“From past surveillance, we know they usually have three people working surveillance in that control room but our Intel is four months old. Things could change, but Guzman’s still chief of security. T. has already fed him those pills. Be careful,” De Clerq said. “The probability of your being seen entering is fifty-fifty, according to the computer. Over.”
Every operation scenario was always run through the COMCEN computer program, jokingly called the Magic Eight Ball by the operatives. Barring a few miscalculations, it was accurate in zooming in on success rates of different missions. The miscalculations were usually human factors for which computer programs didn’t have value, such as an operative not following procedure, as he tended to do. He didn’t have a problem with the program itself; it was remarkably useful, but he didn’t believe in predictability either.
It had amused him, though, to know that after comparing its pre-operation calculations and the post-operation debriefings, the computer was smart enough to create a new value—“predictable and unpredictable human dimension” values, the Eight Ball called it, in its mathematical summations—for factoring probabilities. Whether it understood or not, the damn program had somehow gotten a sense of humor and sarcasm.
“Maybe I could borrow Harry Potter’s invisible cloak,” he suggested. “Give that to Eight Ball to chew on. I’m sure it’ll up the success probability exponentially, over.”
From the other end, De Clerq gave a bark of amusement. “There’s enough illusion shit the commandos and Helen are doing to confuse Eight Ball without bringing in your magic show, over.”
True. He wondered how the COMCEN programmers explained to their program the remote viewing part for its calculations. What name would Eight Ball give this new value? One thing about working at CCC, there was always something new happening there.
And Elena Rostova was something new in his life. He hoped to buy extra time for her to locate the SEED. They could only use the distraction for so long before the Deutsche operatives figured out something else was happening.
When the mission was over, she would be back at COMCEN. How long would her downtime last when it hit her? He wanted her back in VR as soon as possible. When one’s mind was at its limit that was the best time to push further. He wanted to cement that bond as deep as possible before she found a way to remove it.
Anticipation was like foreplay. There would come a time when it wouldn’t be in virtual reality when he put his hand between Elena’s legs. And there would be no more clothing. He wanted her naked under him, without the restriction of medical devices and drugs, without the thought of getting her to think of him while she remote viewed.
Revelation. And surprise number two. He wanted her to be just herself, the way she’d been at the swimming pool, before she’d realized she was being watched. That sheer delight when she jumped into the water. That unbridled sensuality as she kicked those naked limbs around. He wanted that for himself. He’d push inside her as she wrapped her long legs around him and he would ride her long and hard. He knew the dangerous point would come when he would get the chance to see whether the sexual bond could be triggered outside virtual reality.
They might want to use Elena in their incessant experiments on the mind, but he wanted her body and soul. For him. Not for them. She was Hell to them, but she would always be Elena to him.
No, the surprise was not about wanting her. He’d wanted her from the beginning. But now he wanted more than that, and sooner than he’d planned. It was testing his control. How long before he broke the other rule, of not sexually taking her in virtual reality? It was damn tempting, especially when he had all the controls on his side. And the knowledge that he’d succeeded in planting the trigger in her head.
He nodded his head in slight acknowledgment at the challenge ahead of him. It wasn’t time. Even after this operation was finished, there were still further sessions in RV. He curbed another need to laugh. At this rate, when he had her naked under him, he’d probably not last very long. Maybe he’d need to whip out the prime numbers game again after all.
“Minus ten minutes, over,” T. interrupted his reverie.
“On it, over.” He clicked on the different channels so every operative would hear him. “I’ll give the signal after I’m done with the schematic transfer in their security room, over.”
He took in a deep breath and released it. Time to shut off all thought and focus on the mission. Compartmentalizing came easy, like a switch. He mentally ran through what he had to accomplish.
Set up the laptop. Wait for distraction. When the time came, find Guzman vomiting in the bathroom. He’d seen T.’s pills at work before; nasty stuff. Make Guzman call in through his radio to let him into their surveillance room. Target Guzman and get his fingerprint and security card. Decode.
They would believe him when he brought the message from the head of security. Insert disk to show them photos of faces to look for. Insert virus flashdrive. Upload initiated via his computer. De Clerq and Eight Ball would know immediately and take over. They would let him know when they found out the Cummings’ location.
He could not worry about how Elena was doing at her end. She had her task to do and he had his.
Besides, he’d put a locator on her. He activated his mic. “Keep me updated on Helen once she disappears from my view.”
Thirteen
From the briefing, Helen knew there was a big gathering of lobbyists at the institute, brought together by the prospect of a key U.N. relief fund that had just been made available. She had to smile at that because T.—Tess Montgomery—was so very good at making things like that happen. As expected, Alexander Barinsky’s appearance caused a small ruckus among those who knew who he was.
Helen almost laughed out loud at how polite the security was in front of the media and their cameras. One of the men approached them, his face a mask as he courteously asked Alex to leave after the usual questions about appointments and availability.
“Herr Guzman, I know you understand what it is I do and that I would not come here without an important reason,” Alex had said, in a Russian accent. “Please pass this message now. Tell Dr. Weber that Alexander Barinsky is here to have half his money returned on the sale of the SEED key because it appears that Mr. and Mrs. Cummings sold half the key to me and half to Dr. Weber’s foundation. Nonetheless, your key is useless without half of the codes.” He paused, cocking his head slightly before adding softly, “If I leave now, you’ll find that I will be less likely to negotiate another time. Tell him I also know the Cummings are here, and that I did not come alone. Surely, Dr. Weber doesn’t want any violence happening today, not with so many important people around?”
The message did the job. They were escorted to wait in Dr. Weber’s office. As they followed, Helen was listening to De Clerq executing point through her earpiece, reporting on which part of the operation was “green,” meaning “on target.” Somewhere, other commandos were doing their thing. T. would have her hands full by now handling the U.N. VIPs. The security detail should be concentrating on the big event right now.
“Video link’s up. What’s their security up to?” she heard De Clerq ask.
“A few have been sent to walk the target point perimeter. I assume they’re taking Alex’s threat seriously.”
“Good. Keep an eye on them. Comm’s green, by the way. We’ve tapped into their radio feed, too. We’re monitoring all communication.”
“What’s the status on the SEED?” a voice asked.
“Status is green, over,” De Clerq replied.
