Ex-Purgatory: A Novel Part 25

It took just under half an hour for him to work the crates through the door and stack them in front of Taylor's desk. Dr. Morris watched from just inside the door and gave instructions as he loaded and tilted the cases. He could tell she was trying not to snap at him when one of them b.u.mped the door frame.

When he was done he let the door swing closed. Her shoulders relaxed a little when the latch clicked. "Better, ma'am?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm sorry for acting strange."

"Quite all right."

"I have agoraphobia," she said. "It's usually pretty mild, I just felt ... I don't know, really exposed out there. And I'm sorry if I messed up anything you had planned."

"Beg your pardon, ma'am?"

She waved a hand at the cases stacked in the center of the office. "I p.i.s.sed off a lot of people insisting on this trip, didn't I?"

"I couldn't say."

She smirked. "Couldn't or won't?"

"I couldn't say."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. I'm sorry if I messed anything up. I know the Army loves schedules."

Freedom almost laughed. Almost. "If you don't mind my asking, ma'am," he said, "why were you so insistent on coming out here?"

The smirk faded and Dr. Morris stared down at the crate. "I was pretty sure ... I thought you'd need Cerberus here."

"I'm sorry, ma'am?"

She squared her shoulders and stared at him. "I remember what LA is like. I knew you'd need me here. Me and Cerberus."

"Los Angeles isn't as bad as some folks think," he said. "It's not a paradise, but it's nowhere near as bad as it was back in the seventies and eighties. Or so I'm told." Freedom furrowed his brow and tried to remember all the information they'd sent him about Morris. "You've been out here to Los Angeles before?"

"August of 2009," she said. "I flew in with the suit for ..." Her voice trailed off. "My mind just went blank, sorry."

"Not a problem."

"I came here in 2009, on a military transport," she said. It wasn't so much directed at him as thinking aloud. "My team was on another plane, I was with Cerberus, and we were out here for ..." Her face twisted in frustration.

They stood there for a moment in silence.

"If you're settled for the moment, ma'am," he interrupted, "I need to wash up before opening the office." He gestured at his running clothes.

She gave him an absent nod.

Freedom stepped into the back, stripped off his T-shirt, and left it hanging in his locker. He spent ten minutes washing up in the small bathroom behind the office. One advantage of his shaved head was easy cleaning. When his run had been scrubbed off, he toweled off his face and chest and swiped some deodorant under his arms.

He set his towel aside, tugged a fresh tee over his head, and pulled on his coat. He checked his nametag and patches in the mirror and bit back the usual pang of regret at the sight of the single bar on his chest. A glance at the clock told him he had another twenty minutes before the office needed to open. Plenty of time to get Dr. Morris squared away and maybe still get caught up on- Someone rapped on the front door.

He paused. It was early for someone looking to enlist, and all of the staff members had keys. Sometimes the homeless banged on the windows. Every now and then a car would kick up some gravel. But the noise had sounded much more deliberate.

"Ummm ... Lieutenant," called Dr. Morris. Another set of quick raps echoed on the gla.s.s of the front door.

He brushed himself down and stepped out into the office.

Across the room, the front door framed two figures. One was the man who had appeared at the office earlier in the week. The one who'd brought up Freedom's demotion. The other figure was a beautiful dark-skinned woman in a black trench coat who looked familiar. It crossed his mind she might be an actress, although he couldn't think of what he might've seen her in. Or why the crazy man would be with her.

"I think they want to get in," said Dr. Morris.

"They're not part of your team, are they, ma'am?"

She shook her head. "Nope. I think ... they look kind of familiar, though."

As Freedom crossed the room, other people appeared out on the sidewalk. At least a dozen figures were closing in on the couple at the front door. More homeless folks in ragged clothes. Their pleading hands were held out and their mouths moved in a constant stream of words that came through the gla.s.s as pops and clicks.

For a brief moment, he considered ignoring the couple. The homeless people could be annoying, but he'd never heard of them hurting anyone. Not in this part of town, anyway. Then the thought of Donner Pa.s.s danced across his mind. And the hungry hands.

He sighed and unlocked the twin dead bolts on the door.

The couple slipped through the door as soon as they could fit. The woman pushed it closed again and snapped the locks shut, one with each hand. Up close, Freedom was even more certain he'd seen her in a commercial or magazine.

But there was something else about her, too. Her stance. The way she held herself. Something about the woman made him think of career soldiers, although he couldn't remember ever serving with a woman even remotely as gorgeous as this one.

"Thanks," said the crazy man.

"Of course," said Freedom. He glanced at the figures out on the sidewalk. "Is there something I can help you with?"

The woman glanced at his insignia. "Lieutenant John Carter Freedom?" She glanced back at the man. "He is not a captain?"

"No."

Freedom bit back a growl.

The man looked at Dr. Morris across the room. A smile broke out on his face. She stared back at him. "Wait a minute," she said. "Is your name George?"

"Yeah," said the man. "Do you remember me?"

That was right, Freedom remembered. He'd said his name was George.

"I think so," Dr. Morris said, "but I'm not sure from where. Are you with DARPA? Or a college?"

"Not quite."

The other woman, the supermodel type, studied the cases. "This is the Cerberus suit?"

"Yeah," said Dr. Morris. "How'd you know?"

