Chapter Seven
Seven
The meeting was supposed to be informally formal, one of those terms at Center that Helen hadn’t quite figured out yet.
She took it to mean that they didn’t have a dress code.
Whatever. Q and A meant mean exactly that, no matter how they did it.
Those attending had to do with her training in one form or another here, and this was the first time Helen would get to see them together.
Flyboy had told her at lunch that Center was a very tight-knit community, especially within its special programs. The Q and A sessions before any mission cleared the air.
Most of all, she wanted to meet Armando Chang. T. had told her that Center was keeping an eye on him. The newest COS commando, he had used the new version of the serum the most, and of them all, according to T., he was the most affected.
“He has changed, Hell,” she had said during one of their private briefings.
“Not just the way he acts, but the way he talks, too. I’ve met him before he was part of the program, so I can tell the difference.
But the change is slow enough that Center can’t actually pinpoint it to the drugs themselves, you know?
He’s still effective, he’s somehow worked his change into an asset for the operations. ”
“How so? How did the drugs change him?”
“You watch him at Q and A. We’ll talk more later. He’s a matter of concern for GEM because we certainly don’t want to put you in any danger of losing your mind, darling.”
Helen’s eyes widened. “You care, you really care!”
“I don’t let any of my agents take unnecessary risks,” said T. “Even you, although I’ve always encouraged you to take chances more than the others.”
That had been a revelation. She hadn’t known T. had such confidence in her. “I know I’ve sometimes gone against your orders. I don’t know why you put up with me.”
“You work with what you have. And who said you hadn’t done exactly what I wanted you to do?”
Helen had made a face. That was so T.
“How am I doing so far with this contract?”
“Everything showed that you’re the perfect candidate, Hell.
They were looking for someone who had what they called ‘visions’ with proven results.
GEM can vouch for your record. Of course, they could pull any number of government-tested psychics for that but they also wanted a highly-trained operative who could do covert work.
Your training with them gave them an idea what kind of skills you have and calmed the fears of those against hiring a contract agent for something so special. ”
“There was only one snag, right?”
They both had laughed because it had been very apparent the last year and a half that some of the more traditional departments were very miffed that the best candidate for supersoldier-spy was a woman.
The sole exception had been the group of individuals from the remote viewing program.
Their training had opened a brand-new world inside of Hell, one that had taught her how special she really was.
She knew she had surprised many of them with her rapid progress; they had remarked that very few had gone through each level of training that quickly.
Helen unzipped her jacket, popped a fresh piece of gum in her mouth, and entered the conference room.
It was thoughtful of them to let her ask some questions before injecting her with their experimental drug, but part of her didn’t really trust that this was only to “clear the air.” Perhaps this was a test, too, to see how she handled anxiety and fear.
Her long months of training was basically a walk through fire.
Each government department had a piece of her, had molded her for its purpose.
Each of the programs in which she had undergone training had tested her in its insidious little ways.
The worst was the CIA bunch; they had tried their damnedest to make her paranoid.
But that was good. It trained her to always keep an eye on everyone and everything around her.
She walked past all the eyes watching. She was used to all that staring by now.
It was amusing, really. She actually had had her fill of macho men; living in close quarters with two different special operations forces had made her very comfortable with having them as companions.
Or enemies. Not everyone believed in using female contract agents.
She wasn’t quite the object of lust for many of these men, so there went her ego down the drain. Yet she represented something more, even might have struck a note of fear in a couple of them, and so there her ego soared again. Boy, it was tough to be a woman.
Normally, she would turn and give everyone a chirpy greeting but she didn’t feel like it today. After all, this was serious stuff. Later tonight, she was going to prove how all these months’ work and COS Center’s new training had molded her into their objective. It was time to put her game face on.
So, Helen my dear, how does it feel to be a weapon?
She sat down, crossed her legs daintily, crossed her arms, and blew a bubble.
It felt pretty damn cool to have everyone wondering.
At the moment, she felt like the strongest woman on earth, which was very strange.
