The nanomites broke in, urging me to get moving. I frowned and swept Zander’s questions and concerns to the side. “We need to go. We need to use what time we have to our advantage.”
Gamble again spoke up. “Go where, Gemma?”
“Out of here. To the car, Agent Gamble. It’s vital that we complete our plan: Convey Dr. Bickel to the FBI’s Albuquerque field office where he can reveal himself to the public and force a federal investigation into Cushing’s illegal actions. Getting Dr. Bickel’s story out into the public arena is the only way to keep him safe. It is our primary goal.”
“And you, Gemma,” Zander added, frowning. “Keep you safe, too.”
I flashed him a small, shrewd smile. “My safety is no longer a concern. I should be more than a match now for anything Cushing throws at me.”
Zander and Gamble exchanged wary looks, and Gamble cleared his throat. Changed up the topic.
“I’ve been MIA for going on four days, and my bosses are probably scouring the state for my dead body. I doubt my absence has escaped Cushing’s notice.”
Dr. Bickel turned to Gamble and asked him, “Are you saying the FBI office won’t be a safe haven for me now?”
“I’m saying that getting you there may present more of a challenge, perhaps an insurmountable one. If Cushing has confirmed my connection with Gemma to her own satisfaction, the routes to the field office will be watched and manned—and she will have whispered her lies and threats into the ears of my superiors.”
“Don’t worry; we can get you there.”
The three men stared at me. Gamble chewed the inside of his cheek, recognizing I had more to say. Yeah, well, I had to tell them the truth.
“The nanomites and I are an amalgamation at every level. The best of both me and them. Enhanced and powerful.”
“Enhanced? Powerful?”
“Yes. I’m about as fit as a person can be, physically and mentally, thanks to metabolic acceleration and the training they’ve put me through. I have direct access to the nanocloud’s knowledge, and I have direct access to the nanomites’ abilities.”
“Er, right, but if Cushing is as politically connected as we believe her to be, we won’t get off this base, let alone across town to the FBI office.”
Dr. Bickel spoke. “I agree. I’m rather amazed that she hasn’t had her people inspect this place for us. For all we know, the moment we leave the tunnels, her soldiers may be waiting for us.”
“Don’t be concerned. If we encounter a difficulty, we will handle it.”
Gamble frowned. “We?”
“Yes. The nanocloud. We are stronger now. Quite able to deal with any obstacles Cushing puts in our path.”
The three of them, mouths hanging open, stared at me, but I was growing impatient.
“The game has changed. We go on the offensive now.”
I started toward the back entrance to the cavern, when Zander’s voice stopped me.
“Gemma. Wait a sec?”
I looked over my shoulder. The three men had not moved, so I retraced my steps.
Zander studied me, and I wondered what he saw.
“Gemma, you said, ‘The nanocloud,’ and then you said, ‘We are stronger now.’”
I walked up close to him, where I could watch his eyes as I spoke. Reached out my hand and touched his. His fingers closed around mine and felt so good. So right.
And what did Zander feel? His eyes widened a little.
A warmth, a tingling, living warmth spread from my hand to his.
“What . . . what is that?”
“It’s me, Zander. It’s, well, it’s us. The nanomites and I.”
Dr. Bickel, who had been edging closer as we talked, reached out a hand and touched me. The same warmth spread to him. “My, my. They must be quite formidable now.”
“We are.”
Without another word, I led the way through the tunnels, setting a quick pace, navigating the twists and turns from memory. We emerged from the door in the mountain under a late-morning sun shadowed by dark, scudding clouds.
The others climbed and scrabbled over the rocks and boulders of the outcropping while I scaled the obstacles easily. What a difference! I no longer needed Agent Gamble’s strong back and arms; my body was again healthy and robust.
Instead of hauling me as he had on the way up, Gamble boosted Dr. Bickel and helped him over the more difficult parts until the four of us stood together on the flank of the mountain and faced the trek before us.
