Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(58)
"That would be nice."
*
We found James sitting in the hot tub when we arrived, his cast-covered wrist held out of the water and propped on the slate floor surrounding the spa.
"So, found a way around not getting it wet?" I smiled at him.
"Yeah."
"Want a towel beneath your wrist before I get in?" I asked.
"Would you?"
"Sure." I grabbed a towel from a stack next to the door and brought it to him. He lifted his arm while I placed the folded towel beneath it.
"Much better," he sighed as Rafe held out a hand to help me into the spa.
"Those stones are hard," I agreed and took a seat between James and Rafe. "Water is nice, though. I think I ache all over."
"Did Colonel Hunter talk to you about your pay?"
"What pay?"
"He wants to set up an account for you—the others draw a paycheck that they spend through me or through finance. Until now, you didn't get anything—you've supported yourself for the most part, except for a few expenditures here and there."
"I know. I really don't need more money, James," I said.
"But that's not right. Colonel Hunter wants to name you as a special consult, with an official pay grade and everything."
"But," I said.
"I've already set up the paperwork and the President signed off on it."
"Wonderful. Can I build a separate residence in the backyard of this behemoth, too?" I asked. "I really want a beach house, but that's not in the cards."
"That probably won't happen. Colonel Hunter has asked for a new facility somewhere to house the Program."
"He's probably right to do that," I agreed with a sigh. "But I hate being fenced in and confined."
*
"Thank you for being here so late," President Sanders offered Dr. Richard Farrell a seat in the Oval Office.
"I didn't have much choice. Your minions were particularly persuasive, Madam President," he replied. "Which one is on the loose?"
"There are two on the loose, but only one of them is with my less than savory opposition," Amelia Sanders responded. "Becker has defected, and Nick has taken it upon himself to track him."
"What do you want to know?"
"What Becker in the hands of an enemy might do to us."
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether they want to reproduce the Program, or if they merely want to kill ninety-five percent of the population instead."
"How quickly could they do both?" President Sanders did her best to mask her growing alarm.
"Not long, if they get on the right track. The drug is dangerous. You read the dossier when you took this office, I assume?"
"Yes. If the Program had begun during my term, I would have canceled it early on. The risks were just too great."
"I understand that. I also understand that Cutter may have been informed of this long before you offered him the position of Secretary of Defense."
"Because he was friends with the previous President?"
"Yes."
"Then why did they appear to butt heads at every turn?" the President asked.
"For obvious reasons. I was never fooled. If you'd contacted me beforehand, I could have told you that."
"I have one in the Program who could have told me the same thing, I think," she muttered. "I just didn't know to ask at the time."
"Who? I wasn't aware of any of them having that sort of talent."
"Then you should update your files. Corinne Watson can probably tell you what you had for breakfast yesterday, and what you'll have for breakfast tomorrow, most likely. All she has to do is see your face."
"Corinne Watson? Are you sure?"
"She's been one hundred percent accurate so far," President Sanders said.
"A latent talent," Dr. Farrell mused. "Interesting. I'd like to see her, if you don't mind."
"I can arrange it whenever you like."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes. I'll see to it."
*
Corinne
"We're having visitors," August announced as Rafe and I walked into the kitchen. It was Thursday morning—I only knew that because the calendar on my desktop said so.
"Your food order arrived half an hour ago. James put it away for you," August added. "What is the likelihood of getting a fresh breakfast? I'll help."
"That depends on what you want," I said, covering a yawn. "Coffee, first."
"You should probably repeat your message about the visitors in ten minutes," Rafe said behind me. He steered me toward the coffeepot, just so I wouldn't be confused as to my original destination.
After I got started on my first cup of coffee, we put eggs, sausage, toast and juice together. "Who's coming?" I asked.
"Dr. Richard Farrell," August said. "He has at least six degrees listed after his name. I don't remember half of them."
"Makes it hard to print business cards," I said. "Maybe he should have stopped at three. To save money and paper. Why is he coming?"