The Nexus Series: Books 1-3 (26 page)

“I already told
you I don’t know who he is.”

“What could he
possibly learn from the records that he couldn’t learn from the seeds
themselves?”

“Look, I didn’t
plan the job.  I just do what I’m told.”  She glanced around the room
as she kept at her bindings.  She’d lost her glasses in the fall, but
theirs were on the desk behind them.

“Hey, why don’t
we just let her go?” said the bearded guy.

“Who are you
people anyway?” asked Jill.  “At first I thought you worked here. 
But you’re thieves like me, aren’t you?  Did you come for the same
thing?  Maybe we could help each other out.”

“Maybe,” the guy
said, glancing at Doreen.

She shook her
head and smiled for the first time—a cold, heartless smile.  “I’m afraid,”
she said, reaching beneath her jacket, “that you know just a little bit too
much.”

The bindings were
loose.

Jill leaped to
her feet.  With one hand she flipped off the light switch next to the
rusty metal door; with the other she grabbed Doreen’s glasses.  Doreen and
the bearded guy started yelling in the darkness.  Jill threw on the
glasses and dropped to the floor.  The night-vision lenses gave her a view
of her two captors scrambling blindly around the room.

“Shoot her!”
Doreen was shouting.

“I can’t see
her!” cried the bearded one.

Jill crawled
across the room and slipped through the metal door.  She was in a
closet-sized space with no ceiling in sight—an elevator shaft.  The tiny
enclosure was empty and featureless except for a button glowing on the
wall.  Jill pushed it.

The floor started
rising with a low hum.

“She’s on the
elevator,” Doreen’s muffled voice came from beyond the metal door.  “Get
her!”

“Too late,” the
bearded guy said.

Jill kept rising.

The floor stopped
near the top of the shaft.  A section of wall began to slide open—a
section of wall with a metal-framed slot.

She looked out
into the conservatory office.  Three guns were pointed at her.  She
crossed her arms.  “Not a moment too soon.”

12

“JILL!
 
You all right?” Corey’s distorted voice asked from behind his mask.

“Is she all
right?” Dizzie’s voice demanded in their earpieces.

“I’m fine,” she
said.

“She’s fine,
Diz.”

“So that’s where
they’re stockpiling the weapons,” said Bradley, examining the opening in the
wall.  “Let’s check it out.”

“Wait, they’re
still down there,” said Jill, standing in the elevator doorway.

“Who?” asked
Amber.

“Doreen Maybury
and Special Guest.  They won’t be too happy to see us.”

“Armed?” asked
Corey.

She looked at him
like he’d asked her if ice was cold.

“We can take
them,” said Bradley.  “Four against two, no problem.”

“
Three
against two,” interjected Corey.  “Jill’s not going back down there. 
She’s not in uniform.”

“Not to mention
I’m unarmed,” added Jill.

“How’d that
happen?” asked Bradley.

“Long
story.  Another time.”

“Okay, so three
against two,” said Bradley.

“How about
smoke?” suggested Amber.

“Perfect,” said
Corey, pulling a tiny canister from his uniform.  “One problem:  How
do we send the elevator back down?”

“They’ve already
called it,” said Jill.  “The moment I let the wall close, down it goes.”

“Let’s do it,”
said Corey.  “Diz, there’s an elevator hidden in this office.  Two
hostiles are waiting at the other end.  We’re smoking them out.”

“Gotcha,”
Dizzie’s voice responded.

Jill stepped out
of the way.  Corey triggered the device and tossed the canister into the
elevator.  The wall closed as the floor started descending.

They
waited.  A thick smoky substance seeped out from the secret wall panel and
the metal slot fixed in it.  After a while it dissipated.

The elevator
didn’t come back up.

“That didn’t go
like I’d hoped,” Corey said after a while.

“I don’t think
they’re coming,” said Bradley.

“Do we go down
and check it out?” asked Amber.

“We have to,”
said Corey.  “How do we call the elevator back up?”

“Something on the
filing cabinet,” said Jill.

Amber looked it
over.  “Looks like there’s a button back here,” she said reaching behind
the cabinet.

The humming
started again.

A moment later
they were crammed onto the elevator.  Their weapons were raised as the
floor dropped and the metal door opened.

“Dizzie, we’ve
descended.  The room is empty.  No sign of Doreen or her sidekick.”

They stepped into
the room.  Smoke remnants lingered in the air, but the room’s ventilation
system had mostly cleared it.

“They’re long
gone,” said Amber.

“Through there,”
Bradley pointed to the sealed door with the digital panel affixed to it. 
“Where else could they be?”

“Must be where
they store the weapons,” guessed Bradley.

“It may be more
than that,” said Jill.

“Like what?”

“You think they
have an entire base of operations down here?” asked Corey.

“Who knows?”

“We’re not
getting through this door anytime soon,” said Bradley, examining the blinking
panel.  “Looks like it requires vocal and print recognition.”