The hike to the base perimeter fence, while substantial, sloped downhill—and that was good. I wasn’t concerned about us being out in the open as we descended. I could handle that. I was more concerned about the toll on Zander, Gamble, and Dr. Bickel. They had eaten little during our hiatus in the mountain and were, understandably, hungry and weak.
At the thought of food, my stomach rumbled, but I ignored it. I glanced up, studying the sky, taking readings as I did.
“I don’t want you out in this weather for long. The temperature is 40 degrees with winds gusting at between fifteen and twenty miles per hour. That puts the wind chill at around freezing. Let’s move as quickly as we safely can, given the rough terrain. Once we cross the PIDAS, we’ll make better time if we walk on the patrol roads.”
Gamble frowned. “Yeah, and what about those patrols? We kept to the gullies coming up. To avoid being seen.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll hide you. Just stay close to me.” I was already moving downhill.
They obediently trailed behind me, and I slowed my pace so they could keep up. No one spoke, but I imagined them talking to each other with their eyes, expressing their questions and worry.
When we reached the PIDAS, I went straight at the cut links and pushed the section of cut fencing away. “Go ahead. I’ll clean up here.”
They crawled through; I brushed away our tracks and followed. I kicked the fence section back into place. Stood. Pointed my fingers at the cut links. Blue fire shot from my hands and fused the severed links together.
I turned. Three pairs of eyes watched me.
“That’s a nice trick,” Gamble muttered.
“Thanks. I have others up my sleeve.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
Zander and Dr. Bickel did not comment, but my old friend had that speculative look on his face again. And Zander? He wouldn’t meet my gaze. He just looked . . . whipped.
I pushed ahead of them to the second fence line. Same process.
From around the curve of the mountain, a car approached.
“Bunch up with me.”
My friends followed my instructions; in a blink, the mites sheltered us beneath an umbrella of reflecting panels. We stood still and watched the car roll by. The driver didn’t even turn his head in our direction. A second car wasn’t far behind the first, so we waited until it had passed.
“Other tricks, huh?” Gamble aimed that question at me.
All I said was, “Let’s go.”
We marched across the road, down the slope, under the barbed wire, away from the PIDAS and headed for the dirt patrol road that led toward the base perimeter fence. The road was rutted in places, but was easier to navigate than the desert floor.
“Come on. We’re on leveler ground now. Faster. Stay near me in case anyone else might be watching.”
We reached the chain-link perimeter, dropped down into the arroyo, and belly-crawled under the fence. Once we were on the other side and found the hiking trail, I paused.
“From here on, we walk in a tight line. The mites will keep us covered until we hit the trailhead. If Gamble’s car is still there and we don’t get ambushed, we’ll take it.”
Gamble had abandoned his car at the trailhead, and three nights and almost four days had passed. It was more than likely that the city had hauled Gamble’s car away; it was also possible that Cushing had found it and was waiting for us to show up.
“If we spot any problems, stay behind me, okay?”
They nodded, and we set off. Like ducklings headed for the lake, we marched in a line, stepping off the trail once to let two unwary hikers pass us by. Fifteen minutes later when we reached Gamble’s car, I paused again.
“Agent Gamble, I’m going to drive. The mites will disguise me and hide the three of you.”
“If you say so.”
We pulled away from the curb and, to any and all observers, the driver of the car was one middle-aged, baggy-eyed Kathy Sawyer. Witnesses would have testified under oath that I was alone in the vehicle.
I glanced once in the rearview mirror and took in Zander and Dr. Bickel’s incredulity. From the passenger seat, Gamble first gaped at me, then laughed under his breath.
Kathy Sawyer grinned back. “Oh, yeah. Lots of tricks, Agent Gamble. Lots of tricks.”
It felt good to be behind the wheel, to be moving and so close to achieving our objective. But, as I navigated through the neighborhood toward I-40, my empty stomach complained.
Loudly.
