Terms (The Experiments Book 3) (21 page)

He scooted over to his seat, reclaimed his position in front of the one computer, rested his hand on the mouse and blindly reached for a tasty Vienna sausage. His fingers touched down … on air.

Gone.

Rickie took his barbecue Vienna sausage? Stan was perplexed over that for only a brief moment. After realizing it was Rickie and there was no rhyme or reason for a lot of what he did, Stan put it out of his mind and continued his work.

***

Ring. Silence. Ring. Silence.

Billy couldn’t take it anymore. He also didn’t know if he could take Cal’s mood. He had hoped that Rickie would show up for dinner, but Rickie didn’t.

Ring. Silence.

“Cal,” Billy said. “Why don’t you just shut off your phone?”

“Because I won’t know if he’s calling.”

“Then answer the phone.”

“No.”

“I’ll answer it.”

“No, you will not.” Cal snapped. “I want Jake to know I’m pissed.”

“Maybe it’ll work out better if you answer and yell.” Billy suggested. “You might even feel vindicated.”

“Oh look at you tossing big words. That’s the second time you did that.”

“Vindicated is not a big word. And what other one did I use?”

“Delicious.”

Billy chuckled. “How is that a big word?”

“Because you used it to describe your steak.”

“It was.”

“Asshole.”

“What?”

“If you were any kind of man, you would have suffered through the meal and got what I got.”

“Cal, I tried. I asked.” Billy said. “I asked them to serve me the same as you.”

“You did?”

“Yes,” He nodded. “But they said it would throw the research study. Besides, how bad was it. It looked very good.”

“Oh, yeah, broiled Maui Maui, water chestnut salad and kiwi for desert. I hated it. And where was Rickie?”

“Did I hear my name?” Rickie walked into the room.

“Rickie where have you been?” Cal asked. “You know how I feel about us having dinner together.”

“Cal-Babe, before you go prego ballistic, I was on a mission.” Rickie removed his nap sack.

Billy spotted Cal doing something odd. She sniffed.

“Did you know there’s a little town on this island?” Rickie said.

“No,” Cal answered.

“Oh yeah, movie theater and everything. It’s cool. I …” Rickie paused when his phone rang. “Hold on.” He grabbed the phone. “Rickie Miester from Monster Island.” He snickered. “Hey, Hey, Sarge, yeah hold on.” He extended the phone to Cal.

“No,” Cal shook her head.

“Cal-Babe, I bear gifts.” Rickie said. “Talk to the Sarge this is the fifteenth time he’s called me.”

“Fine,” Cal snatched the phone. “What?”

“Don’t hang up on me,” Jake said stern.

“And why shouldn’t I?”

“Why should you?”

“Bye, Jake.”

“Cal!”

“What!”

“If you hang up on me one more fuckin’ time I swear …”

“You swear what?” Cal snipped. “What? Jake. You’ll what?”

“I’ll get fuckin’ pissed.”

“Oh, get pissed. See if I care. See if it matters. Right.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with me is I am forced to eat water chestnut salad!”

“And this is why you’re hanging up on me?”

“No,” Cal barked. “I’m hanging up on you because you were partying all night at the Whitehouse with a bunch of thin women.”

“Oh, I was not.’

“I heard. I heard them call you …” She mocked a high female voice. “Jake. Oh Jake.”

“You’re nuts.”

Cal gasped. “Now I’m nuts. How can you even flirt with other women knowing my self-esteem is as low as it is when I feel as big as a whale?”

“Cal, perhaps you wouldn’t feel as big as a whale if you didn’t eat like a whale.”

She inhaled her shock and ‘beep’ disconnected the call. Then smug she turned off the power and handed the phone to Rickie. “I don’t want to talk to him again.”

“Ok.” Rickie put the phone in his pocket.

“Now, what did you bring me?” Cal asked trying to be pleasant.

‘Ready Cal-Babe?”

Cal nodded.

Rickie unzipped the back pack. As soon as he did, Cal smiled.

Billy saw this. “What? What am I missing?”

Out of the back pack, Rickie pulled a bag. “Open your eyes.”

Cal did. “McDonald’s.”

“A Big Mac.”