She should be feeling vulnerable and tense…
shouldn’t she? Yet, she couldn’t deny the excitement surging inside.
She was just tired of waiting. A body could only train so much.
A mind could only absorb so much. Her well of patience was almost dry.
She missed the real stuff, where the real danger was.
She missed speed. This afternoon with Flyboy punctuated how out of touch she was with what she really, really loved, and that was living on the edge.
No amount of training under simulated conditions would take the place of real fear.
No amount of testing could take away the real unknown.
The serum was the unknown here. She was ready for the next phase.
“Miss Roston.” Dr. Kirkland joined her at the table.
“Helen.”
He smiled. “Helen. Do you need any introductions with anyone in the room? I think almost everyone is here.”
Helen looked around. She recognized most of them. “Who are those two talking to T.?”
“Dr. Marilyn Vaughn and Dr. Vasilia Kasparov. They will answer any questions you might have about the serum.”
Marilyn Vaughn didn’t look like a scientist, or Helen’s image of one, anyway.
She was dressed in a black frumpy housewife-looking dress, with bright red flower-print.
Her hair was combed into a Victorian-style chignon.
From where Helen sat, she looked more motherly than scientist. On the other hand, Dr. Kasparov looked exactly right, with a shock of white hair and sharp, intelligent features.
Helen remembered reading that he had defected from the former Soviet Union.
“Were they part of the team with the original serum?”
“Marilyn was, but Dr. Kasparov joined a bit later.”
“Who else isn’t here, then?”
Dr. Kirkland looked around and checked his watch. “Armando should be here any moment now. He’s always the last to arrive. There he is…good God.”
Helen turned to the door. She bit her lip in amusement. They weren’t kidding when they said the meeting was informal. The man they were talking about had everyone’s attention now.
Armando Chang didn’t look like a scientist, commando, or any special operative she’d ever seen.
He had on a black cloak, the kind that flowed to the ground.
His hair was long and a diamond stud glinted from his ear.
His mixed heritage—high intelligent forehead, widow’s peak, slanted catlike brooding eyes over high cheekbones—gave him a very exotic air.
Every pair of eyes looked in his direction. The atmosphere in the room had gone considerably more apprehensive. Apparently, Armando Chang made everyone a bit nervous.
“You look like a damn vampire,” someone said.
Helen had to agree. The cloak covered him from neck to foot, and with that hair and those eyes…
all he needed were red lips and fangs. He caught her looking at him and acknowledged her with something like a smile, but not quite.
No fangs…yet. Helen raised her brows in greeting.
With the cloak hiding his body, arms and legs, he definitely looked unworldly.
Except that he had stubble. Vampires—not in any books or movies she’d ever read—rarely had five o’clock shadows.
“It’s cold out,” he said, as if that explained away the cloak, and with a swift motion, he had the front of it parted and it fell off his shoulders dramatically.
All Helen knew about Armando Chang was that he was the weapons expert of the V-Program commandos.
But as she very well knew, words did not make a person.
The man sauntering toward Dr. Kirkland and her, cloak draped over one arm now, walked with the air of a bad boy.
Files with asterisks and notes didn’t tell her that.
It was the all-black getup, the black biker T-shirt with the picture of a skull on the front, the worn and rumpled black jeans with the silver belt, legs tucked into black leather boots.
Uncombed and unshaven, Armando Chang looked as if he had come to work after having tumbled some biker chick and had just thrown on the clothes by his bed.
With T.’s words in mind, she wondered again how the serum had affected him.
“We meet at last,” he stated, his arresting eyes sweeping over her from the top of her head to her feet. “You don’t look anything like the picture in your file.”
“Nor do you,” countered Helen, not bothering to stand up. The one she saw showed him with a short haircut, combed to the side. Same arrogant look in those dark eyes, though, as if he thought he’d better things to do than to be there.
Or, right now, here, at the meeting. There was an air of impatience about him, even though he was standing still and acting strangely.
Acting. Her senses whispered as his gaze met hers.