“Say, is anyone else hungry? Because I sure am—and I know a Blake’s right down Central from here.”
“Oh, what I wouldn’t give,” Dr. Bickel moaned. “It’s been months!”
“Gamble, pool our money, would you? I’m gonna place a big order!”
***
Our drive across town was uneventful, even leisurely, while we devoured burgers, fries, and drinks. The clock on Gamble’s dash read half past noon when I pulled into the parking garage where I kept my Escape. I borrowed Zander’s credit card and fed it into the machine, paid for two days of parking for Gamble’s vehicle, and pulled it into an empty slot. Then I led them up the garage ramp to my car, and we climbed in.
“Whose car is this?” Those were the first words Zander had addressed to me since we left the cavern.
“It’s mine. Or, actually, it belongs to my alter-ego, the woman you see me as.”
“The mites are doing a stellar job of disguising you, Gemma,” Dr. Bickel observed. He seemed quite proud.
“It was a little difficult for them to maintain this look . . . before, when there were fewer of them.”
“And now?”
I shrugged. “We don’t even break a sweat.”
Gamble fidgeted. “So, what’s the plan, Gemma? What do you have in mind?”
I turned in my seat so the four of us could talk. My features resolved themselves into Gemma’s likeness again and, as the mites returned to me, my friends became visible, too.
Dr. Bickel nodded. “Whew. That’s better. Very disconcerting, being invisible.”
“Tell me about it.”
Zander shuddered. “Yeah. And that other woman kind of creeps me out.”
I was getting really miffed with him. “Well, she kinda creeps me out, too,” I retorted, “but she’s better than a driverless car.”
“I only meant that it’s a hard adjustment.”
“Right. Hard on you? And how hard do you think it’s been on—”
Gamble cut in. “Okay, okay. Now that we’ve had our group therapy moment and expressed our feelings, can we get back to the matter at hand?”
He faced me. “What is your plan?”
I took a deep breath and got myself under control. “We’ll drive I-25 past the FBI field office. Check to see if anything seems out of the ordinary. You’re the best person to make that determination, Gamble.”
“And if things look clear from the outside?”
“You and I go in together—stealth mode. I’ll keep you hidden until we reach your office. Then we look for an opportunity for you to get your boss alone and tell him about Dr. Bickel—leaving me out of the equation altogether. You ask your boss if he’ll take Dr. Bickel in and grant him sanctuary and the opportunity to reveal himself to the world. Show everyone he isn’t dead. Tell his story.”
“My boss can’t make that decision, Gemma. He’s the ASAC—the Assistant Special Agent in Charge here in Albuquerque, not the SAC. Terry Wallace is the SAC. Besides, my boss is away, teaching a course for the National Executive Institute back at Quantico.”
“Then, I suggest that you skip your boss and go straight to the top.”
Gamble looked out the window, thinking. “I have my cell phone. I’d almost rather call Wallace first than go inside unprepared for what we might find.”
“We won’t know what is really going on from a phone call—and if you call, we’ll lose the element of surprise, our ability to choose when and how we make our move.”
Alarm had crossed Dr. Bickel’s face. “You have a phone, Agent Gamble? Has it been on all this time?”
“Yes, but don’t worry about Cushing using it to track us. I’ve got a little app that spoofs my location, sending it a hundred miles off course.”
“Ah, I see. Quite interesting.”
“Yeah. I had no signal in the mountain, and I have the ringer set on vibrate. As soon as we left the mountain, all the texts and voice mails I didn’t receive while in the cavern started piling in. Felt like my pocket was alive.”
“Maybe you should check them now,” I said. “See how much trouble you’re in.”
“Yeah. All right.”
We waited while Gamble scrolled through his texts and listened to his messages. I watched his face, but he gave little away. When he finished, he shook his head.
“Well, they don’t know which to think—whether I’m intentionally AWOL or I’m in some sort of trouble. In either event, I’ve been told fifteen times to check in.”
