Chapter 33

Both in fighting and in everyday life you should be determined though calm . . . even when your spirit is calm do not let your body relax, and when your body is relaxed do not let your spirit slacken.

—Miyamoto Musashi

 

Harry Toledo rubbed Marte Chang’s shoulders and watched her fall asleep in the reflection of her dead screen. He lightened his touch, but continued working his fingers between her shoulder blades. His left hand cradled her forehead while his right kneaded the strain out of the back of her neck. Neither of them had slept for two days, and Harry tried to pass some energy through his fingers to the exhausted body of the virologist.

“I love it when you touch me,” she said.

“You’re supposed to relax. Ten minutes, remember?”

Harry had never really touched a woman before. Not like this. Marte stayed quiet, and he worried that he’d offended her. At twenty-six, she was ten years older than Harry. He’d grown up in Costa Brava and loved the flirty eyes of the latina women. Marte Chang flirted, too, and something more.

She’s a goddamn scientific genius.

All his life, everybody thought it would be Harry and Sonja. Even Harry thought so, especially when they were locked naked in that decontamination chamber at ViraVax. But since their escape and the revelation that they weren’t . . . normal, the two of them had avoided each other for the first time in their lives.

Marte was easy to talk to, she actually listened, and with Harry’s teamwork on the satlinks and the webs she had cracked the code of the Deathbug.

Codes, he reminded himself.

Several codes, all marvels of molecular manipulation, a puzzle-code, these fragments worked together in a cascade effect to fool the immune system. They tricked the cell into betraying its own mitochondria. Now Marte had to find someone to manufacture an antidote, and the working conditions put on them by the Agency made that impossible. But Harry had a plan.

If the whole world knew about it, there wouldn’t be any need for secrecy, he thought. Then every virology lab in the world could get going on this.

Tonight, when the Agency vans showed up with more techs and the equipment, Harry noticed that the usual security gates for the computer linkups had been left behind. Casa Canada was a madhouse of confusion, and he was sure that he could get the word out. But it had to be the right word, to the right place.

Harry worked his fingers back down Marte’s neck, across her shoulders, and he kissed the top of her head as he finished. Her hair was oily after three days without a shower, and smelled of sweat. But it was her sweat, and sweet as plumeria to Harry.

“It’s time,” he said.

“You know, you’d better be careful doing that,” she said, her eyes still closed. “I could wind up in a lot of trouble with your parents.”

“Chill,” he said. “It might be a relief to them if I got in trouble for something normal.”

“Don’t tempt me, young man,” she said.

She spun her chair around, stood to stretch, and Harry kissed her. Much to Harry’s surprise, she kissed him back.

“Well,” she said.

“Yes, well.”

They kissed again, and this time she pressed herself tight against him and caused quite a jam-up in his jockey shorts. The techs would be back any minute, but Harry and his body didn’t care.

Casa Canada was a large French Colonial home in the heart of several hundred acres of coffee. Marte’s Litespeed and peripherals were installed in a sitting-room just outside Harry’s bedroom. He had fantasized for two days about how to get Marte into that bedroom. She had gone from ten kilometers to three meters away in a matter of hours, and now that she was this close Harry didn’t know how to ask.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to ask.

“Harry,” she whispered into his neck, “we don’t have much time.”

“No,” he sighed. “We’re lucky to have this.”

She kissed him again, running her hands down his back, his hips and up his thighs. She grasped his belt buckle and tugged.

“Which way to your room?” she asked.

“Right there.”

“Does it lock?”

“Yes.”

Marte pulled Harry by the belt buckle into his room and closed the door. Harry flipped the latch, and Marte already had his belt undone and his zipper unzipped. Harry thought he’d explode when she kissed his belly just above his pubic hair. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he pulled her blouse out of her pants and over her head without unbuttoning it. Her small breasts jiggled in her bra as the blouse came free.

Marte kissed him again, then skinned his T-shirt off and pressed herself against him. Somehow she had already slipped out of her bra, and her firm, brown nipples drew little circles on his chest.

Harry fumbled with the catch on her pants, so she unhooked it herself and they stood there, holding tight, naked except for their shoes, socks and shorts bunched around their ankles. Harry glanced at his bed and saw that, as usual, it was covered with books, papers, disks and cubes. He grabbed a corner of his bedspread and dumped everything onto the floor. It didn’t matter; they never made it to the bed.

Marte sank down onto the lamb’s-wool rug and pulled him with her. She kicked off her shoes and got one leg out of her shorts as Harry struggled to kiss her and get out of his things at the same time.

“Okay?” she asked.

“Yes, okay,” he whispered. She was so small, and he felt self-conscious about pressing his full weight on top of her. “Am I smashing you?”

“Smash me,” she said. “I’m not as fragile as you think.”

He kissed her and her little tongue flicked around his lips, tapped the end of his own tongue. He kissed her hard brown nipples and nuzzled her belly before Marte pulled him up to her and slipped him inside.

They lay still for a moment, tapping their tongues and catching their breath. Harry was afraid to move because he knew he was right at the verge of bursting through. Marte had almost triggered him off when her fingers explored him lightly, and he didn’t want to ruin things for her. Her body gripped him in a tight, fierce heat that he felt pulsing hard around him.

“It’s all right,” she said, as though reading his mind. “It’s all right.”

He moved slowly, then, once, twice and heard the small sucking sounds of her passion as she trembled against him, her legs locked against his hips. Then what little control he had was gone, and Harry poured out of himself in tremendous bursts while Marte moved on him in a near-fury until she fell back with a little cry, racked with spasms that clutched him even tighter inside her.

In the dim light he saw her, eyes still closed, as she smiled broadly and started to giggle. He had been supporting his weight on his arms but she pulled him down to her, still giggling, and rocked him on top of her tight in the grip of her thighs.

“You feel so good,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she giggled, “I do.”

He kissed her, but she started giggling again and nestled her face against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just so happy to feel good for a change, you know?”

“Yes,” he whispered, and kissed the top of her head. “Yes, I know. Thank you, Marte.”

“Thank you’? My, aren’t we polite?” Marte tilted her head back and looked him in the eye. “Well, Harry, thank you.”

“You probably guessed that it’s my first time.”

“I guessed . . . hoped that it was,” she said. “It’s my first time being somebody else’s first time, and I wanted it to be nice for you.”

They kissed, long and soft. Marte’s body shuddered in another spasm, and in spite of himself he slipped out of her.

“Oh, no,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to throw you out.”

Then someone pounded on the door.

“Harry! Harry! Are you in there?”

It was Joe Clyde, the SEAL team medic.

“I’m here,” Harry said, holding Marte tighter. “What’s up?”

“There’s been an incident here in the house. Are you alone?”

They rolled apart and Harry grabbed for his shorts.

Marte, too, struggled with her clothes.

“I’m here, Joe,” she said. “Marte Chang. It’s just the two of us.”

“Jesus! Listen, stay put for now. We’re just trying to get a fix on everyone and some new orders. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Who was it?” Harry asked, but Joe Clyde was already gone.