Cutting Edge

28

They worked through that afternoon, searching their respective databases. Lund took a law enforcement slant, but the hotel’s open internet connection was useless for accessing the secure networks she typically relied upon. That being the case, she began making phone calls to friends. DeBolt dove into the black pool of his mind, the depth and breadth of which was still undefined. He continued to make adjustments, organizing his thoughts for concise requests. For all its utility, META gave nothing on itself, which seemed a paradox of sorts. It was like a Google search on the word “Google” coming up empty.

Lund hung up after a lengthy phone conversation.

“So who was that?” he asked.

“A Coast Guard friend at the Pentagon.”

“The Coast Guard is under Homeland Security — since when do we keep an office in the Pentagon?”

“It hasn’t happened since World War II, but in times of war the DOD can assume control of the Coast Guard. So yes, we have a presence in the Pentagon.”

“Okay — so what did your friend say?”

“I had her look into the META Project. She actually found a listing for it under DARPA, the DOD’s research arm.”

“I’ve heard of DARPA.”

“Yeah, so have I. They work on cutting edge stuff. But my friend hit a roadblock after that. There were no details at all on the project, it’s totally black. Did you have any luck?”

“On META? No. In fact, I think I’ve only done one search that got me less information.”

“What was that?”

“Me — I input my name and discovered I wasn’t authorized access to myself.”

DeBolt was sitting on one of the beds, and she stared at him from across the room. “How weird is that — you can get intel on anybody in the world except yourself?”

“Apparently.”

Lund got up and stretched. “So how long do we stay bunkered up here?”

“Until we have something to go on, something that gives us direction. At least one night, I guess. After that we should probably move.”

“Move? How?”

“I bought a Buick.”

“A Buick.” Lund stared at him. She seemed about to ask for an explanation, but instead only sighed. “I need some fresh air. I think I’ll go outside.”

“Need a cigarette?”

“How did you know that? Checking my credit card purchases, or maybe what my doctor wrote in my medical records?”

“There’s a pack of Marlboros on the table — it fell out of your purse.”

She looked and saw them. “Oh, right. Well, the thing is, they ding you two hundred dollars if you smoke in your room.”

“Only if they catch you. But I get it. I’m feeling a little caged up too. Want some company?”

“Sure.”

Five minutes later they were walking a winding path across the commons in front of the hotel. The wind was coming from the east, steady and brisk, and the heavy scent of the sea mocked their urban surroundings. It reminded Lund of Kodiak, only on a far larger scale. She lit up a cigarette, then held out the pack to DeBolt. To her surprise, he took one.

“You smoke?”

“Can’t stand it. But I light up once a year to remind myself why. Usually in a bar somewhere after a few beers.”

She handed over her lighter, and DeBolt lit up with the deftness of a middle-schooler in a bathroom stall.

Lund said, “This system you have to get information — do you realize how many laws it must break? Not to mention the ethical and privacy issues.”

“If I’ve learned anything in the last few days it’s that there is no privacy — not in today’s world.”

They walked in silence for a time, until he pulled to a stop under an elm whose leaves had gone yellow. “Tell me something. Did you talk to any of the guys in my unit … I mean, after the helo accident?”

“About you?”

He took an awkward pull on the cigarette. “Actually, I was thinking more about Tony, Tom, Mikey — the rest of my crew. The guys who didn’t make it.”

“No, not really. But then, I don’t mix a lot with operational types. Why do you ask?”

“I guess I just wonder what everyone was saying. We were tight, and that’s a lot for a small unit to handle.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was hard. But don’t forget, as far as anybody in Kodiak knows, there were four fatalities.”

He said nothing.

“There was a memorial service at the chapel. Pretty much everybody on the station came. Even me, and I stopped having conversations with God a long time ago.”

“Me too. But times like that … they make you wish you were better, don’t they?”

“You mean more religious?”

He didn’t give an answer, but instead looked at her squarely, and said, “Why are you here, Shannon?”

“Because you convinced me over a cup of coffee this morning that you’re in trouble. And given the nature of it — that took some serious convincing.”

“That’s not what I mean. Why did you come in the first place? I’m an enlisted guy who’s technically AWOL. You should probably have me in custody right now. What made you drop everything, buy a ticket to fly across the country, and try to rescue somebody you’d only met once?”

She tried to think of a good answer. “That day, when we talked at the Golden Anchor … I don’t know. I guess I liked you.” She took a deep draw on her cigarette, then said, “No, it was more than that — I believed in you, Trey. I’d heard a lot about rescue swimmers, but you were the first one I got to know. I liked the way you talked about your job, as if it was no big deal. You put your life at risk for others. That’s a noble thing. Honestly, on the day that helo went down … I prayed it wasn’t you.”

“See? There it is again. Praying, but only when you need it.”

“Actually…,” she hesitated mightily, “there was something else. I did a little more than pray.”

He turned to face her, and she saw the unspoken question.

Lund pulled to a stop, but found herself looking at the ground as she explained. “You see … they put out the word at the station that you’d survived the crash, but were in desperate need of a blood transfusion. You weren’t going to make it without one, and they didn’t have any stock of—”

“O-negative,” he said, finally seeing it. “A pretty rare blood type.”

“So I’ve been told.”

DeBolt stood looking at her.

“They took me into your room to do it. You were unconscious, really beat up. You looked so different from the first time I saw you, and…” Lund’s words trailed off there.

He turned away and seemed to study an airplane taking off in the distance. After the roar of its engines died down, he said, “Thanks, Shannon.”

Lund grinned, then contemplated her Marlboro. It was only half gone, but all the same she dropped it on the sidewalk and twisted her toe over the remainder. “You’re welcome.”

Found early the next morning by a man walking his schnauzer, the body was stuck in a stand of aquatic weeds behind a small private school along a minor tributary of Vienna’s Wien River. The police were quick to arrive and cordon off the scene, and quicker yet to realize that the two bullet holes in the victim’s forehead were an assured marker of foul play.

The medical examiner was equally prompt, and he went about his responsibilities with the utmost of care. He recorded the scene meticulously, took DNA samples, and ascertained that aside from the two bullets, all remaining damage to the victim, which was considerable, was likely attributable to the body colliding with rocks in the river since the time of death — between nine o’clock and midnight yesterday evening. Everyone’s work was procedurally sound, and undertaken with the highest degree of professionalism. In truth, quietly more so than in most investigations, this due to the fact that the victim’s identity had been ascertained in the opening minutes. The responding officer had found a passport and wallet in the victim’s pockets. Four photo IDs, three government issued, left no room for doubt.

By ten that morning, the body of General Karl Benefield, United States Army, had been placed securely in the provincial morgue. The United States embassy was discreetly notified.