Rogue Faction Part 1 Read online

“That’s good,” Voss smiled. “As long as you’re comfortable. I must admit, I feel more than a little responsible for your predicament.”

  Cyrus didn’t understand. The look on his face must’ve made that clear enough to Voss, because he explained.

  “You were delivering Professor Ragsdale’s equipment when you were accosted,” Voss said. “You were delivering it to me, so I share at least some responsibility for what happened to you.”

  Cyrus shrugged, and then shook his head. He’d given the matter a great deal of thought and knew exactly how he might handle this conversation. “I’m not sure that what happened had anything to do with you,” he countered. “Ragsdale has a gambling habit. It seems likely that the people who came after me were doing it to leverage him. I can’t say for sure, but you know—you hear rumors.”

  Voss considered the scenario, and nodded. “It’s possible. But, as you see from the level of security here, I’m not without my own concerns when it comes to safety.”

  That brought a heartfelt laugh from Cyrus, which resulted in him wincing and clutching his side in order to steady himself against the surge of pain. “You certainly have enough security,” he admitted, once he had his breathing back under control. “And they don’t seem to appreciate my presence. I feel like I’m under a microscope.”

  Voss sat back further in his chair and offered a reluctant sigh. “Yes, Dargo’s men take their work very seriously. What they lack in warmth, they make up for in professionalism. But you’re right—it can be off-putting. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in my home.”

  “I appreciate that,” Cyrus said. “But I think I should be going, just the same.”

  This brought an uncomfortable look from Voss. One that Cyrus wasn’t sure how to interpret.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Taking a moment to consider his words, Voss leaned forward, perching on the edge of his seat.

  “The truth is,” he began. “I’m not sure it’s safe for you to leave at the moment. The people who attacked you on the train—I’m not confident that they were after Richard’s prototype. There’s a greater chance that they learned you were on your way here, and that’s why you were attacked.”

  Considering Voss’s words, Cyrus wasn’t sure what to make of them. “What are you saying? What have I gotten myself mixed up in?”

  “Nothing illegal,” Voss said with great seriousness. “That I can promise you. In fact, my work focuses on medical technology. Unfortunately, my research is considered to be of great monetary value to pharmaceutical firms. Some of them have proven willing to do very underhanded, and often illegal things, to gain access to my research. I fear that the attack on you was one such example of this.”

  Cyrus hung his head and considered his options. At least, he put on a good show of it. He was working hard to put himself into a situation where he could leverage Voss to his own advantage. In spite of what he claimed, leaving the compound was the furthest thing from his objective. But if he played his cards right, not only would he be allowed to stay in the building, he might free himself of the omnipresent second shadow he had in Mister Wagner.

  “So, you’re saying that I can’t leave.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  “No,” Voss said with a warm, disarming smile. “Not at all. You are free to leave whenever you wish. I am, however, suggesting that it’s in your best interest to stay here for a short while. My people can offer you protection. In fact, I feel obligated to offer you this protection.

  “Plus, you’re still recovering from your injuries. I’m told you will need antibiotic injections for at least several more days. In truth, I would feel better if you were near the watchful eye of medical attention should any complications arise.”

  Cyrus considered his words. “What about your security guys? They seem keyed up when I’m around. Is that going to be a problem? To be honest, they’re extremely unnerving. Being watched constantly is making my skin crawl.”

  Voss chuckled. “Not to worry. If you choose to stay, you’ll be relieved of your escort. There are parts of the building that are restricted, but you’ll be allowed full access to the unrestricted areas.”

  Cyrus smiled. “I suppose you’re right. My life expectancy seems better if I stay here for the time being. I appreciate your hospitality.”

  “Not at all. It truly is the least I can do!”

  Voss pulled himself from the chair and prepared to take his leave. Cyrus had accomplished most of what he wanted but decided to press his luck just a little further.

  “I didn’t think to ask,” Cyrus said, in an offhanded manner. “Did Ragsdale’s hardware make it through undamaged? I took a beating on the ride here, but so did the device. I didn’t get a chance to inspect it before I arrived at your door. I hope nothing was damaged too badly along the way.”

  With a grin, Voss looked Cyrus in the eye. “The prototype arrived in significantly better condition than you did, I’m afraid. Given the choice, I would’ve wished it the other way around.”

  Cyrus laughed. “That’s ok. I can heal. From what Ragsdale explained, that prototype was one of a kind. It wouldn’t heal if it was damaged.”

  “You’re right about that,” Voss admitted. “I have high hopes for its integration with my new procedure.”

  “Ragsdale was very vague about the purpose of the prototype, and to be honest, I didn’t press the issue. But he did say that you were involved in some kind of memory related research. He said it was one of the reasons that the prototype needed to be delivered in person.”

  Voss looked confused at the statement. “I don’t understand. Are you familiar with neuroscience?”

  Cyrus bit at the corner of his lip and did his best to look uncomfortable, even reluctant with what he was about to share. He took a few seconds before answering, and even then he shot a quick glance over his shoulder before making his reply.

