Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(68)

"He asks what I wish to know," Rafe turned to me.

Holy, f*cking hell.





Chapter 15

Notes—Colonel Hunter

The prisoner didn't know much. He only had the name of a handler, and that turned out to be an alias. Kill the dark-haired man and take the woman were his instructions. He didn't recall exactly how he'd gotten into the U.S. He only said plane.

Rafe had to translate for us; I didn't understand Russian and Dr. Farrell only knew a smattering.

"Ask if he has any brothers or sisters," Farrell suggested.

Rafe asked the question and received a reply. He went still for a moment. "He says he is Five. He has four brothers. One and Two are dead. They are all the same. Look the same, same fingers," Rafe held up a hand.

"So they're clones?" I asked. This would explain the conundrum we'd run into before, with identical faces and fingerprints.

"I believe that's true," Rafe responded. "Whatever it is, you can bet Baikov is in it up to his nose."

"This takes Russian nesting dolls to another level," James muttered. "A copy of a copy of a copy."

"Ask why the dark-haired man was targeted," Dr. Farrell suggested. "And why the woman was targeted, too."

Rafe asked and waited for the answer.

"He does not question," Rafe translated. "He also asks why I resemble the dark-haired man."

"We'll skirt that issue. Ask him about General Baikov, instead," I suggested.

Rafe asked. The prisoner cringed and offered no answer. Rafe cursed.

"He's merely a tool—a weapon," Dr. Farrell shook his head. "I'll draw blood and see what we come up with. Tell him to cooperate with me," he instructed Rafe.

Rafe relayed the instructions.

*

Corinne

Brushing away the occasional tear, I opened boxes, washed new dishes (after I found the box with dishwasher tabs in it), washed new clothing, put things away and hung artwork on the walls.

Furniture was unwrapped and the bed was made up. I had a spectacular view of the water, but that didn't matter at the moment. How foolish and needy was I, that I longed for Ilya's embrace? For him to murmur soft words so I'd feel wanted and safe?

For years, I'd done without those things, I reminded myself. A few weeks of having those things made me shake and weep like a schoolgirl. I broke down boxes and piled them in a corner before searching out the instructions for disposing of oversized garbage at the condo.

I had to arrange for the delivery of groceries, too.

Corinne, Maye's voice entered my mind. Tell us where you are.

No deal, I replied. Tell Colonel Hunter to f*ck off.

The President says to come back. All is forgiven.

On her side, maybe, I said. I haven't forgiven. Sorry.

We can protect you.

I can take care of myself.

Dr. Shaw says you only have three weeks of medication left.

You think I don't know that? I wiped fresh tears away.

Rafe wants to talk to you.

Tell him he had his chance. He f*cked it up.

We know you're upset. They only want to talk to you, Corinne.

It's too late for that. I have things to do. Bye.

*

Ilya

"She's stopped talking," Maye reported.

As disagreements went, this was going horribly wrong. After talking with the clone in the basement, our fears for Corinne's safety had increased. "James," I turned to him. He frowned at me. "Show me the card we found—the one from Cori's lawyer. Do you think he might know something?"

"He knows her as Sarah Fox. All her correspondence with him is through e-mail," he answered reluctantly.

"I want the name," Colonel Hunter snapped. "I'll contact him."

"You'll just mess everything up between him and her," James grumbled. "Or between him and Sarah Fox, anyway."

"I don't give a f*ck. We need her back. If this one doesn't know anything, we'll go to the second and then to her editor. I'll find military attorneys and editors and hire them into the Program. She won't have to go outside for anything."

"You'll just be locking her up again," Shaw pointed out. "You locked her up to begin with, then stuck her in a smaller cell and took away her writing. What did you expect?"

"Stop beating me over the head with this," Colonel Hunter complained. "I have enough worries with the divorce right now."

"Then perhaps we should go downstairs and talk about that," Dr. Shaw said.

"I'll be down in half an hour."

"Good." Shaw left Colonel Hunter's office.

"Maye, you can go, too," he waved her away. "Thank you for trying."

"She's important," Maye replied. "I wish I'd known that at the beginning. We were so full of ourselves." She walked out without saying anything else.

After Maye was gone, Colonel Hunter turned to me. "It's hard to send flowers and a card if you don't know where to send them," he muttered.

"Tell me about the bodies collected—the ones who shot at us and at Maye and Nick," I said.

"Farrell can explain this better than I can. We only got superficial information—all the organs, tissue and everything had turned to ugly goo by the time the forensics specialists got to work on them. They couldn't get anything from any of it; all they had was skin, hair and fingerprints. We didn't want to tell the rest of you—didn't want you to worry."