“Rickie!” Billy yelled. “She’s not supposed to have junk food. She’s on a research study.”

“So.” Rickie shrugged.

“So? They can’t have a successful study if you feed her junk food when she’s not supposed to eat it.” As Rickie handed the bag to Cal, Billy intercepted it.

Cal shrieked. “Give it.”

“No.” Billy said, protecting the bag.

“Billy!” Cal shouted, then hurriedly, reached, grabbed the bag and claimed it. Hurriedly pulling the Big Mac from the bag. No sooner did she have it in her hand, a loud alarm sounded off.

Cal looked up. “What? What is that?”

The door burst open. Three men charged in. “Put down that Big Mac!” they yelled.

“Fuck.” Cal’s eyes widened. They rushed her. She undid the box.

Rickie chanted, and then turned his body to block the ensuing men. “Hurry Cal-Babe, eat. Eat.”

What to do. Cal could have made a run for it, charged and locked herself in the bathroom. Instead, she tried to just get a bite. One bite. Big Mac in hand, mouth open, the one man made it passed Rickie and just as Cal’s mouth began to chump down, he whipped the Big Mac from her grip.

“Got it!” He held it up in victory.

“Watch out!” One of the men yelled and pointed to Cal.

Cal, special sauce on her fingers brought her hand to her mouth.

The man spun and with kung fu speed, locked on to her wrist before she could lick her fingers. “No, you don’t.”

“Fuck.”

Still holding on to Cal, he lifted a radio. “Situation under control. Over.” He hooked the radio to his belt. “Someone get me a napkin.”

Cal surrendered in defeat. She did appreciate the chance Rickie took and his thoughtfulness. She didn’t however appreciate the humor Billy seemed to find in the ‘Seize the Fast Food, Die hard movie action’ that took place in her room. Cal didn’t find it amusing at all.

September 8
th

Her name was Sara Fry. She was the tenth person to walk through Greg’s door for interviews. He was impressed at the number of inquiries they received just by one simple ad and a notice on numerous message boards.

Jefferson was there for the interview, but Greg knew there was something special about the young woman, the moment she stepped inside.

Perhaps it was her appearance. No bigger than five foot, she had to weigh about one forty, maybe more. She wore her blonde hair in  pigtails. Her full face was rosy and red, more than likely from nerves. Plus, she wore what looked like a vintage cheerleading outfit.

She walked in after being summoned and stopped mid room.

“You can come in further,” Greg instructed. “Please have a seat.”

She lifted her hand, cleared her throat, fixed her posture, and …with a truly high pitched, squeaky voice, she shouted.“Give me ‘G’ give me an ‘R’, give me an ‘E’, give me a ‘G’! What’s that spell?”

Haynes and Jefferson looked at each other.

"Come on! What’s that spell?”

“Um …” Greg cleared his throat. “Greg?”

“No! Silly. Winner!” She jumped up and down, cheering ‘yeah!”

Greg glided his index finger over his top lip, as he attempted to hide his smile. “Very good.” He said calmly. “Now, please, have a seat. This is Dr. Jefferson.”

“Oh!” Sara rushed to him. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t cheer for you.”

“That’s all right,” Dr. Jefferson said.

“No! It it’s.” Sara spoke loud and upbeat, every word. “I’ll do a cheer for you. Give me a ‘J’!”

“Sara.” Greg stopped her. “Not needed. Please, sit.”

‘Ok!”

Greg shifted his eyes to Dr. Jefferson.

“So” Greg spoke. “Your name is Sara?”

“Yes!” She was exuberant, and overly thrilled. “That’s S-A-R-A-F-R-Y. No ‘H’ on Sara, none. I like it that way. Don’t you? I think it much more cool. no ‘H’. H is old fashioned.”

“Yes,” Greg nodded. “Let’s see, you’re sixteen.”

“Sixteen yes!”

“Tell us a bit about yourself.” Greg knew he didn’t want to ask that question but had to.

“Well.” With a giggle she straightened herself in her chair. “I’m sixteen. I go to St. Matthew’s High School. I want to be a veterinarian when I graduate. I love dogs.”

“And you’re not a cheerleader now?” Greg asked.