“What about Cushing’s search for me?”
“No mention of that—which is curious in its absence, since the manhunt covered the entire state and included FBI resources.”
We gazed at each other, thinking the same thing.
“You think Cushing has set a trap for you?”
“Not out of the question.”
“Any mention of Zander?”
“No, but then I didn’t report that he was riding with me when we left Albuquerque. The only people who saw him were the State bulls manning the checkpoints on I-25.”
“So, he could be in the clear?”
“Possibly.”
“Good. Let’s do our drive-by as I suggested and see what we see, shall we? If nothing looks out of the norm as we pass by, we’ll get off the Interstate and park a few blocks from the office, somewhere Zander and Dr. Bickel can wait. Then you and I will go in and check things out.”
“You mean without being seen?”
“Yeah.”
The prospect of running into Cushing or her agents had me reaching for my sticks. It was the first I’d thought of them since we’d left White Sands, but I suddenly felt semi-naked without their comforting weight nestled against my back.
“Um, by any chance, did my escrima sticks make it back with us?”
Zander arched his brows. “Your what?”
“Um, my fighting sticks. Kali-style Filipino fighting sticks.”
The expression on Gamble’s face was as astonished as the one on Zander’s. Dr. Bickel, though, was quick to school them.
“Oh, my, yes. I witnessed Gemma in action with them—or should I say, since she was invisible at the time, that I saw what she did. She took out Colonel Greaves’ guard while he was holding his sidearm on us—and she did it quite handily, I might say.”
Gamble was familiar with the style. “Stick fighting is a demanding discipline, Gemma. How did you learn it? Did you receive training?”
“In a manner of speaking. The nanomites provided a virtual coach and a VR training environment.” I laughed. “I was pretty uncoordinated growing up. Never played sports, no good in PE. Couldn’t dance worth beans. But after the merge, I picked up the skills they taught me pretty fast. And I had incredible stamina. We practiced mostly at night, at least five hours at a time. Sometimes longer.”
Zander stared at me. “Maybe that explains why you look so different.”
Dr. Bickel agreed. “You have the lean, toned body of an athlete, Gemma. All muscle, not an extra ounce of fat. I think the term is ‘cut.’”
I cleared my throat. “Okay, enough about me. I was hoping the sticks had made it out with us. Did you bring them, Dr. Bickel? I seem to recall you picking them up.”
Dr. Bickel colored; a flush of embarrassment began at his collar and raced up his neck into his hairline. He opened his mouth to speak and shut it again.
Zander looked baffled, but Gamble laughed. “Out with it, Doc. It’s obvious you did something with the sticks.”
“Well, I admit that I did pick one up, but it wasn’t to bring it along. It was to, um, actually, I used it to deliver a message to Colonel Greaves.”
I remembered then: Greaves sending twin bolts of devastation my way, and Dr. Bickel scrabbling to retrieve one of my sticks as it fell from my twitching grasp. He’d delivered a message all right, and Colonel Greaves had received it loud and clear.
“You beat Colonel Greaves with it after he shot me with the Taser.”
“Yes, I confess that I allowed my pent-up anger to vent itself.” His embarrassment lessened. “Not my finest moment, I assure you; however, it was paramount that we, uh, disable the colonel so we could make good our escape.”
“Oh, I’m convinced you ‘disabled’ him.” I was thinking of the weight of the sticks and the sounds they’d made as they shattered Greaves’ arms and hands.
Dr. Bickel shrugged. “I may not have needed to be so enthusiastic in my application, but it had to be done. Afterward, I helped you up, and we hurried to retrace your steps to the truck and get on the highway.”
He returned to my question. “I left your sticks in the house where they were keeping me.”
“All right. No biggie. It’s just that I had gotten used to having defensive weapons.”
Zander spoke up. “Before we go any further, I’d like us to stop and have a word of prayer.”
“Very good idea,” Dr. Bickel said.
Despite my tiff with Zander only moments before, I was glad for his suggestion. “Yeah. I agree.”
