scares the hell out of people, especially once it starts ticking.”

“Ticking?”

“That part is harmless.” The smile plastered on Ciana’s face scared Ethan a little and he wondered if anyone around here was actually sane. “It doesn’t cause an explosion, but ticking  tends to panic people, which buys you time.”

“If you say so…”

Maline hadn’t said a word, instead just observed their conversation, and now he glanced at her, only to see the same benign expression that had been on her face most of the time since he’d met her. What would it take to really get her off her game?

Ciana spoke again, crossing her arms and looking him up and down, which would’ve been flattering except it was clear her assessment was clinical in nature, as he no heat in her gaze. “I wonder if I could make you a stick, maybe articulated so you could actually have a blade on it. I know the operatives sometimes have trouble getting the pod to slide as far as they want it to, depending on the surface under it. Dirt or other rough floors are a bitch. Your stick could fold up when you weren’t using it, and when you needed it you could use it to shoot the pod, like a…” She shook her head, rolling her eyes. “That shot where you wind way up,” she demonstrated and now Ethan couldn’t quite contain his smile, “and let ’er rip to score a goal.”

“A slapshot?” Ethan provided.

“Yes, thank you,” Ciana exclaimed. “It kills me when I can’t think of a word. And sorry, I tend to get a little overexcited sometimes.”

“Hey, that could totally be your name,” Frank exclaimed, and Ethan barely contained an unmanly squeak of surprise. He’d been so absorbed that he hadn’t even noticed the hulking dude still stood there.
Wow, my powers of observation will have to improve or I’ll be dead in under a day.

“My name?”

“Yeah, your code name. Slapshot.”

Ethan chuckled, realizing it was the first time he’d forgotten for even a second the events of the day. “As you said about your name, Slapshot’s not very imaginative.”

“Okay then, what does your team call you?”

“Can’t use that. It’s too recognizable. Cheese, if you can believe it. Somehow I have—had—a knack for sneaking pucks through places and my teammates nicknamed me Cheese, like ‘that’s so cheesy.’ But no one else has that name in the league as far as I know.”

Ciana strode over to her workstation. “Slapshot. I like it.”

“Won’t that kind of give away what I am? Or was?” He grimaced as he amended his statement.
I’m already talking past tense and like I’m joining these guys.

“It’s really only for us,” Maline said. “Not many outsiders will hear it, and if they do, they’ll probably be too preoccupied to wonder about the code name.” She pivoted and faced the computers. “That’s Danny. You need to light a bomb under his chair to get his attention.”

Not even pausing in his ridiculously fast typing, Danny said, “I hear you, I just choose to ignore you until there’s information I actually need.”

Maline grinned as if the answer he’d given was common. “This is, for lack of a better word, our headquarters. When, or if, you’re out in the field, though you can usually communicate with your team members too, it’ll be Danny who leads you where you need to go, who orders the helo to get you guys out if the mission seems too risky or somebody gets hurt, duties like that.”