Halon-Seven (11 page)

Cyrus was standing in the middle of a small room, maybe fifteen feet square. The walls were drywalled and painted an institutional off-white. The tile floor was some sort of utilitarian gray. The lights over head were fluorescent and recessed into a tile drop ceiling. They hummed and flickered as they continued to warm-up. He turned around to discover that the platform he had been standing on was different as well. It was no longer bulky and clunky like a piece of 1960’s or 70’s technology. This device had similar characteristics but was finished in tight rounded corners of chrome and brushed steel. The platform surface was made of some sort of highly polished glass like composite material.

What the hell is going on?

Walking cautiously across the room, he felt the cold tile beneath his socks. He reached the sliding glass door separating this room from the next. The door was tinted with a smoke color that made visibility into the next room impossible. Beside the door was a light switch with a motion sensor built in. At least that explained the lights turning on when he began moving around. Now if someone could just explain what the hell had just happened. Cyrus was starting to wonder if he had experienced a stroke or an embolism. One minute he was stumbling around Walter Meade’s mountaintop home in the dark searching for the source of an alarm and the next he was standing…he didn’t know where he was standing! He didn’t know what was going on, and he was starting to get pissed. Why couldn’t Meade just come out and say what he wanted to say? What the hell had he done?

Cyrus slid the glass door slowly to the side and stepped into the next room. The lights were out here, too. There was enough ambient light to see he was standing in an office of some kind. He was looking out over a twenty by thirty room separated by the low walls of several office cubicles. Each cubicle was setup as an active workstation, deserted now in the middle of the night. The far end of the room was lined with windows that stretched from floor to ceiling.

Crossing the room to look out the windows, Cyrus realized he was several floors up in some kind of office building. It must have been eight or ten stories down to the large empty parking lot scattered with a few lonely streetlights.

Where the hell am I?

Santa Barbara, California

Wednesday, 1:12 am (2:12 am Colorado Time)

Cyrus slowly paced the darkened office, deep in thought. The entire experience was unprecedented and more than a little disconcerting, but he had to admit it wasn’t entirely unexpected. More than a few of his conversations with Walter Meade hinted at the man’s pursuit of some sort of teleportation technology. It wasn’t like the concept was strictly the stuff of fiction anymore. A lab in Switzerland had managed to teleport a half-dozen photons a distance of several inches under strictly controlled conditions. Admittedly, that was a far cry from what he had just experienced.

Speaking of which…Cyrus pulled the cell phone from his pocket and walked to the front windows overlooking the parking lot below. He tapped an icon and brought up the phone’s GPS app. Moments later his exact location was displayed. He was on the west coast of California, about a block and a half from the Pacific Ocean in Santa Barbara, California!

Oh, this just keeps getting better and better. What has that old bastard done? Couldn’t he just ask for help like a normal person? This was awfully theatric.

A flash of light from the back of the office pulled his attention back to the moment. The lights had just turned back on in the teleportation room. He could see the muted glow filtering through the smoked finish of the sliding glass door. Reacting on instinct, Cyrus ducked into the hallway at the side of the room. It led to a pair of restrooms just off the main office. Peering around the corner, he watched the door to the teleportation room. His right hand found the grip of the Springfield still tucked into the back of his jeans. He decided to leave the gun where it was—glad it was there just the same.

A few moments later the door to the back room slid open and a young dark haired woman stepped through. Nervously, she looked around the dark office as if expecting to meet someone. Finding herself alone, she seemed increasingly on edge. She appeared to be contemplating a dash back into the teleportation room.

“Cyrus?” She had finally made up her mind and found her voice, unsteady as it was. “Cyrus Cooper?”

Cyrus watched and waited another moment. She was skittish—even a little afraid. But that was to be expected if she were going to meet a stranger in a dark room in the middle of the night. He wasn’t any crazier about his present circumstances. She was likely even more uncomfortable than he. It was better not to let her twist in the wind any longer.

