The Judas Contact (Boomers Book 1) (6 page)

Why was she getting so excited? What they suggested was impossible, much less probable. It was like being punked but, at the same time, this was her field. She developed the first viable microchips to interact with the canine brain. The director’s excitement and the increase in her funding all signified her rise to the cutting edge of this field of neuro-nano technology. She was years ahead of their competition.

The quiet pause stretched too long and she whirled on Rory, impatience thrumming through her. “I need to know.”

“I get that. But we came to you, because we need your help with the chips. We’re not going to give you any more data, unless you’re willing to help.” The bland response and the key focus on the
we
pronoun aligned Rory with these men. The woman was smart. She was also one of the cagiest Ilsa had ever had the privilege to know. She used to turn arguments back on their professors all the time. While their majors were completely different, they’d shared a number of pre-requisite courses such as history, math, and basic science.

Rory excelled in all of them, particularly the statistical models.

“You’re manipulating me.” She flattened her palms against the table, meeting Rory’s gaze and holding it. “But I’m a scientist, not some member of the press you need to persuade or the public that wants to be entertained. If you want me to believe you, give me the facts. What do the chips do?”

Silence stretched again and Green Eyes grunted, pulling her attention firmly. “They provide information. Data. Specific to a target or an observation—typically, it’s strategic data, although that seems to be a fluid concept at the moment.” His jaw flexed. “For example, my chip identified you as Doctor Ilsa Blaine, neuroscientist. It told me that we were not to harm you and that you must be protected.”

The faint jerk from the others around the room indicated their surprise at his words. Whether it was the fact that he answered her question or what his answer entailed, she couldn’t be certain. “Is the data visual or verbal?”

Green Eyes arched both brows. “Both. I
hear
it, so I suppose it’s verbal. But it also gave me a series of images. Like scrolling film.”

Ilsa sat down. “It’s accessing both aural and optical receptors. Does it also respond to visual or verbal commands?”

“It always worked on visuals for identification, but none of us talked to it.” He shrugged.

The trembling in her fingers slowed and she clasped her hands together, knuckles whitening. A curious thrill rose up from her belly, riding a swell of excitement. “So they went inactive? What caused that? Are you taking chemical suppressors to control your immune response? Headaches? Visual acuity issues?” The possibilities were intoxicating. Her breath shallowed as she stared at Green Eyes’ bemused expression. Awareness pulsed through her. She itched to get her hands on the data and to see how they functioned. It just wasn’t possible, but the idea that it might be left her tingling.

“Do you want to help us, Ilsa?” Rory interrupted the speculation running rampant through her mind.

“I don’t know that I even believe you.” She shed any seeming of diplomacy. “It’s farfetched and fantastical. But I’m also fascinated. I need real images of these chips, readouts on their functionality and a basic understanding of how they managed to hardwire if—and that’s a big if—I am to begin believing you.”

“What do you need?” Green Eyes approached the table, the sudden closeness almost intimate as he planted a gloved hand on the table just inches from hers. “What equipment do you need?”

“PET scan, FMRI, Cat Scan and a subject to test. To begin with. I’d need access to any data points, previous behavior and expected behavior.” This close she could almost smell the patchouli and sandalwood that surrounded her when she woke up. The scent teased her nose, creating a mild burn in her lungs as she inhaled it. The scent was sandstone and desert flowers, heat and sunshine.

Damn, he’s a beautiful man.
The entirely inappropriate and lustful thought invaded her observations, but she couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment. The tingling tightened her nipples, a physiological response she dismissed to her excitement over the potential of this project.

Yeah, he’s part of a potential project and he’s on my side…that’s all this is.

The men in the room shifted and Green Eyes glanced at the Brooding Man. “We can get that equipment. We won’t want to bring it here.”

“Agreed.” Brooding Man’s voice was as deep as it was dark and the hairs on her arms stood up. He seemed infinitely more dangerous than Green Eyes and his ice-cold blue eyes pierced through her like twin lasers. “Answer Rory’s question, Dr. Blaine. Are you in or are you out?”