“No. but, boy …” She heaved out a breath. “Would I like to be. I try every year, but only the poplar girls really make it. I’m not one of them.”

“Really? That surprises me.”

Dr. Jefferson shifted his eyes at Greg.

“Nope, not at all. Not popular.” Sara said. “I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

“Do you know what this is all about?”

“If I make it though the rough training I get to be a cheerleader.”

“Yes, you get a spot with a national cheerleading squad.”

“Oh wow.”

“You know it will be tough.”

Sara nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Boot camp.”

“I’m ready,” She gave a thumbs up.

“What makes you think you’re tough enough?”

“I have put up with years of being bullied. I have very thick skin. I do well in gym class.”

Greg made notes. “If chosen to go, you will have to attend four consecutive weekends. Would that be a problem?”

“No, my mom said she’ll drive me.”

“OK. Thank you Sara.”

“Did I fail?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re telling me to leave.”

“No, no, that completes the interview. We’ll be in touch.”

“Oh. OK.” She stood up. “Shall I do one more cheer?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Greg saw it, the dropping, sad look of disappointment on her face. “OK, sure.”

Perky, Sara jumped. She clapped her hands quickly in a beat, then stomped her foot. “Thank you!” Clap-clap. “Thank you” Clap-clap. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Clap-clap. She ended with throwing her hands in the air.

Golf clap style, Greg and Jefferson applauded.

After a bow, Sara left.

Dr. Jefferson adjusted his seating stature. “Well, that was interesting.”

“She was annoying.”

“Very.”

“Her enthusiasm caused a headache.”

“How about those horrible cheers.”

“How about that voice?” Greg whistled “Did that go through you or what?”

“Like nails on a chalkboard.”

Greg nodded in agreement, paused briefly then smiled. ‘She’s in.”

***

Jake’s fingers were too big to dial the cell phone effectively 100% of the time, let alone use the keypad as a typewriter and send messages. But he tried, fumbling through the numbers, forming a word or two. His frustration grew when every time he made any progress a beep would come through, signaling yet another message.

The messages started to get repetitive. Stating the same thing, “Are you there?” and “Sarge answer me.”

“God damn it, Rickie, I’m trying,” Jake bitched to the phone. He drew more annoyance when Adams called over the intercom.

“Sir, the meeting. They’re calling for you.”

“Yeah, one second.”

Beep.

“Fuck. Fuck it.” Finally, Jake dialed.

“Sarge, hey guy, why are you calling?”

“Rickie, why do you keep sending me messages over my phone.”

“I told you.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Guy, I did,” Rickie said. “I have a secret.”

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone. I got info, guy, big info, I think,”

“What is it?” Jake asked.

“I can’t tell you over the phone.”

Jake grunted. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why can’t you tell me over the phone?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Did you tell Cal?”

“Nope. I wanted to come to you with it.”

Jake nodded as if Rickie could see him. “What is it?”

“Dude, you’re frustrating me. I can’t tell you over the phone. Someone may hear.”

“Then send it over the text message thing.”

“Ok, but it’s a lot of information and it may take maybe twenty messages.”

“You know what? Never mind don’t. Can it wait until you return?”

“Nope. It’s about …” Rickie dropped his voice to a whisper. “The toot.”

“I see.”

“Oh!” Rickie shouted. “I got it.”

“What?”

“I’ll email you. I’ll use the Cal-Babe’s computer.”

“Good idea. You do that. I have to get to a meeting. How is Cal? I haven’t heard from her yet today.”

“Miserable. They still have her eating right.”

“Tell her to call me later, OK?”

“I can do that, Sarge.”

“Gotta go. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Don’t forget to check your email.”

“I won’t. Thanks Rickie.” Jake disconnected the call.

“Sir,” Adams summoned him over the intercom. “The meeting.”

“All right all right.” Jake stood, clicked his phone to the off position, paced it in this pocket and headed out.

***

How many ways to spell out her distaste for Caldwell occupied Cal’s time on the beach. She drew in the sand, collected pebbles and shells. She had been out there for over an hour, before the autumn sun grew too hot. It beat down on her arms and she could feel her skin obtaining effects. She wasn’t permitted to be in the sun for an extended period of time, it would play into her stress factor results. Cal had news for them, everything was playing into it.