“Over here,” Cyrus said as he stepped slowly around the corner. He was careful to keep his voice low. This late at night and in the darkness, even low conversational tones were enough to make someone jump.

“I’m Cyrus,” he continued. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You clearly know who I am. Unfortunately I’ve only just figured out
where
I am…It’s rather disconcerting.”

She laughed softly, relief registering in her eyes. “Yes, I’m sorry for that. I’m Reese Knoland. I was Walter Meade’s research assistant. I’m sorry for all of this.”

Her eyes still shifted nervously. “This was one of Walter’s many protocols. He told me you would arrive one night. He setup a system to ping me when you did. I was supposed to meet with you.”

While she was speaking, Cyrus approached to within only a few feet. It was the first time he got a clear view of her. The pale moonlight shone through the large windows and cloaked her in contrasts of highlight and shadow, but she was attractive. Mid to late twenties with raven dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and pale, almost porcelain white skin. The contrast was obvious even in the diffuse light. She was maybe five foot six with a slim athletic form.

“Walter knew you’d have questions, and—well,” she looked more than a little uncomfortable having been put in this situation. “To be perfectly honest, he thought you might be a bit put off, being led here the way you were.”

Cyrus sputtered a laugh at that. “You could say that! It strikes me as melodramatic. So he sends you here to meet me? I’m sure the old man thought a pretty face would temper my irritation. Why didn’t—”

Oops
. He caught himself, but it was too late.

Cyrus cringed as he considered what he had just said. He looked Reese square in the eye. She met his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said with sincerity. “That sounded much worse than I intended. I only meant the old man knew this little production was going to irritate me. I apologize.

“I knew Walter had an associate by the name of Miss Knoland. I guess I was just expecting a contemporary of his to be…someone a little closer to his age. Not a smoking hot—” He stopped himself.

Ahh!
His second attempt was even more of a disaster than the first!
 

She wore a dark t-shirt than accentuated her form and jeans that didn’t do her an injustice either. The ponytail and the late hour suggested to Cyrus that his arrival had caught her even more off guard than it had him. She had likely been home in bed. His arrival would’ve trigger an alert, likely sent to her cell phone. She’d rushed here to meet him. And she had used the teleporter to get here. That meant there were at least a few of these things in operation. One here at the office, one in the vault hidden in Meade’s basement—now
his
basement—and at least one more at or near Reese’s home.

While the logical part of his brain obviously still functioned, Cyrus was hard pressed for something to say that wouldn’t end in further embarrassment. He was tongue-tied and he couldn’t believe it. A woman hadn’t had this effect on his since the eleventh grade. And now he was making a complete fool of himself. She was attractive, but come on! His verbal skills had de-evolved to those of a teenager. Meade held this young woman in very high regard. Cyrus had a sinking feeling that Meade was setting him up to take over work on the project—
what had he call it? Meridian!
And while Cyrus was a long way from making that decision, he knew that the first impression he made with Reese would be crucial. He needed this to work. Ideally, he needed to salvage this introduction, but he was reticent to open his mouth and risk a third failed opportunity. He could only guess what sort of foolishness might pour out next.

Though she didn’t appear offended by his clumsy slips of the tongue, Reese was quiet. Her eyes seemed to study him, perhaps waiting for him to place his foot in his mouth yet again. It was hard to tell given the poor lighting but Cyrus thought he saw a flush of color in her cheeks. Was she blushing? She’d maintained eye contact, amusement dancing in what he could see of her gaze.
 

Cyrus shrugged. There was no going back on that now. He looked her in the eye and searched for the right thing to say. She continued to meet his gaze. There was a kind of empathy in her stare. She seemed as off balance in this situation as he. At least from what he saw, she was not put off by his foolish comments.

Their eyes lingered for several long moments in silence.

Something changed in Reese’s expression. A tiny sly smile touched the corners of her lips and she held up one finger signaling him to wait. She turned on her heel and retreated into the teleportation room.