Her gut tightened and she forced herself to confront the distrust in those eyes head on. The feeling was mutual. “If you’re not lying to me, I will do what I can. But I can’t—and I won’t—make you a promise that I’ll be successful. I will also do this at my pace, on my terms, and…” she trailed off. She’d been about to add at her own lab, but that might not be possible. She wasn’t sure what snafu she’d created with the director, but the security guards coupled with their very visible and violent escape eliminated that opportunity.

“We will find you a secure place to work, Dr. Blaine.” The smooth blond smiled. “I’m sure one of us will volunteer, provided the procedures and the tests are not invasive. We need to understand why the chips have become active again and what, if anything, we can do about it.”

“You can study me,” Green Eyes offered on the heels of the blond’s statement. Fresh surprise rippled through the others. He nudged her coffee cup toward her. “Eat and drink while we make arrangements. Do you need anything from your apartment? You won’t be able to go back there—not now.” What he didn’t add, but Ilsa heard it plain in his tone, was
maybe not ever
.

“My dogs. I need to know they’re okay.”

“The ones at the lab?” Rory asked as she stretched to stand.

Ilsa nodded once.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do. I don’t know if we can bring them to you, but I should be able to find a way to get them out and safe.”

Teeth dragging over her lower lip, Ilsa studied Green Eyes. “As for my apartment, there’s not much there but books, but I could use my laptop. It has most of my research on it. It’s encrypted, so I doubt it will be useful to anyone. But outside of the R.E.X. facility, it’s the most recent copy I have.”

“No worries. Rory copied your files before you left. We have all your research.”

How very Mission Impossible of them.
Her gut churned. “So you stole it before you even asked if I’d help?”

Mistrust flared.

“A practical application in tactics. Rory believed you would say yes. She took the data so you would have it. As it turns out, your returning to your lab is somewhat limited. So a little gratitude and less attitude.” Green Eyes didn’t smile or soften the blunt order. “We’ll protect you. You’ll help us. It’s really that simple.”

“And if I had refused?” She straightened and, even at her height, had to tip her head back to meet his gaze.

The man shrugged. “You didn’t. It doesn’t matter. Rex and I’ll get the equipment. Rory, make her eat.” He turned to the blond man, dismissing her. “Simon, we need to talk.”

She stared after them, hands on her hips. “You don’t give me orders.” But he didn’t turn around and he didn’t even acknowledge her. Her irritation mounted.

“Huh.” Rory grunted, limping around the table and waving off the brooding guy who reached out to help her.

“What?” the question came out more a snap than she intended and Ilsa glared at the door closing behind Green Eyes and the ones he’d called Simon and Rex.

“Garrett likes you. Garrett doesn’t like anyone.” Rory grinned. “Omelet?”

It took most of a day to get the equipment. Fortunately, in the decades since they’d arrived, the team had created stockpiles of weapons, technology, and safe houses. They came from a time when vanishing off the streets into an underground network was the only way to stay alive. They never forgot the habit, no matter how soft the gentle insanity of the so-called modern world became. Garrett, especially, stayed abreast of medical research and breakthroughs. Some nightmares a person never forgot. Security collars and electronic tagging were just a step below the “invisible fences” for pets.

“You don’t have to do this, Garrett. Drake and Rex both volunteered to take your place.” Simon came down to the main level of the warehouse to help him but, instead of loading the van, he studied Garrett’s profile.

“It’s not a problem. I’m the most logical choice. I’ve already developed a rapport with the doctor.” He selected a crate of dried foods. Cooking wasn’t something he enjoyed, but he could add water and heat with the best of them. He liked the noodle cups. They actually reminded him of his childhood.

An oddly pleasant sensation, rather than a painful memory, filled him with every serving.

“Walk me through it again.” Simon let the argument go for the time being, but Garrett wasn’t fooled by his mild tone or patient expression. The telepath may invade their minds upon request, but he kept his own thoughts buttoned up tight.

