Virtually Hers (3 page)

Yet she hadn’t.

To see that kind of control mirrored in another person had left Jed secretly amused. Fate and its twisted sense of humor. For years he’d been called a control freak and he’d shrugged it off. So that was what others felt when they were around him.

It wasn’t an issue to him. He liked being the one in control. He’d been trained to manipulate, and through the years, he’d made it into a game of sorts. Mental manipulation. How many different ways were there and how far could one influence another’s thoughts and actions without direct communication? He’d done it for so long that it was second nature now, and he had to stop himself sometimes from unnecessarily affecting a situation that was none of his business. He thought of the one between his friend Alex and his love interest, T., and how he had had a hand in putting them in close quarters. His lips curved wryly. Okay, so sometimes it was too much fun not to, even for a man with a busy schedule such as his.

Currently, his hands were full with a certain female operative who could remote view. The CIA remote-viewing program, Star Gate, which trained operatives to spy with their minds, had always intrigued him. He’d undergone similar mind-control training at Command Center but it was more at the level that most spies were familiar with—brainwashing, Intel-gathering, hypno-suggestions. Remote viewing was, arguably, an intangible addition to hi-tech spying, since it depended on an individual reporting, without any back-up of wire-tapping or informed sources, on something happening at some location that might or might not even be correct. And to make it even less likely for any government agency to actually be one hundred percent behind this “information”, said remote viewer was, after a session, usually unavailable mentally and incapable physically to get to, or gain access of, what he saw.

There was only one known case that Jed was aware of, of the military sending in a small group of special ops personnel in a rescue mission out in the desert. The exception was made because the hostage was a four-star general, one of their own. However, they’d ultimately failed because the remote viewer had only “seen” a desert landscape with a few distinctive landmarks at which their Military Intel specialist had made an educated guess. The resulting red faces of losing men and wasting money on a mission that had depended on a remote viewer’s information had all but killed the CIA ambition to integrate their secret program with Military Intel.

Jed recalled all the discussions going back and forth between departments. He’d stood by, listening, gathering the necessary information for COMCEN, and he’d privately concluded that until a remote viewer’s downtime could be eliminated
and
until they could find a remote viewer whose background as an information analyst—spy—was first rate even
before
he started getting training in remote viewing, the program was dead in the water. No agency would acknowledge having anything to do with it, much less touch it with a ten-foot pole.

But he’d kept up with the research at the labs. After all, whatever they came up with, they were bound to try it out on his group of men and him sooner or later. It wasn’t that long ago when the COS commandos were themselves part of an experiment.

There were plenty of theories: What if drugs were used to control the downtime, giving the remote viewer the necessary boost physically and mentally? What if each department—military and Intel—trained a candidate so he could accomplish certain missions himself, and thus eliminate guesswork? And, the ultimate question—what if they created a drug or pain-inhibitor similar to the one that had been tested on some troops, allowing them to function longer without sleep? It would put the responsibility of completing a mission solely on the remote viewer himself. Jed remembered thinking that that was a hell of a responsibility for one man and he, as his unit’s leader, would never solely depend on, and blindly follow, one operative’s remote viewing talents, no matter how good he was.

However, that was before TIVRRV. The lab had unfolded the possibility of him being a
participant
in the remote-viewing session. That had intrigued the hell out of him.

The new program that had trained Elena Rostova was called—tongue-in-cheek but appropriate, nonetheless—Super Soldier Spy. She was the best of a group of hand-picked candidates from different government agencies competing for the job and had just undergone the final important test to convince the other agencies that she was capable.

Not that the program would ever be fully sanctioned. Remote viewing, explained to those who weren’t into psychic or unexplained phenomena, sounded like woo-woo crap, the kind of stuff that was associated with weirdoes, quack doctors and new age beliefs. Definitely
nothing
with which the Defense Department or the Army of the United States of America wanted to associate!

But remote viewing and other psy-programs had been in existence since the thirties and forties, involving top-secret scientists and para-psychologists, and administered—secretly, of course—on soldiers and civilians alike. Such things, however, were now called conspiracies.

Jed smiled. Now that was a word with which he was familiar. What was covert life without a few of them?

In twenty years, he’d seen and been involved in enough strange experiments that he hadn’t questioned the validity of trusting a “remote-viewing spy” to be in his unit.

Super Soldier Spy—it was one of those controversial programs that all the agencies wanted because of the government money involved—everyone wanted to be the department that won such a highly-funded program—but only a few, he was sure, were going to actually see the project through. A few years, maybe, then let the whole crazy thing die a slow painful death, like all the other secret para-experiments, but still somehow manage to keep the government funding it. His smile turned cynical. He knew that kind of manipulation very well.

