If Kristen Skyy was stung by that remark, she didn’t seem to care. “International broadcast journalism isn’t like sitting in a lab all day and having your professional life judged by lines of computer code, sister—it’s about taking chances, running hard, and not being afraid to take a few shots in the gut to get the story,” she said. “I get the big fish because I’m thorough and fair, not because I sleep around or hand out bigger bribes than the next guy.”
“Being rich, famous, and beautiful doesn’t hurt.”
“Dr. Vega, in places like Brazil and most of the real world, the men in charge are richer and more powerful than the presidents of most countries in the world—including the United States—and they suck rich, famous, and beautiful women dry and discard them every week. I would be just another trophy on their walls if I was just a news whore.”
She turned to Jason and went on: “The only way we’re going to get information from the PME commandants in the provinces is to give them something they don’t already have. They’re already as wealthy as they want to be in their own regions: they are the federal, state, and local government; they can have any woman or any politician they want just for the asking. You can scare them, but they’ll turn on you faster than you can take a breath as soon as you’re out of sight. About the only thing of yours they may want is your robot.”
“Then let’s not get information from the commandants,” Jason said. “Ari’s right, Kristen: you’re rich, famous, and beautiful. That might not impress the commandants, but speaking as a lowly field-grade officer, it impresses the hell out of me. I’ll bet there’s a lot of young bucks down there who would love to talk to Kristen Skyy of SATCOM One News and give her anything her heart desires.”
“Maybe.” She gave Jason another mind-blowing smile and nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Once you find them, we’ll need transportation,” Jason said. “We’ll need a plane big enough to carry a Humvee.”
“We’re a satellite news organization, Jason, not the Air Mobility Command,” Kristen said. “Why can’t the army fly us down?”
“If your information is timely, accurate, and actionable, and if I can convince my bosses that we should act, then maybe they can,” Jason said. “But I’m assuming no one will believe us or that no one will support us even if they do believe us. SATCOM One must have jets that fly all over the world all the time that carry thousands of pounds of equipment…”
“Sure—for the VIPs going on vacation or for coverage of the World Cup, not for me,” Kristen said. “But I do have fairly ready access to a medium jet that can make it around Central and South America with very few customs hassles—assuming the airspace in the United States isn’t shut down and I can fly it out of the country. It can carry a crew of two, six passengers—that means you two and four for me—and all the cargo and supplies we can carry. One full day of flying to get to Brazil, maybe two depending on weather. That’s the best I can do until I have something juicy to show my boss.”
“That’ll do nicely,” Jason said. “We won’t be able to take our Humvee, but it’ll give us practice in using CID with minimum ground support on a rapid-reaction mission.”
“And my photographers and I will have total access to all your activities, right?”
“As soon as we load up our equipment in your plane, yes,” Jason said. “But we get a look at your information first. If it’s good, we’re on.”
“How are you going to get your stuff off the base?”
“Heck, that won’t be hard—they’re ready to kick us off already,” Ari said wryly. “All Jason needs to do is something asinine—like talk to the news media about what we’re doing, right, J?”
Jason turned away from Kristen and fully toward his friend and colleague. “Listen, Ari, I need you with me on this,” he said. “If you’re not, I’ll stop this and we’ll go back to helping DeLaine and Jefferson do whatever it is they want to do.”
“Riddle me this, J—why are you doing this?” Ariadna asked. “You told me that the powers-that-be were impressed with CID—I think they’ll put us online eventually. Why do you feel the need to step out like this?”
“Because I don’t trust anyone I’m working with,” Jason replied. “I don’t know why, but I just don’t feel like anyone’s being straight with us. Do you?”
“I don’t know, J,” Ari said. “I’m just an engineer—same as you. I’m not a soldier or a spy. I write computer code to instruct computers to design futuristic weapons. I do it for the U.S. Army because I love my country and I think my designs can help, and because they pay me a lot of money to work hard for them. I don’t get paid to worry about who’s pulling the strings or whose agenda is being played. What is it with you, J? It’s not just distrust. You seem unhappy, or dissatisfied, or paranoid, or something. What is it you’re looking for, Jason?”
The army major sat back, his eyes adopting a faraway look for several long moments. He looked back up at Ariadna and shook his head. “I’ve been working on CID for three years, Ari—it’s almost the only thing I’ve done in the army,” he said. “I was so damned proud, of our gear as well as myself, when we were able to save those people at Kingman City. I felt like we could take on the world. Almost immediately we get the call, and it’s like my dreams suddenly came true: they wanted us to fight.
“But then I look at the players involved, and I know they don’t want the same things I want,” he went on. “I don’t know what it is exactly, but it’s as if they don’t want to fight the terrorists, like they have their own secret agenda…”
“And you don’t, J?” Ari asked.
“Me? Hell no. I told you what I want: to use my technology to get the terrorists…”
“And when the powers-that-be don’t put CID at the tip of the spear, all you want to do is squawk and pout and break off and link up with a reporter and do your own thing,” Ari said flatly. “Who’s not being the team player now?”
“I…” Jason stopped, looking at Ariadna’s accusing expression, then away. He stayed silent for several moments; then shook his head. “Sure, maybe I’m pissed. I know CID works, and I proved it can do some good. I want it to do some good.
“But the army or the powers-that-be could’ve taken CID away from us and used it however they wanted,” Jason went on. “They didn’t: they put us in charge. That makes it personal. I want to win, Ari. No matter who else is involved or what they really want out of this thing, I want to win. CID can do it. I don’t think they want us to succeed. I’m going to do everything I possibly can to win.”
Ari looked at Richter with a serious, concerned expression, and her smile didn’t return. She put a hand on his shoulder and nodded. “Okay, J. I don’t know if what you’re doing is legal or right or even smart, but I think your heart at least is in the right place—even if your brain maybe isn’t. But one thing’s for sure: we’re a team. We have been ever since you showed me your drawings for CID three years ago. If you want to do this, then I’m with you.”
Jason smiled, nodded, then leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Ari.”
“Sounds like a discussion that needed to happen,” Kristen said. She wrote some information down on a business card and handed it to Jason. “That’s a secure e-mail address, although how secure it is from the government I’m not sure.”
“We’ll check it. If it’s secure, we’ll send information on how you can contact us.”
“Good.” She got to her feet. “I’ll be in touch, guys.” Jason slid out of the booth as Kristen walked away; he looked back at Ari, who rolled her eyes and waved him on with mock impatience, like a school chum urging a buddy to slip a valentine to the prettiest girl in school who just walked by. He hurried to catch up to her.
It was clear and slightly cool outside, with the fresh smell of a late-afternoon thunderstorm and welcome rain on the desert still lingering. He looked for her but couldn’t see a thing in the gloom of the dark street outside the terminal and restaurant.
“She seems to care quite a bit about you.” Jason turned and found Kristen standing in the shadows beside the terminal building, stubbing out a half-smoked cigarette.
“We’re friends,” Jason said, walking to her. “We’ve worked side by side for many years.” He stepped close to her. “Isn’t there anyone you’ve worked so closely with that you tell them everything, even if it’s not work- related?”
“You mean, other reporters? Hell no,” she said.
“No. I mean friends. Someone you’ve known for a while, shared something of yourself, opened up to a bit.”
He could hear Kristen’s leather jacket rustle as she shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t remember. So many cities, so