“We have the estate on the other end of Long Island. It’s extensive and heavily fortified—she can work there. It’s late in the season for the normal tourists, which will provide us with a quiet cover. Once we’re embedded, we’re going to stay in lockdown. I can use an electronic jammer to block cell signals. Depending on how long it takes the doc to finish her work, we’ll check in every day.” The plan was hardly complicated.

“Closest neighbors?”

“Over a thousand yards. The location is a prime piece of real estate with its own beach. Motion sensors will alert me to any arrivals. No one from the team will approach without notifying me ahead of time. You do realize that this is hardly my first picnic. “

“How are you feeling about Ilsa?”

Garrett swung around to meet Simon’s paler than pale gaze without a trace of humor. “She’s a means to an end. That’s it. She may prove helpful to the cause. Beyond that, I feel very little.”

Which wasn’t entirely the truth but, unless Simon dug down past Garrett’s innate defenses, it was the only truth he planned on sharing. The woman was beautiful, curvy, and real. She possessed a wildly keen intelligence, but he hadn’t missed the way her eyes lit up or the excitement that teased her nipples beneath the too thin shirt as she hammered them with questions about the chip.

Protect her.
The chip’s command aside, he understood his task. Keeping her alive to do her work helped the mission. The entire plan fell within an acceptable parameter.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Any unusual urges where she is concerned?”

“You mean lust?” Garrett snorted. “No, my brain is still in my head. I haven’t turned into a hulk of monosyllabic testosterone driven by the urge to strip her naked at the first opportunity.” Although he imagined she would be as lovely without her clothes as she was with them. Her height and generous curves gave her a soft, lush look.

“It’s a valid question. You’ve already established a bond with her, volunteered to let her study you and inserted yourself into an uncomfortable and potentially dangerous position. If you flip, it could have severe consequences.” Michael might be their tactical strategist and leader, but Simon counseled their souls. He kept them whole and on track with his unflinching logic and patience.

“You mean if I go all caveman à la Michael? No. Not likely. It didn’t bother me that you were all in the room or talking to her. I doubt that will change during the course of her work. Besides, if necessary, I can put the doc out without harming her physically or mentally. Until we know what she knows, we need to keep her healthy.” Finished with that aspect of the conversation, he inspected the supplies he’d stored. “Will Rory be able to get the FMRI thing? I know we have the rest of the pieces she asked for.” They’d converted the wine cellar of the Hamptons estate into a medical facility. They only used it periodically if an injury were too severe for their high functioning metabolisms to handle.

Which meant not often.

Simon’s brows knitted together. “Garrett…this might be more difficult for you than you realized. It could wake up a lot of dormant memories.”

“I appreciate the concern but enough with the touchy feely crap. This is a job, no different than every other job we’ve done since we got here. The chips are active. We need answers. She can provide us with answers. End of story.” His temper edged toward frost. “Clear?”

“Clear.” Simon exhaled and held his hands up. “But you call us if you need us.”

“Yes, father. I will call you if I have a booboo that needs a Band-Aid. Or maybe I’ll call Michael if I get the sudden urge to go skipping through the daisies with the doc.” He was done playing the game. The faster they got the scientist to work, the faster this would be over. It was a job.

No different than the hundred other jobs they’d performed, great and small, in the last four decades. He checked the gear one last time and shut the van up.

Absolutely no difference.

It was a job.

Two hours later, he studied the thick traffic on the bridge and did his best to ignore his passenger. The autumn weather held the city firm in its grip, cooler breezes, colder water, and ridiculous traffic. Arguably, the traffic was ridiculous year round. Driving was not his preferred method of travel. The clunky mechanical vehicles, the toxic exhaust, the constant noise—the sheer volume of pollution on the senses gnawed at his mind. No wonder the world he’d been born into was such a shit hole.

The more people they crammed into the city, the more visitors seemed to come.

A long sigh echoed in the seat next to him. He glanced to the right. Ilsa’s blonde hair was stuffed up under a Mets baseball cap. She wore an oversized jersey and a pair of the ugliest oversized sunglasses. Another exhale dragged through the air and he tapped two fingers against the steering wheel. Another shift and he finally slanted a long look at her. “Is there a problem, Dr. Blaine?”