But COS Command Center’s candidate had won. Jed smiled again, remembering the looks on the faces of some of the most powerful men in charge of the country’s defense. And what if the least likely candidate to beat out the rest was a woman?

Helen Roston hadn’t been expected to make it. After all, she was female, and there were extreme physical tests she had to train in and pass. She did that. So did most of the other candidates, who were hand-picked among the elite in their respective agencies/departments. But it was obvious that Helen outshone all the others when it came to the CIA remote-viewing training phase. There wasn’t a doubt among all the test reviewers and trainers that the woman had a particular gift that was trainable. She had zoomed past her competition and was remote viewing at a higher level before anyone else.

He remembered the buzz at COMCEN the day it was announced that their operative had taken the grand prize. Very little surprised him, but he had to admit he’d been surprised the funding committee had actually picked her. Even though he knew, from reports and personal observation, that Helen Roston should get the nomination, he also knew the bias against a woman was strong. COMCEN had taken a big risk in offering a female candidate, but then his agency had always been straight-shooters. Only the best. No exceptions. And Helen Roston was their best shot.

Jed cynically suspected that most of the agency heads voting in had probably wanted COMCEN to fail. Whatever their motives might be, now the program was his agency’s, to do as they wished as long as they produced results. He had known immediately that the scientists at COMCEN wanted to try out the brain entrainment theories.

TIVRRV, pronounced “terror”, stood for “Total Immersion Virtual Reality Remote Viewing”. It was their pet project and now they had the perfect candidate and, most important of all, the funding. As for the female operative—she became Jed McNeil’s to command.

Of course, the big brass wasn’t so easily convinced. Not by a long shot.

Jed could imagine the shouting behind closed doors.

“A female?”

“Remote what?”

“Spying something with the mind? Then…going after it herself? Gentlemen, you must be out of your fucking minds!”

The idea was met with incredulity and disdain from all quarters. So they had agreed to come together for one final test on Helen Roston. If she could remote view and successfully perform the mission afterwards, then the agencies would leave Command Center alone for now.

Jed and his commandos had discussed it among themselves first. Theirs was a highly secretive outfit, and with people, no matter how highly placed, watching, there was a likelihood of making things a tad too public. Also, they had their own agenda with the remote-viewing program and COS Command Center certainly didn’t want that part of it making it through the covert grapevine.

He thought of how important Helen had suddenly become.

For the last few years, COMCEN had been working on brain pattern simulation and bio-stimulants experiments, testing different drugs on their own operatives. With the addition of the CAVE, a cutting edge virtual environment, mind and body could be put in different simulated situations.

Helen Roston was the perfect addition. And she added another dimension—remote viewing. With the right handler-trainer, could they “share” what she saw in virtual reality?

That assignment, naturally, was offered to him first. His job would be to verify what she “saw” with the brain entrainment program that would sync their brainwaves during her remote-viewing sessions. In essence, if the experiment worked, he himself would be “there” with her, “seeing” what she saw, and thus, the success rate of accomplishing a difficult mission would definitely be a lot higher than a regular remote viewer’s Intel.

Thinking back now, Jed understood why he’d been reluctant at first. He had had enough experience with mind-control experiments to understand the intimacy involved between subjects. Helen Roston wasn’t going to be a regular “partner”. Because he wasn’t a remote viewer himself, he’d have to be the one “in charge” of certain parts of her mind.

From the very first time he’d observed her, he’d known there was no fucking way in hell she would’ve gone for that. Reasons not to accept the assignment came easily. He didn’t want that kind of responsibility for a potential member of his team. Number Eight had wanted to try the serum and this experiment would be up his alley.

Those were the reasons he admitted to out loud. He didn’t tell anyone that he was also very attracted to the candidate. She was the kind of woman that had always gotten his attention—sassy, bold, and full of secrets. She was also a GEM operative, so she was dangerous in many ways. And therein lay the temptation. It was hard for him to say no to the challenge of probing a dangerous woman’s mind.

He knew he’d need to prep her mind for his access and to do that, he’d have to gain her trust through trickery. One couldn’t be direct about it because if she’d known, Helen would have mentally fought against it.

Elena.
He mouthed her name, as he sleepily recalled the challenge to slowly implant a sexual trigger in her mind. Because she was a GEM operative, trained in NOPAIN, she knew how to counter mind- control techniques. He had been careful, working slowly to get what he wanted.