Gamble’s glance of surprise annoyed me, and I growled, “What?”
“Sorry. Just took you to be, I don’t know, something of a skeptic. Hostile to the whole religious concept.”
I shrugged. “I was raised as a Christian but got soured on God along the way. I’ve undergone several attitude changes in the last few days . . . including a return to my roots.”
“Interesting. Well, I have no objection. I’m game if you guys are.”
We joined hands and Zander prayed.
“Lord God, we are in dangerous waters, far from shore. I’m asking that you lead and guide us. Please help us, Lord, to listen for your still, small voice. As your word says, let us be attentive: Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’ Please protect us, Lord, as we work to get Dr. Bickel to a safe place. We ask these things in the name of your Son, Jesus. Amen.”
I whispered my amen after Zander’s. I assumed my Kathy Sawyer persona and the mites hid the others again. We drove out of the parking garage toward the freeway.
Gemma Keyes.
“Yes, Nano?”
No closing of the eyes; no warehouse required. I heard them and answered inside, within my mind, as naturally, as unconsciously as breathing.
You no longer require the escrima sticks, Gemma Keyes. We are quite sufficient for any situation.
“Oh?”
You retain the training you received, and it will serve us well, but now we have weapons more effective than your sticks. We have only to use them.
By merely recalling the ball of pulsing current that had formed and grown in my palm back in the cavern, my skin warmed. When the lights on my car’s dash began to dim, I pulled my thoughts back into line.
“Um, okay, Nano.”
A few minutes later we were in the far-right lane of I-25, cruising by the FBI office at the leisurely speed of 50 mph. Gamble kept his eyes glued on the facility until it was in the rearview mirror.
“What did you see?”
“Nothing conclusive.”
“Are you up for the next step?”
“If you can get us inside and keep me hidden, then, yes.”
I took the Montgomery exit off the freeway and backtracked toward the FBI office. When I was within a few blocks of the office, I pulled into an apartment complex and parked. I reached under the driver’s seat, retrieved the Escape’s key fob from where it hung, and handed it to Zander.
“I don’t use keys, Zander; don’t need them. So, take these and, if we’re not back in an hour and a half, drive to the parking garage. Wait there until late—say, after midnight. If we haven’t caught up to you by then, take Dr. Bickel to the safe house.”
I offered a small smile to Dr. Bickel. “You can give Zander directions, right? I hid the back-door key under a brick by the hose bib. As far as the neighbors know, the house is still vacant. Don’t give them reason to think otherwise.”
My smile grew a little. “Oh. And I left your bolt-hole tidy.”
His brows shot up. “You found it? How?”
“The nanomites showed me.”
“Gemma? I don’t like this. I feel . . .” Zander’s voice trailed off, but his expression showed the pain he hadn’t voiced.
“You feel sidelined?”
“Useless is a better word. I want to help you, Gemma, protect you, but . . .”
His sweetness touched my heart. “I know, and I thank you, Zander; however, I’m not the one who needs protection.”
I pointed to Dr. Bickel. “He is. Keeping him safe is your job at present.”
I got out and Gamble followed me. He and I jogged down the walk side by side. I could outrun him with little effort, but I matched my pace to his and the nanomites kept us both covered.
We rounded a few corners before we came to Luecking Park, turned right, and neared the buildings of the FBI field office.
Gamble asked, “You planning to take us in the front door?”
“Yes. We wait for someone to enter and follow them through.”
He huffed a loud breath.
“Does that make you nervous?”
“I’ve been in many a nerve-racking undercover operation, but this? Going in under your cover?” He sighed again.
“Gamble?”
“Yeah.”
“Those tricks I have up my sleeve?”
“Yeah?”
“I can handle whatever Cushing might have waiting for us. Trust me, okay? Just be quiet as I get us in the door and up the elevator. If things get dicey? Stay behind me.”
“If you say so.”
~~**~~