—————

Reese paced quickly
back and forth across the teleportation room. She had suffered anxiety over this very moment. Walter had arranged this entire situation to impress upon Cyrus the true marvel of the teleportation technology. But she knew it for what it really was—a chance for Walter to finally show Cyrus the fruits of their quasi-collaboration. A great part of what had been achieved here was due in no small part to Cyrus’s contributions. But the man had no idea! She knew Walter had thought of Cyrus as a son. But for all of his professional and personal respect, the old man had never shared the secrets of the project with Cyrus. This awkward display was nothing more than a posthumous plan to right that wrong. And she was a pawn in his design.

For the several years that Reese had worked side by side with Walter, she had heard him speak of Cyrus many, many times. So often, in fact that she had wanted to meet the man. She had even come close to asking Walter to introduce them on several occasions. But she never followed through. Walter had gone to great lengths to keep parts of his life compartmentalized. And for reasons she didn’t know, the old man had felt the need to keep Cyrus away from the project. By extension, that meant they would never meet.

Soon, she found out that Walter’s health was failing. It was terrible news, seeming to strike out of the blue. The old man had a great deal of preparations to make. He was explicit in his instructions to her. Arrangements were made for Cyrus to replace him on the project. Walter’s share of the hard science was taken care of. They had the physics licked; another scientist wasn’t what they needed. Cyrus and Reese would be the ones to see this project through. Walter would be leaving the project in their hands, and they would lead the development team together.

Walter had made a point of explaining that only a portion of Cyrus’s talents were detailed in his personnel file. While Reese was aware of Cyrus’s contributions to the project thus far, Walter had said he was afraid there would be issues that required Cyrus’s less conventional talents.

What the old man had meant by that, she never knew.
What sort of talents could Cyrus have that were so unique?
Walter had said simply that it was not his place to speak for Cyrus. He had asked simply that she trust him and trust his judgment on the matter.

It had been a foreboding premonition, given Walter’s rush to conclude his part of a project that had consumed the bulk of his career. She thought many of the problems with the old man’s health had started after an issue several years ago, in Washington, D.C. It was a matter Walter had also refused to explain. She knew only that the old man had nearly died, and Cyrus had been somehow involved.

Putting all of that aside, and now reasonably certain that the blush had faded from her cheeks, Reese headed back through the sliding glass door.

Stepping into the main office, Reese stopped and looked around. Cyrus was standing right where she’d left him. Still, she looked around in an exaggerated manner as if trying to find something. Finally, she met his gaze and smiled. She walked up to him and extended her hand. “You must be Mister Cooper. My name is Reese Knoland. Walter has told me so much about you!”

Cyrus looked stunned for half a beat. She watched as he realized she was offering an opportunity to start over. He smiled broadly and accepted her proffered hand. “Cyrus, please—my friends call me Cyrus.”

Off the Coast of Santa Barbara, California

Wednesday, 1:10 am (2:10 am Colorado Time)

The gentle rocking of the boat would’ve made it easy to doze off. This was one of the many reasons Dargo had taken the night shift. As the team’s commander, he made the shift assignments and had the freedom to do as he pleased. But after many long years in the field, Dargo was still a grunt at heart. He wouldn’t task a man with an assignment he wasn’t willing to do himself. A stalwart leader, he would settle for nothing less than absolute dedication from each and every man on the team.

It was the quiet monotony of the surveillance nightshift that troubled him at the moment. The confines of the yacht’s aft salon were far more comfortable than he preferred. The plush accommodations left him concerned his men might let their guard down and become sloppy. The warm air circulating off the stacks of surveillance equipment more than kept the Pacific Ocean’s chill at bay. The long slow hours could break the most disciplined of minds. Both men on shift with him certainly seemed comfortable. Perhaps too comfortable. Dargo considered cracking open the sliding glass door at the rear of the room. The icy ocean air would keep them alert. Creature comforts led to slow minds, and slow minds were a liability.