First, he’d kept her off-balance by training her in the CAVE Ultimate, a ten-by-ten room that allowed multiple participants to experience immersive virtual reality, with one participant controlling the environment. He had chosen to be invisible during his training sessions with her, knowing that it would both frustrate and intrigue her.

Second, when they had advanced the training to the Portal, the VR machine controlled by the mind, he had asked Dr. Kirkland to tell her she’d been given total control in the creation of her avatar, so she could give her trainer a “face” and a “body” during their virtual interaction sessions. He’d known the idea that she could choose a face would appeal to her. He also knew she would create an avatar that would be appealing to her senses.

Third, once he had her mind and senses involved intimately with him, it was time to move into her comfort zone. And with a trained operative, he had to move in quickly and ruthlessly, before the first hint of suspicion came to her.

Seduction of mind and body. He’d done it before without getting too emotionally involved. Just stay focused and get the job done. He wasn’t chosen to be Number Nine of the COS commandos to expound on the complexities and consequences. Number Nine accomplished all operations simply and effectively.

Elena was a grown woman, a highly trained operative, who knew going into this experiment that drugs and virtual reality could affect her mind and body. So why did he feel that he needed to hurry back and make sure she was okay?

Sleep now. Elena later.

Chapter Two

One day, he would take a nice long nap, the kind that involved a hammock, a pitcher of ice tea, maybe the sound of waves rushing back and forth, with no agenda waiting for him when he opened his eyes, and if he was lucky, it would be a nap with no thought of disturbances or ambushes. Jed savored the image for a moment, imagining the warm breeze swaying his hammock. He hadn’t taken a nap in twenty years, probably, and it wasn’t going to be any time soon that he’d be able to enjoy a hammock by the beach.

The swaying of the elevator that led straight up to the third floor of COMCEN stopped. The first three levels of the complex were also underground and access limited. The fourth floor would be the ground floor for people entering from the front. Most of the time, his unit avoided entering and leaving the complex from there; they liked the idea that no one was ever sure they were on a mission or not.

The moment the elevator doors slid open, he was ready for the usual burst of activity that crowded his preference for silence. de Clerq was the first to meet him.

“Good job, Nine.”

Jed barely nodded, striding out. Having to end a life was hardly a good job. The volume around him toned down a notch when the others became aware of his presence. His gaze swept across the room. “Does the wife know of it yet?”

“Not yet, but she isn’t stupid. The moment she gave that bit of information to Heath, she knew she’d signed his death warrant.”

Heath—Number Eight during operations—could be persuasive like that. He’d seen his deputy’s methods of extracting information. “Let me know when you hear a decision about her.”

“Of course. When will you be available for a group meeting?”

“After debriefing.” They walked past the operatives monitoring activity on a series of screens around a larger one with a 3-D world map. Jed paused, half-listening to the background buzz of German, Russian and French being spoken. He eyed the hot spot in Eastern Europe where hostage negotiations were taking place. He’d need to get hold of Flyboy for an update about that situation.

First, though, he needed to check on Elena. That would mean getting Dr. Kirkland to call her up and if she was still not feeling herself… He briefly reworked his schedule. “Strike that. Change it till tomorrow, if possible. Is T. here today?”

“Right. I’ll buzz you when I check with everyone’s calendar. T. isn’t at HQ right now. Should I let her know you need to talk to her?”

“No.” If she was undercover again, let her finish her task. He would discuss Helen’s condition with her later. He stopped himself from asking de Clerq whether he’d gotten any news about Helen, pausing in mid-thought, momentarily tripped by the urgency to check up on her. Why was he so worried? He knew if he voiced his concern to de Clerq, he would be met with surprise; his ability to detach himself was legendary. Instead, he said, “I’ll be at Dr. Kirkland’s office.”

“Sir, Admiral Madison left a message for you,” a female operative told him as they strode past, handing him a file.

“Get him on the secured line for me ASAP.” Jed opened the file to glance quickly through the memos as he continued walking. He tucked it under one arm and turned to de Clerq. “Madison’s going to want an update about SEED and Cummings. You know if I hadn’t gotten to the target, he’d send his SEALs after him.”

“Yes, I know, and they’d have blown the Russian boat to pieces and we’d have an incident.”

Jed smiled slightly. He’d seen the Admiral’s STAR SEALs in action. “Those boys do like their fire power. Sometimes they’re an asset.”

“Like our ops in Southeast Asia and Macedonia.”

Jed keyed in the security code to the higher security section on that floor. The doors swished open. Away from the main activity, it was quieter here.