“We could
probably dig up something to override it,” said Amber.

“We’ve done all
we can do here,” said Corey.  “Back to HQ.  We’ll see what the
director wants to do.”

AN
hour later Jill sat on her usual spot on the leather sofa in the dark lounge,
trying to sort through her jumbled thoughts.  She watched the GoCom lobby
several stories below the glass wall in front of her.

Dizzie entered
the room and stood next to the couch.  “You’re sure you don’t mind my
company?”

“I invited you
here, Diz.”

“I know,
but...well, this is like your special place to get some alone time.”

“You didn’t seem
worried about interrupting me the other night, and I didn’t even invite you that
time.”

“Yeah, I feel a
little bad about that.”

“Don’t,” Jill
insisted.  “Please.”

“Okay.  If
you say so.”  Dizzie stepped over to the vending machine and returned with
her traditional grape soda and a bottle of water for Jill.  She plopped
down on the couch.

A silent moment
passed.

“So,” Dizzie
prompted, “you said you wanted to talk about something?”

Jill took a deep
breath.  When your life has been a closed book for years—for as long as
you can remember—it’s not easy to let someone crack it open.  She began
slowly.  “Remember how you said I don’t have to hide anymore?”

“Look, Jill, I
wasn’t trying to pressure you into telling me anything.  I didn’t mean to
pry.”

“You weren’t
prying.  You were caring.”

Dizzie bit her
lip.  “Well, I do care, but I was still prying at least a little
bit.  You know how curious I get.”

“I know,” Jill
laughed.  “It’s okay.  You’ve been such an awesome friend ever since
I got here.  You deserve for me to be more of a friend to you.”

More awkward
silence.

Jill cleared her
throat.  “Um, I hate to say this, Diz, but I don’t really want a bottle of
water.”

“What?  But
you always—”

“I actually don’t
even like bottled water.”

Dizzie stared at
her.  “Seriously?”

“It has a weird
taste.  I prefer water straight from the tap.”

Dizzie threw up
her hands.  “Who
are
you?”

“My mom was
paranoid about tap water.  She was worried it would make me sick or
shorten my life span or something.  And she
never
let me drink
soda.”

“Stop it. 
You can’t mean never.”

“I had to sneak
it if I wanted it.”

“Yikes. 
Okay, so when you snuck it, what was your favorite?”

“Root beer,” Jill
answered without hesitation.

“Ah, not a bad
choice!  And when’s the last time...?”

Jill shook her
head.  “I can’t even remember.”

“Then this is
going to be a memorable night,” Dizzie announced, jumping up and plunking more
change into the vending machine.  She handed Jill a root beer.

“Thanks,” said
Jill.  She made no move to open the can.  “And thanks for coming up
here with me, Dizzie.  I know you’ve got lots to do.”

“Like paper work
for the mission?  I’d rather listen to Bradley whine all day. 
Anyway, you said we needed to talk.  But I don’t think you just wanted to
talk about your beverage preferences.”

“Actually, that
was a big step for me,” said Jill.

Dizzie started to
laugh but stopped suddenly.  “Oh.  You’re serious.”

Jill
fidgeted.  “It’s just that if I ignore what my mom wanted me to do when I
was kid, I feel like I’m kind of disrespecting her memory.  Does that make
any sense?”

Dizzie scooted a
little closer.  “Um, is your mom...?”

Jill
nodded.  “When I was fifteen.”

“I’m so
sorry.  I had no idea!”

“I know.  I
haven’t really talked about it to anyone.”  She looked at the floor. 
“Anyway, that’s why I’ve hardly had a drink of anything other than bottled
water for the past three years.”

“You don’t have
to drink that root beer,” Dizzie said anxiously.

“I think I
should,” said Jill.  “I don’t need to hang onto those kinds of worries
anymore.  I don’t want to.”  She said the words, but she still made
no move to open the soda can.  She rotated it idly between her hands.

Yet more awkward
silence.

“So,” Dizzie
began hesitantly, “it seems like you have a little more on your mind than
just—”

“I don’t like all
the attention Corey always gives Amber,” Jill blurted.

Dizzie’s eyes
widened.

“It’s like, I
don’t blame him,” Jill went on, not looking at Dizzie, not looking at anything
in particular.  She was talking faster than she could remember ever
talking.  “I mean, why wouldn’t he?   Amber is great.  And
she’s gorgeous.  Of course he would like her.  She’s totally
likable.  When I think about it, I like her a lot too.  What’s not to
like?  And we get along okay, really.  It’s just that she’s always
got perfect hair and makeup and clothes and everything!  And when I see
her with Corey—the way they look at each other and act around each other—I just
get so irritated, you know?  But then I think, what right do I have to get
mad?  And anyway it’s not like I want Corey to...you know....”

“What?” asked
Dizzie.  “What, what, what?”  She was obviously thoroughly enjoying
this.

