Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(5)

*

Notes—Colonel Hunter

"This was the worst possible time for Edwards to be killed," Brigadier General Safer said. "We have a situation."

The meeting was called in minutes, and came as a surprise to the Five and their handlers. Safer was Edwards' Second-in-Command and knew all about the Program. He didn't want the top spot, however; he was ready to retire in six months.

We knew what situation meant—it meant somebody important was dying, and the drug was being considered.

"Who?" Jeff asked.

"Recognize the name Ilya Kuznetsov?"

"The Blacksmith?" I almost couldn't breathe. That's what Kuznetsov meant, and it was easier to use Blacksmith as his code name. "He has to be nearly eighty," I sputtered. In his day, he'd been the best spy Russia had. Nobody had heard of him for twenty years. Most of us suspected he was already dead.

"Eighty-one," Safer acknowledged. "He came to us a week ago, dying of cancer. Offered us sensitive information in exchange for medical treatment. He's been in a Russian prison for the past six years. Had to call in a favor from an old friend to get out—they wanted him dead."

"Why?" Becker asked. Becker was talented, just not the sharpest tool in the shed. After all, he'd chosen his new first name from a tennis player's last. All Five had aliases. Corinne, too, but I'd never been given her old name. That was a buried secret.

"Because he knows too much," Maye snapped at Becker.

"So they're considering him," Jeff shook his head. "How's that supposed to work?"

"If he survives, he'll be watched. If he doesn't cooperate, he's gone."

"Sounds dangerous," Kevin observed.

"Think you can't take down an old Russian?" Ken teased.

Those two—Kevin and Ken, used to be identical twins. They look nothing alike, now. It was a test—to see if twins could survive. Kevin was given the drug, first. When he survived it, Ken was brought in.

Three other sets of twins didn't make it—all in the name of science.

"Stop worrying about the Russian. I hear he's angry enough with his country to do whatever it takes to make them pay. Regardless, we'll watch him carefully. This, of course, is assuming he makes it in the first place. You know the odds. We want information. Never forget that," Safer said.

"When?" I asked. The drug took two weeks to work—if it were going to work. If the Blacksmith survived, we'd get a new resident—and a new handler—in a few weeks. I had things to do in between. One of those things involved a trip to the Oval Office.

"Tonight," Safer replied. "His health is failing, even with the best treatment."

"Have they chosen a handler?" Jeff asked. His was a good question, and one that would prove important to all of us.

"Three are under consideration. I'll let you know how things proceed. Dismissed," Safer gruffed.

*

"Did you see how quick he left? He didn't want any of us to know who's under consideration," Jeff growled. This time, we'd met in the cafeteria with the other three handlers.

"I think we're jumping the gun," Vance pointed out. "He'll die. Face it—six out of one-hundred-and-one? Not good odds. Stop worrying. Our little kingdom is safe."

"If he makes it, he'd better not step out of line," Gene muttered. Gene was Becker's handler, and as close to being a thug as any of us might get. I figured Becker was one of Dr. Shaw's schoolyard bullies, and Gene did nothing to discourage him.

"All conjecture at this point," Preston leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "If the drug is given tonight, we'll know in two days whether we have something to worry about."

Preston, Nick's handler, was something of a fatalist. Probably for the best, since Nick was called the Hound for a reason. He was right, though. If the body started showing signs of change, we'd have to open a new suite of rooms.

*

Corinne

Yes, they read everything, including the Sarah Fox books as I write them. Nothing I do is private. It's the price I pay for living outside the Mansion. Sometimes I get messages from James, August's assistant. He's a big fan and usually acts as a beta reader of sorts. It makes me laugh at the irony of it all.

Hey, Cori, his message began. I'm a little upset with you. Why did you kill off Hector? I know he was a bad guy, but he had a great sense of humor.

Bigger, funnier bad guy coming, I typed. Nastier, too. Hector was a minor baddie—admit it, lol.

You mean Hector's boss is gonna go, too?

No. Hector's boss is getting a boss. Does that make sense?

I guess. When are you writing that?

Near the end. A lot of things have to happen between now and then, I replied. Keep your shirt on; I still don't have all my stuff unpacked.

Shirt still on but getting itchy, James informed me.

Right. TMI. Don't they make a cream for that?

There's only one thing that'll cure this itch, and it's the rest of this book, he said.

Uh-huh. Maybe I'll take a year off from writing.

Nooooo! At least give me a name.

Okay. West (short for Weston) Alvarez.

That's gonna keep me up tonight. Is he related to?

Yep. Back to work. It's not five, yet.