“Yes,” he agreed, “Hawk is proving that he can do solo missions when necessary.”

“Oh, no doubt, even though just to play devil’s advocate, I doubted they could do anything but destroy stuff, the way they eliminated a fucking bridge,” de Clerq said with a wry smile and a shake of his head. “A fucking wooden bridge, at that.”

“There is that,” Jed conceded with a glimmer of amusement, recalling the dollar amount on the weaponry expenditure sheet for that particular joint venture. “But they completed their mission, which was to stop a certain truck.”

“Does the Admiral know what SEED can do?”

Jed shrugged. “The man’s smarter than the others. I’m sure he has a fair idea that SEED isn’t just a password decoder. He’ll be asking some interesting questions.” He changed the subject. “What’s its status?”

“We’re working on expurgating the datagram.”

“Good.”

“I’ll give you a buzz when I’ve looked at everyone’s schedule.” de Clerq checked his watch and gave a nod before heading off.

Jed’s thoughts immediately returned to Helen as he continued his way to Dr. Kirkland’s offices. As with all the departments at COMCEN, there were different levels to Medic. Underground levels dealt with experimental science and medicine. Only the highest personnel could access Level 3 and higher. Most of TIVRRV was done here. His sleeping quarters, when Helen was under sleeping observation, were here. This was where it had all began, the experiment of synchronizing brainwaves for deep immersive virtual reality.

He punched in the security code and leaned forward for the pupil scan. Who would have thought that “deep immersion” would mean that when they slept hooked to the same brain entrainment machine, they’d somehow invade each other’s dreams? He wasn’t sure what that meant, wasn’t even sure whether he liked the idea, except that for now, it aided him to get physically and mentally closer to Helen Roston. That part, he liked. Very much.

Dr. Kirkland’s office door was open. He looked up expectantly when Jed walked in.

“Were you expecting me?” Jed asked.

“No, I’m waiting for Helen.”

Good. Then he didn’t need to make a trip to see her. He took a seat by the desk. “I thought she’s been cleared for a few days off. She should be at her place resting.”

“She called an hour ago and told me that she needed to see me. She told me that her condition was back.” Kirkland looked at him quizzically. “She also asked me to tell Jed McNeil that she needed to see him ASAP.”

Jed waited a beat. The implication of that message was pretty clear. “Those were her words?”

“Exact words. I didn’t give you away. I told her that I’d pass that message on if I saw you, adding that it was highly unlikely since I knew you were out on a mission and would be inundated with meetings when you got back. But yet, here you are.” Kirkland’s brows lifted enquiringly. “Did you get hurt? Have you revealed yourself to her? It sounded as if she knew who her trainer was.”

Did she? Jed considered for a few moments. “She’s guessing. Probably testing you too.” Or maybe she’d finally seen his face in her dreams. She’d told him that she couldn’t quite make out the face of the man whenever she had one of those shared dreams. “What else?”

“She said she was having problems sleeping, that her…ah…sensitivity was bothering her. Also, she had a massive migraine just before that. Being that Armando also had headaches when he was testing the serum, I told her to come in so I could give her another check-up, and that’s when she said that she needed to see you ASAP.” Dr. Kirkland smiled. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Her “sensitivity” was a polite way to put it. Jed had seen how she’d responded to his touch during her extremely “sensitive” state. She hadn’t been willing to have anyone look at her injured leg because of it. Until he forced the issue, that was. He’d had to take care of her leg. And her. He doubted whether she’d forgiven him for that last part yet.

“I’m not injured, Doc.” Jed debated for a moment whether to tell the doctor that he and Helen had been intimate. He probably knew already. “Did she elaborate more about her sensitivity?”

Kirkland nodded. “Extreme sensitivity to touch to the point of unbearable. That’s why she hadn’t wanted a physical when she first came back in from the mission. Since she wasn’t limping any more, and knowing that you’d used the bio-compound on her leg the night before, I didn’t give her a thorough check-up.” His gaze grew more speculative. “Not that I want all the details, Jed, but if you keep giving her private visits, she’s bound to discover your identity.”

“You can’t give deep tissue massage through virtual reality, Doc.” A small wry smile formed. He liked the idea of private visitations very much. “The mind can be tricked but her injury would still be there.”

“Yes, I know, and since she’s as obstinate as you are, and wouldn’t let anyone touch her, you took the risk and went to her yourself.”

“She wasn’t being obstinate,” Jed said, and then conceded, “just a little, but it was mostly that she couldn’t figure out why she felt the way she did. She wasn’t comfortable explaining her condition.”