Freedom wondered as well. The Cerberus Battle Armor System wasn't a secret. The recruiting office had been showing footage of it for a few months now, and there were YouTube clips of it online. It wasn't getting major news coverage, though, and yet here were two people who happened by his office on the day it arrived. Both of whom seemed very familiar with the battlesuit and its creator.

Maybe too familiar.

He straightened up. "Ma'am," he said, "sir, what can I do for you this morning?"

"We're here for you," said George. "Both of you."

Dr. Morris raised an eyebrow. "Sorry?"

George glanced at the supermodel, who gave a slight nod. "This is going to sound a little strange," he said, "but you've both been having a lot of dreams, haven't you? Things that should be nightmares, but aren't?"

"Yeah," said Dr. Morris. Her arms pulled back up and crossed over her chest. "How did you know?"

George gestured at the crates. "Do you dream about being in the battlesuit? About fighting monsters?"

Her eyes went wide. "Yes," she said. "They're always all around me. They're like a swarm. A horde."

Freedom stiffened at the word. He wasn't sure why at first. Then he remembered the Donner Pa.s.s.

The supermodel noticed his reaction. She was sharp. "You are having similar dreams," she said. It was more of a statement than a question.

"No," he told her, even as an image of gray-skinned settlers flashed in his mind. It occurred to him he still didn't know who the woman was. "No, I am not."

"It's okay," said George. "Someone did something to our minds. It's not your fault you can't remember."

"My fault?" said Freedom. He felt his hands clench into fists and forced them straight. "What are you implying, sir?"

"Someone did what to our minds?" asked Dr. Morris.

"We are wasting time," said the supermodel. "Convince them the direct way, as Madelyn convinced you."

"She didn't really convince me, remember?"

"George," she said, "we do not have time."

He sighed and looked at the crates. He pointed at one the size of a desk and glanced at Dr. Morris. "That's the back section, right? Armor plates, spinal computer, all that stuff? It's, what, three hundred and fifty pounds, not counting the case?"

"Yeah," she said. "How'd you know?"

"I've helped you get in or out of the armor a couple hundred times. That's the only case big enough for it."

Her face twisted up. "Who are you people?" she asked.

George grabbed the st.u.r.dy handle. The road case leaped into the air and he caught it with his free hand. Dr. Morris gasped. Freedom tensed. George balanced it for a moment, then pushed it up to the roof with one hand.

They stared for a moment, and then Freedom set his jaw. "Sir, that's government property," he said. "Set it down."

"Gently!" snapped Dr. Morris. "Do you have any idea what that costs?"

George let the case drop back down so he could balance it in both hands. "You're always so worried about it," he said, "even though it's built like a tank."

Freedom took a step and placed himself between George and the rest of the boxes. "I think you and your friend need to leave, sir."

George looked at him for a moment. "Catch," he said as he tossed the case at Freedom.

Dr. Morris snarled. Freedom lunged forward. He grabbed the large case in his arms like a man catching a baby. He held on to it for a moment, not wanting to shift his balance until he was sure he had it.

"It would seem," said the dark woman, "George is not the only strong one."

Freedom set the case down. It thudded against the thin carpet. He stared at it for a moment.

Dr. Morris looked at the case, then her eyes darted between the two men. "How did you do that?" she asked George.

"How did I pick it up? With my arms."

"No, seriously. How did you lift it?"

The thin man took a slow breath. "Well," he said to Freedom, "I can tell you how you did it."

"Adrenaline," said Freedom. "I've seen men do amazing things in combat." It was true. He'd seen soldiers kick down doors with no effort and hurl opponents across rooms. One man had bent the door of a burning Hummer when he pulled it open to rescue a squadmate. The human body was an amazing machine, powerful and durable all on its own without any help from ...

Where had he heard that phrase? He'd heard it from an Army physician. A doctor.

"You were part of a special project," said George. "They were trying to create super-soldiers. Well, not just trying. They made super-soldiers."

Freedom felt his eyes start to roll and managed to keep his gaze locked on the smaller man. Dr. Morris made no such attempt. "Seriously?" she muttered. "That's the best you've got?"

"You were stationed at the Yuma Proving Ground," said the supermodel, "on a subbase designated Project Krypton. The man in charge of the program was Dr. Emil Sorensen, considered one of the world's experts in neurology and biochemistry, among other fields."

Krypton. Sorensen. The names sparked a headache right behind Freedom's eyes, like nails going through his temples. He turned his head away to focus and found himself staring at the portrait of the President. John Smith stared down at Freedom and smiled. It looked like a fake smile.

"This is nonsense," he said.

"It's not," said George. "It's real."

The pain in his head got worse. It was like someone tapping on his skull. The old Chinese water torture, obsolete now that more ruthless ways had been found to torture people with water.

"I'd like you to leave, sir," he said. "And you, too, ma'am."

"Sorry, Captain," said George. "Not without you."

He turned around. "I'm not a captain anymore."

"You are," George said, "someone just told you to forget."

He looked over at Dr. Morris. She was wiping her hand across her nose. There was blood on her lip and on her fingers. "You want to hear something funny?" she asked the room. "I kind of dated the President for a while. Back before he got married."

"We know," said the dark woman.

"I hadn't thought about that in ... in ages, I guess."

Freedom took a step toward George. "Get out now," he said. The clicking pen was playing h.e.l.l with his headache. He set a hand down that covered the smaller man's shoulder. "Please don't make me use force."