  “No,” he said finally. “Nothing like that. I’ve just got this memory thing.” His words were spoken quietly, as if he was reluctant to admit them. “An eidetic memory,” he explained.

  A crease formed on Voss’s forehead as his eyebrows arched. “Truly?” he muttered in an equally conspiratorial voice. “Are you serious? How accurate is your recall?”

  Cyrus shrugged. “Accurate? Is there a way to measure it?”

  “Oh, most definitely!” he said with great exuberance. “But we can get to that later. Generally speaking though, how reliable has it proven to be in your daily life?”

  Again Cyrus shrugged. “It’s hard to say. I don’t know what it’s like not to have it.”

  He considered the question for a few moments before continuing. “I know it always made school a breeze. I never understood why others had trouble with tests—or even studying. It was never a problem for me. I just read something once, and I know it.

  “It took me years of school before I realized that I retained things differently than everyone else. But once I figured it out, I found that I could relate to people easier. To be honest, it made my early years very awkward. I think that’s why I’m still not comfortable talking about it.”

  Voss nodded absently. “Understandable,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You know, since you’ll be staying with us, I wonder if you would mind working with me on a few experiments?”

  Cyrus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was about to say something but then thought better of it. Remaining silent, he looked off into the distance, and tried to find the right words.

  “Oh, no!” Voss said defensively. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing invasive! And nothing that you would be uncomfortable with, I can assure you. The thing is, I’m working on a project that will one day be used in the treatment of Alzheimer’s patients and people with cognitive impairments. I specialize in cognitive research. Memory, in particular.

  “I’ve worked with a number of people with exceptional memory abilities over the years. And every opportunity to gain additional insight has proven enlightening. The l
evel of recall you’re describing is exceptional. I was just suggesting running you through a series of diagnostic tests and, if you’re inclined, perhaps a couple of MRI’s and CT scans.”

  Voss sat back in the chair. “Please don’t misunderstand. You’re under no obligation. But this must be what Professor Ragsdale was hinting at when he suggested that you were the best man for the job.

  “Please, give it some thought,” Voss encouraged. “We can talk tomorrow if you like. Either way, I will speak with Dargo. You’ll be free of your security escort, and you will be given a tour of the building and access to the unrestricted areas.”

  Voss pulled himself from his chair once more and offered a sincere smile. With a concerted effort, Cyrus climbed from the couch. He shook Voss’s hand and grinned. “Again, I appreciate your hospitality,” he said. “And if putting me through a couple of memory games and brain scans will help you with your Alzheimer’s research, you can count me in.”

  Voss’s face lit up at the prospect. It actually made Cyrus feel good to think he might help him with such a noble endeavor. In fact, seeing the man speak so passionately about his work, Cyrus had trouble understanding how the work Voss was referring to, and the research the Coalition was so concerned about, could possibly be one and the same.

  Cyrus had worked deep cover missions many times before. Each time, he knew exactly where he stood. It was always clear who the enemy was. But when he looked at Voss, he wasn’t seeing anything other than a driven scientist, a loving father, and a man who believed in taking responsibility for his actions.

  On the positive side, Cyrus knew he’d be losing his security escort. And while the facility was being monitored around the clock, this was still a major move in the right direction. It would give him freedom of movement. Without that, he had nothing. And Voss would literally be inviting him into his secure lab in order to run the tests they’d discussed. That was a major win.

  But for all of the progress he was making, he still wasn’t satisfied. All of those objectives were secondary to his personal reasons for taking this mission. He needed to talk with Natasha. He’d disappeared on her three years earlier and never gone back. An explanation was long overdue. The only thing he knew for sure was that she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Some things weren’t easy to forgive, and she’d never been the forgiving type to begin with.

  Chapter 40

  Atlanta, Georgia, U.S.A.

  1:08 pm

  Though she was accustomed to the long international flights, Gretchen Stone still appreciated the accommodations of Doctor Voss’s private jet. The luxurious cabin turned what would normally have been a 14-hour commercial flight into a very dependable 12-hour commute, all held in the quiet and comfort of plush leather upholstered chairs, and with easy access to every amenity imaginable.

  Still, when she boarded the jet at King Borden’s private airfield on the northern coast of the Isle of Kapros, the idea of the long flight was anything but appealing. To that end, she’d popped an Ambien, and the next thing she knew, the pilot was announcing that they were on approach for Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport.

  As was always the case, Dargo’s security team had her itinerary down to a science. The aircraft had no sooner rolled to a stop before a private hangar at the outskirts of the airfield when a pair of dark SUV’s glided into position. Gretchen’s visit to Atlanta included an attachment of six armed security escorts. In addition to that, two more men would remain behind with the aircraft at all times. She was having trouble understanding the sudden increase in security presence, particularly for her. If there was a threat, it stood to reason that Voss would want additional protection surrounding his girls. It seemed odd that such substantial security considerations were extended to her. Under normal circumstances, a single armed guard would’ve accompanied her—two men if Dargo were feeling particularly paranoid.