“Even to her doctor?”

Jed shrugged. “I took care of it.”

Kirkland paused briefly, studying Jed. “And now she knows you’re her monitor.”

“She isn’t sure.” He liked the idea of pushing her further. Sexual imprinting was all about manipulation, after all. “Continue to avoid giving her a direct answer. We’ll see what she wants once she’s here.”

Want and need were two different animals. Jed knew what Helen needed. The fact that she asked about him meant she was getting closer to finding out who her monitor was, but that didn’t tell him how she was going to get relief without direct confrontation. She was going to be in one hell of a mood.

His lips quirked at using her nickname as a pun. There was no halfway when it came to Helen Roston. Everyone fondly called her “Hell-on-wheels”, “Hell-ery”, or joked that she was a hell of a woman. Now she was hell-bent on getting his identity.

“If she insists on seeing you? You know how she can be.”

“You can give her my communication number.”

He’d been a little worried about her but if she was well enough to ignore a direct order to rest and instead rush here to talk Kirkland into telling her about her monitor, she couldn’t be in too much need of a lengthy downtime. He couldn’t decide whether to reward her or punish her for disobeying orders. He’d wait, see what she’d do first.

A strong woman like Helen would have her guard up once she found out his identity. He’d better take every advantage given him. Keeping her off-balance was one way. In her sensitive state, she was at his mercy. Surely, as a trained operative aware of having been imprinted, she’d be aware of that fact. In her condition, it’d be easy to keep her in a state of arousal for a while. It’d be interesting to see how long she would last.

***

Helen went through the lobby and pressed the elevator button. Dr. Kirkland was waiting for her. She wasn’t in the mood to talk about anything, not really, but he was the only person from whom she might be able to get some answers. She mentally went through all the points she was going to bring up.
Focus. I need to keep focusing on the points.

Everything was riding on her body being able to handle the serum. She’d read about the possible aftereffects, had been prepared for disorientation, pain even, but not this…this…whatever
this
was. Armando Chang had tried to warn her.

She entered the elevator. Reaching out, she realized both her hands were clenched. She sighed, unclenched them, and entered her code. She’d been trying so hard to block out her sensitivity that she hadn’t noticed how tightly wound up she was. A few days’ rest? What rest?

“There has to be a way out of this problem,” she muttered. There had to be.

Oh, but there was, but there had to be
another
way, one that had nothing to do with
him.
Instantly, the memory of his dark shadow looming over her bed taunted her. She gritted her teeth with frustration as sensations she shouldn’t be feeling while standing alone in the middle of an elevator started to bloom, making her weak in the knees.

No, she hadn’t prepared herself for this at all.

She charged out of the elevator, hurrying down the corridor toward the Medic wing, trying to focus on her destination rather than her condition. If she didn’t have a tight grip on herself, she’d be standing here lost in sensation. That wouldn’t be good.

Hearing voices, she collected herself and slowed before turning the corner. She came to a dead stop. Talk about the devil. Jed McNeil was standing in the hallway with two men in camouflaged fatigues, his attention on a piece of paper.

Helen stared at him. It was ridiculous how her heart rate zoomed up at the sight of him. He was dressed in black, exactly how she’d seen him in those few moments when she’d remote viewed the ship. Side by side with the other two uniformed men, he looked fighting fit, lean and dangerous, the tight black shirt molding his athletic body like a second skin.

As she headed closer toward the group, the man to Jed’s right paused in the middle of a sentence and nodded at her before resuming. Jed didn’t look up, continuing to read the piece of paper in his hand, as if he hadn’t noticed the hesitation.

She realized then that he wasn’t going to look up to acknowledge her at all. Determinedly, she walked up to them, murmuring “excuse me”, as she brushed past. No reaction from Jed.

Should she greet him? Why not? “Agent McNeil.”

His lashes were long and dark. A lock of hair curled over his forehead and she suddenly felt the urge to comb it with her fingers. What would it feel like?

It dawned on her that this was the first time she’d stood still long enough to really look at him. The first time she’d met the infamous Number Nine, she’d literally landed at his feet, having just fought off an attack. The next time didn’t count either; she hadn’t been herself.

Not that she was herself now. But if he really was her monitor…

He lifted his gaze from that piece of paper. His full attention felt like a jolt of electricity. She stared into those strange light eyes of his, trying to see whether he’d somehow betray that he was her monitor. But his gaze was cool, impersonal, curt, even.

“Agent Roston,” he said. And started to walk away, followed by the two operatives.