Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(59)

"To talk to you. The President gave permission."

"Really?" Yes, the word was flat and sarcastic as opposed to upbeat and excited.

"Corinne, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't revert to old habits," August said. "He'll be here with a military escort in two hours."

"My outfit for meeting people with at least six degrees is in the laundry."

"Cori."

"Yeah."

*

Notes—Colonel Hunter

"She writes the Sarah Fox novels," James explained to Dr. Farrell as we walked toward the sunroom at the back of the villa. I'd instructed Corinne to wait there for our arrival.

Dr. Farrell's escorts—two Navy men, were standing guard near the helicopter.

"A novelist? I admit I don't read fiction," Farrell confessed.

"That's all right," James said. "You asked about her; that's what you haven't heard yet."

"I'll be interested in what she has to tell me," Dr. Farrell said.

"It would be wise not to push too hard in that respect," I said.

"For what reason?"

"There are two possible outcomes. She could have a panic attack, or she could attack you verbally. Either way, you won't win the fight."

"Interesting."

*

Corinne

They wouldn't allow Rafe to be with me. I had to meet this man on my own. I'd hoped Auggie and James might stay for the questioning. I knew that wasn't to be the moment he entered the sunroom.

Dr. Richard Farrell studied me for a moment while August nodded in my direction before turning James around and marching away.

"Corinne?" He lifted an eyebrow at me.

"Well, I see the Program had eight survivors before two were killed," I said.

"Tell me," he took a seat on one of the cushioned rattan chairs decorating the sunroom, "why you didn't display that talent early on?"

"I was in mourning. Do you not understand that concept?" The other eyebrow lifted to join the first. "Besides," I added, "nobody needed to know six years ago. They need to know, now."

"They never told me who you were, before. It's the only hole in my knowledge of the Program."

"It will remain a hole. I'm not telling you or anyone else."

"You sound so defensive."

"I have a right to be. I didn't volunteer. You knew that and administered the drug anyway."

"You were dying."

"I know. Somebody wanted information, or they wouldn't have ordered you to give it to a potentially unwilling participant. They had six days to get you to Paris. They were waiting to see if anybody needed it, weren't they?"

"That was the previous administration's decision."

"Yes it was, wasn't it?"

"You don't trust them. The previous administration."

"Not even a little."

"Good. I don't trust them, either. That's why I was in Antarctica, until the President sent someone to collect me."

"I'm not surprised that the opposition wants you," I said. "You ought to be careful."

"I was. Still intend to be."

Can you hear me? I sent in his direction.

"I hear you fine," he said. "I didn't think it was possible," he breathed.

"Good," I said. "If I send a message and tell you to get the hell away from wherever you are, will you listen?"

"I will after today."

"Awesome. We don't need anybody else dying at the hands of those f*ckers."

"Corinne, I admit that I would love to study you now, although I doubt you'd cooperate."

"True. I wouldn't. You might regret it, too."

"Why would I regret it?"

"Because I would beat you into a greasy stain on the carpet," Rafe released the shield about himself and sat next to me with a grin.

"Holy f*cking shit," Richard Farrell muttered.

*

"When did you discover you could make yourself invisible?" Richard Farrell walked with us around the perimeter of the villa grounds.

"When Corinne told me it was possible," Rafe replied. "I had no idea."

He hadn't—I'd told him before he left for Dublin. I didn't want him hurt if I could help it. The shield might not hide him from thermal cameras, but that remained to be seen.

"You think I'm safer here at the moment?" Richard asked.

"For now. I'm not sure you can avoid captivity," I said. "At the moment, they're not sure where we are. You leave, they'll pick up your trail somewhere unless you're very careful."

I watched him as he processed the information. If he hadn't tested the drug on himself, first, years ago, he'd probably be dead. He was one-hundred-six years old and looked seventy-five years younger than that. His face and hair bore the wind-burned look of someone who'd been working in Antarctica until a few days before, but he still appeared too young to have numerous degrees behind his name.

Seeing him had given me information on the drug itself, and it was frightening. I shoved it aside—if I thought too much about it, I'd have the mother of all panic attacks. Even he didn't know everything about it, and that in itself was frightening enough.