Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(3)

Maye is one of the talented ones. She hears thoughts. That talent has saved many lives.

"Maye?" I blinked at her in surprise. Her handler, Jeff Chambers, wasn't with her.

"I got a transfer," she began, her green eyes filled with concern while unruly red hair clouded about her face. Maye was an alias. Her old name no longer fits her appearance, but that's how Cloud Dust works. She'd been Asian, before. Still spoke fluent Japanese. Strange? Yes.

Transfer meant she'd picked something up. If she knew the person, she'd recognized the mental voice as well. "What's that? Has Captain Chambers been notified?"

"I wanted to talk to you first," Maye said. "The transfer came from Corinne."

*

"We have to be sure before we take this to anybody else," I snapped.

"Of course, Colonel," Corporal James Draper replied. James is my assistant. He knows about the Program. Enough, actually, that he has quarters at the Mansion, where the Five are housed.

The recordings from the past two days had to be played back—nobody bothered to listen to Corinne's recordings unless requested. I hadn't asked; Corinne deserved some privacy. Three hours later, James handed a flash drive to me. "Images and sound, Colonel," he said. "She said, so sorry you're going to die unexpectedly, dude, before she turned off the television."

"And the next morning, Hugh is discovered dead of a heart attack." I shook my head. "James, this is what I want you to do—call the Oval Office. See if you can get an appointment for me to meet with the President. I think we found what Corinne can do—looks like she may be able to see a death coming. I'm not sure what to make of the transfer Maye captured, so we'll table that for now."

"Seeing a death ahead of time—that would be pretty handy to know," James breathed. "I'll call the Oval Office right away."

*

Corinne

Wednesdays, I have a standing appointment with my department-assigned shrink. I've been seeing him for six years. He gets pissy every time I refuse to tell him what happened.

He knows I was held hostage for six days.

He knows all the others are dead. He's not sure how I survived. I'm not going to tell him.

He also wants to know what happened—and how and when all the other hostages died. He knows I almost died, too.

Well, that's not exactly true. I did die. August Hunter was correct when he said I hadn't had a choice. I was flat-lining when they gave me the drug, and couldn't make an informed choice. Now, they wanted names and answers.

So far, I hadn't given them anything they could use.

I had my reasons.

"How did your first Krav Maga lesson go?" Doctor Shaw asked. The hive-mind-collective at work again—what one knows, they all know.

"I spent most of the night on the floor, begging for mercy," I sighed. "I have bruises."

"Corinne, Colonel Hunter would prefer that you were able to protect yourself. This isn't retribution for imagined wrongdoing."

"I didn't suggest otherwise."

"I'd like to see you try to make this work. Build up your strength."

Like everybody else in the Program, Doctor Shaw was military. Army, actually. A Lieutenant Colonel. I leaned my head against the soft leather of the chair I sat on and closed my eyes.

I wasn't military. Everybody in the Program thought I was weak and ineffective. In some ways, I was. "Corinne, there's no need to feel inferior," Doctor Shaw said.

True. There's no need to feel inferior, when everyone, overtly or not, reminds you of the truth of it almost daily. What did they care that I'd sold a few million books and had a truckload of money in the bank?

I couldn't spend much of it, or travel, or do anything others with money might do—that would draw attention.

No attention. Dr. Shaw would be furious if I drew attention. Colonel August Hunter would be furious if I drew attention. I sighed.

"What?" Dr. Shaw lifted a hopeful eyebrow.

"Nothing." I waved off his question.

"Do you like your new house?"

"It's okay."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Three stories."

"Ah."

*

Notes—Colonel Hunter

"Shaw?" I said.

Dr. Shaw called me as expected after a session with Corinne; we spoke once a week, at least.

"Corinne is withdrawn."

"Are you surprised? She has PTSD. And panic attacks," I pointed out. Shaw and I had the same conversation every two months or so.

"She says she has bruises from Krav Maga lessons."

"Everybody gets bruises in Krav Maga. If she learns how to put an elbow in somebody's ribs, it'll be worth it."

"Need I remind you that she's not military?"

"Nobody needs to remind me of that." I couldn't keep the bitterness from my voice.

"I hope you don't belittle her like that when you see her."

"I have better sense than that. I like Corinne—as a civilian."

"But she'd never make it in the military. Is that what you're saying?"

"It doesn't take a genius to know that. A lot of people aren't suited for it. Corinne is one of them. Do you think I'll mistreat her because of it?"