Jill blew a sigh
between pursed lips.  “I don’t know.  I can’t even figure out how I
feel, much less describe it.”

Dizzie
smiled.  “I know!  Isn’t it great?”

Jill stared at
her.  “What’s so great about it?”

“Jill, that’s all
normal
stuff!”

She thought about
it.  “Yeah, I guess it is, isn’t it?  It’s still embarrassing to talk
about.”

Dizzie
snorted.  “You’re nuts, you know that?  I mean, you go on a solo
mission tonight, face two armed gunmen by yourself, fall off a bridge and get
knocked unconscious in the process, and never bat an eye.  But now you’re
scared to talk about your boy problems!”

“The other stuff
I’m used to,” said Jill.  “But this!”

“You’ll get used
to this too,” said Dizzie.  “I mean, Jill, this is great!  I always
knew you were a girl.”

Jill narrowed her
eyes.  “Excuse me?”

“Oh, you know
what I mean!  You’re not just a tough secret agent who used to be an
expert criminal.  Underneath all that, you’re...
you
.  You’re a
normal person like the rest of us.”

Maybe there were
people out there who didn’t want to be normal.  Maybe some people wanted
to stand out, seize the world’s attention, be extraordinary.  But for
Jill, normal was the most wonderful thing she could imagine being. 
“You’re not just saying that?”

“No way! 
Have you been listening to yourself the last few minutes?”

“Yes.  I’m
driving myself crazy.”

“It’s stuff we
all go through.  We just have to work through it.”

“Yeah, I guess
so,” muttered Jill.  She gave Dizzie a grateful look.  “Well, it’s a
lot easier to work through when you talk to somebody else about it.”

“Any time,”
offered Dizzie.  “By the way, you know
why
Amber always has perfect
hair and makeup and clothes, right?”

“To show off?”

“It’s because
she’s insecure, Jill.”

Jill
huffed.  “Right.  Amber’s insecure.”

“I’m
serious.  She’s especially insecure around you.”

Jill looked
completely unconvinced.

“Think about it,”
Dizzie insisted.  “You two came in as new recruits.  You were the one
everyone was talking about—the one the Director had been looking for
for
so long.”

Jill scratched
her head.  “Okay.  But Amber’s, like, so...I can’t think of any other
word for her:
perfect
.  Her martial arts skills make me look like a
punching bag.”

“So what? 
You were a legend around here even before you arrived.  And when you two
first got here, who was the one who brought in Sketch?”

“Turns out he
wasn’t Sketch.”

“Well,
whatever!  Who cracked that case?  And who uncovered a traitor in the
department and exposed him?  Amber had to be feeling like she brought
nothing to the table compared to you.  She probably still feels that way.”

Jill continued
rotating the root beer can.  “I guess I never thought about it that way.”

“And she probably
still feels like Corey prefers you over her.”

“What? 
There’s no way—”

“You should have
heard him during your mission.  He was worried sick about you.  Amber
had to listen to him being protective of you all night long.”

Hmm.  That
was nice to hear.  “Still, it’s pretty obvious he’s fallen for Amber.”

“Things change,”
said Dizzie.

“Maybe,” said
Jill.

This time the
silence wasn’t awkward.  It was kind of nice, actually.

“Well,” Dizzie
said after a few minutes, “are you going to try it?”

“Try what? 
Oh, right.”  Jill finally pulled the tab of her root beer.  A
satisfying hiss escaped.

“A toast,” said
Dizzie, hoisting her grape soda can.  “Here’s to stupid boys, and to
liking them anyway even though we can’t figure out why, and to not having to
drink lousy old bottled water all the time!”

“And to not
having to hide anymore.”  Jill smiled and touched her soda can to
Dizzie’s.  She took a long drought of root beer and licked her lips. 
“Even better than I remembered!”

“Good!” said
Dizzie.

Jill didn’t even
know the burp was coming until it erupted out of her.  She darted a hand
over her mouth, eyes widened in embarrassment.  “Wow.  Sorry. 
Forgot about that part of drinking root beer.”

Dizzie laughed
herself off the couch.

THREE
stories beneath the unused
Durnham
Park Conservatory
office, the lights on the armored door’s panel stopped blinking.  A
department analyst examined the screen on the device he’d routed into the
panel.  “This ought to do it.”

Around the
analyst stood several department field agents in
visored
helmets and armored uniforms.  They held their weapons ready.

The panel
beeped.  A loud click echoed in the concrete-walled room.

The door hissed
open.

The agents
stepped closer, guns raised.

“Should have
guessed,” mumbled the analyst.

The doorway was
barricaded by a wall of metallic-looking bricks.

“Built recently,”
one of the agents observed in a mechanical voice.

The analyst ran
his hand along the gleaming gunmetal-gray bricks.  “A strong alloy. 
The synthetic mortar is practically impenetrable.  And who knows how thick
they’ve built it—a foot?  A meter?”  He shook his head.  “We
won’t be breaking through this wall.”