She wanted food.

But something else caused her to stay outside. When she woke, she drew her drapes, and on the horizon of the ocean, she spotted them. Four boats.

She didn’t know what it was that caught her attention about them. They were too far in the distant to make out any details, they were stationary.

When she had returned from eating they had made their way toward the island, but still not too close.

Were they reporters? The government? Caldwell? She didn’t know.

They almost appeared abandoned to her and finally after her morning exercise, she asked Stan if he had a pair of binoculars.

He inquired why and she stated she wanted to bird watch. He found her a pair, not very good, and Cal went to the beach. When she got there, the boats were gone.

She didn’t feel much like returning the binoculars, so she stayed on the beach in case they returned. Somewhere in her spelling ‘Caldwell Sucks Big Time’ with tiny pebbles, she lost track of time.

When she looked up, she saw them again. This time, a tad bit closer. She lifted the binoculars.

Large black fishing boats they appeared, and each boat had one man aboard. One obvious man standing. The boats were much too big to have only one person manning. Where were the mates, the hands, the fisherman? Why were their fishing boats so close to the island? Her insides screamed something was up.

She grabbed her phone with one hand, while holding her binoculars with the other. She only removed her eyes briefly from the boats to speed dial Jake.

There weren’t any rings and his voice mail picked up right away.

“This is Lt. Colonel Graison, leave a brief detailed message and number at the tone. Thank you.”

It felt good to hear Jake’s voice. “Hey, Jake, it’s me. You’re probably in a meeting or something, that’s why the phone is off. I was just being weird, that’s all. I’m just seeing these boats lingering in the horizon. Nothing. Sorry. Call me. Love you.”

Cal hung up.

What caused her to scan the water, she didn’t know. But as she did she saw them. About twenty yards from the shore, a long black line. They looked like dolphins, but they were moving, steady and toward shore.

Cal cursed the binoculars. Why were they better? “Come on.” She said. She kept her focus on the line. Her eyes grew blurry and tired. She didn’t even want to blink.

Closer.

Closer.

“What are you? What … shit.”

Men.

Quickly she drew an estimate. There were at least twenty. Twenty scuba men swinging in an arrow toward shore.

“What the fuck?”

It didn’t sit right with her, and quickly, with a swoop of her hand; she cleared her wording, grabbed her blanket, and stood. Then in a low walk—blanket dragging behind her to ease the footprints, Cal edged back into the small wooded area. She stayed back some, lifted the binoculars again and watched.

Again she dialed Jake.

The brief message seemed to take forever. The men made their way to shore.

“Jake,” she spoke into the voice mail. “Listen at least twenty men just stormed the beach. Shit … they’re taking guns out of bags. Jake … what the hell is going on? Shit. Rickie.”

She disconnected the call, scooted back as much as she could out of sight.

Like an invasion, uniform in movement, the men, toting guns rushed forward on the beach.

Cal dialed. “Come on, Rickie.”

“Cal-Babe.” Rickie answered pleasantly.

“Rickie, where are you?”

“Chilling in the hotel slash hospital.”

“Where at in the hotel?”

“Cal-Babe is something wrong?”

“Rickie where?” Cal asked strongly.

“By the pool waiting for you.”

“Rickie, get out of there. Get out. Just leave.”

“What’s going on?”

Cal spoke rushed. “Get out of the hotel now. Now.”

“Ok, I’ll …”

Click.

“Rickie? Rickie?” Cal looked at the LCB display. What happened?

Rickie found himself staring at the barrel of a rifle. He looked up to see a man wearing a black scuba suit. The man held his phone.

“Dude.”

After a chuckle, the man tossed Rickie’s phone in the pool.

“Uh! Dude, all my numbers are saved in there.”

He didn’t speak; he turned to Rickie and poked him with the gun.

“What?” Rickie asked.

He nudged him.

“You want me to move?”

“Hands in air.”

Rickie raised his hands.

“Move.”

Without much choice, Rickie was escorted into the hotel.

***

Colonel Roberts was at the head of the table in a board meeting style room. He tapped his pencil as he listened to a major explain a new ground tactic. He nodded, listened and nodded.