  Pushing the security concerns aside, Gretchen stepped from the jet’s narrow staircase and onto the sweltering tarmac. One of her guards quickly ushered her in the direction of a waiting SUV. It was just as well—even with autumn setting in, the temperature in Atlanta was unpleasantly warm when compared to the lower sixties she’d left back home.

  It took only a few moments for the security team to assume their positions. There were three men in the vehicle with her and three more in a following truck. She knew it would be a short ride since the offices of Fairfax and Clauegh were located near the airport.

  Gretchen was excited when Anna had come to her the previous morning. She had finally announced her decision to participate in the celebrity tennis tour. Gretchen had been trying to convince her to participate for more than a month, and was disappointed by Anna’s unusually noncommittal receptiveness to the idea.

  Though Anna refused to admit it, Gretchen knew that her reluctance stemmed from the fact that her one time friend, Stanna Yavonavich was among the tournament’s charter participants. The two were once very close, competing together for three seasons before suffering a falling out. Since Anna was reluctant to discuss the cause of the problem, Gretchen had been stuck without a way to help settle the young woman’s troubled mind. Worst of all, she knew that if Anna declined to participate in the charity tour, she would inevitably regret the decision.

  Without enough information to resolve Anna’s problem, Gretchen could only urge her to consider the positive effects that the promotion would have, as well as the money that it would raise for charity. It was a weak game plan, Gretchen knew. Anna’s mind was never easily influenced. For weeks, all subtle encouragement had fallen on deaf ears. Whatever troubled her young charge was not going away on its own.

  All of that had led to Gretchen’s almost literal sense of shock when Anna tracked her down in the infirmary first thing that morning and asked if it was too late to register for the tournament. Gretchen had been so surprised, she had immediately phoned Lee Fairfax in Atlanta, to see if Anna could still make registration.

  In her haste, Gretchen had neglected to consider the fact that Atlanta was in a time zone seven hours behind her own. She woke Lee in the middle of the night. Generously, he’d explained that, while their signup period had technically ended, he would be happy to backdate Anna’s registration paperwork if it meant they could add her name to the prestigious list of participants.

  Unfortunately, due to the poor timing and the already closed deadline, there were registration formalities that needed to be dealt with as quickly as possible. Hours later, Gretchen was on board Voss’s private jet en route to Atlanta to finalize registration and resolve an issue with Anna’s visa following her last visit to the U.S.

  Everything had happened so quickly, Gretchen realized that she had never gotten a good explanation for Anna’s change of heart. It was likely that she’d just come to her senses and realized how much her participation would benefit the charity. Still, Gretchen couldn’t shake the feeling that Anna’s motivations were somehow more complicated. The last minute decision was unusual, even for someone like Anna, whose impulses were often dictated more by the heart than by the mind.

  The SUV pulled up to the curb along a quiet section of a downtown city street. Gretchen watched through the dark tinted glass as the security team went through their threat assessment routine and secured the area. Moments later, one of the guards opened the door for her and helped her step down from the rear door of the large vehicle. Another guard already stood fifteen yards ahead with the door of the four-story office building held wide.

  While the rest of the armed team escorted her inside, one of them remained at the street level door. As it had been explained to her, he would watch the vehicles and main entrance while remaining in contact with the rest of the team via wireless headset. The remaining five men surrounded Gretchen and escorted her to the elevator, which they took to the fourth floor. Exiting there, one of the men peeled off from the group and remained at the elevators.

  The building was a warren of offices and suites belonging to
lawyers, doctors, and other professional services. Gretchen followed the lead of her detail, as they navigated several interlinking hallways until reaching the solid oak door marked simply, Fairfax and Clauegh. She followed two of her guards through the entryway, suddenly realizing that they’d lost two members of the team along the way. As it was explained to her, those men would be taking up strategic points along their route through the building.

  It still seemed like overkill, as far as she was concerned. It was a lot of fuss for what was only a quick visit to the office of the tournament coordinator before making the long flight back home.

  Both remaining guards led the way into the small reception area. There was a counter that partially obscured a computer terminal and displayed some pamphlets, flyers, and brochures that likely contained information specific to events that the small firm was managing. A cramped sitting area to the right contained five nondescript chairs and a coffee table with an assortment of magazines. A small water cooler stood as a visual demarcation between the waiting area and the reception desk.

  The guards looked around cautiously. The fact that no one was there to greet them was disconcerting, and Gretchen could tell that it had raised their hackles.

  A moment later, a young woman in a long skirt and white silk blouse emerged from one of the two office doorways in the wall behind the counter. She had long, dirty blonde hair pulled up in the back, and she wore glasses with stylish, modern, minimalist frames.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said with a warm smile. “I didn’t hear you come in!”

  She slipped behind the reception counter and set aside the clipboard she was carrying. “You must be Miss Stone, here to see Mister Fairfax?”

  “That’s right,” Gretchen said with a nod. “I’m sorry to drop in on such short notice.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem at all,” the receptionist drawled in a sweet southern accent.

  The security guard stepped forward. “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said, with the slightest hint of a smile. “But I need to have a quick look around.”