115
Jorge Esteban Espe?osa’s arrival at his compound brought about a change as radical as Jennifer’s sudden departure from the Bellagio. Suddenly, she was moved from her tiny cell to a huge bedroom on the upper level of the hacienda, and although the door was still locked and guarded, the bedroom and the attached bathroom were even more elegantly furnished than her Bellagio suite.
A maid brought her an entire wardrobe of beautiful dresses, some of which hinted at a long-lost Spanish court, others soft and elegant peasant dresses. The maid spread an assortment of matching shoes and accoutrements alongside them on the bed, then looked Jennifer up and down with eyes that showed no hint of sympathy. It appeared that the Goth look would no longer be an option.
In heavily accented but clearly distinguishable English, the dark, matronly woman spoke.
“Se?orita, my name is Gloria. I am here to make you presentable for your dinner with Don Espe?osa. Please, follow me.”
Unable to get her bearings quickly enough to form a question, Jennifer followed the maid into the bathroom where steam wafted gently upward from the huge, freestanding bathtub.
“Undress, throw your dirty things in the waste bin, and then bathe yourself, thoroughly. Call me when you are done and I will assist you with your clothes and hair.” A frown spread across Gloria’s face as she studied Jennifer’s short black hair. “I will be in the next room.”
For several seconds after Gloria’s departure, Jennifer stared after her. Then a glance at the tub set her into motion. There was no telling how long she would be given, but if this was her last night of comfort in her short life, Jennifer was determined to indulge in the bath for as long as possible. It was remarkable how little emotion remained within her as she tossed her filthy clothes into the trash bin. She felt as if she had been wrung out and hung over a line to dry in the wind.
That changed the moment her small right foot slid into the water. A wave of ecstasy sent a shudder through her body as her naked torso slipped slowly into water hot enough to pink her skin. Jennifer continued to slide down into the tub until her entire head sank beneath the surface, the ripples distorting her view of the beamed ceiling twelve feet overhead.
She didn’t know what the sick old drug lord might have in mind for her, but at least for the moment, she could block out those thoughts and the discomfort and fear that had gripped her so tightly these last few days. In her present world there was only room enough for her and this wonderful tub of liquid bliss.
Perhaps a half hour passed before a knock on the door and Gloria’s voice brought her back to reality.
“Se?orita? Are you ready, or do you need me to help with that too?”
“Just a minute.”
The implied threat that the maid would come help her finish her bath brought forth an annoyance that bubbled into her voice. Something about her sudden anger felt really good. How long had it been since she had shown the least bit of spirit? Christ. One second she had been at the Bellagio, so full of herself and her mental superiority, and in the next she had turned into a sniveling, helpless child.
If she was going to survive, she had to get her shit together and use some of the gifts she had been granted. Most of all she had to use her head.
Jennifer stepped out of the tub and toweled herself dry. Without bothering to wrap herself in the towel, she took a deep breath and stepped out into the bedroom.
“Well, it took you long enough!”
The maid’s eyes swept her body before locking with Jennifer’s. As they did, Jennifer centered, letting her mind attune to what she saw behind those dark orbs.
Despite the number of times she had experienced the sensation, the experience of feeling another person’s mind gave her a rush. It wasn’t that she could hear the other person’s thoughts. It was more like a jazzed-up version of what some twins reportedly experienced, a sharing of feelings, an exchange of desires, longings, fears. Only this exchange was entirely under Jennifer’s control.
Like everyone Jennifer had tried this on, the feelings in Gloria’s head were a complicated mixture at the conscious and subconscious level. The woman was certainly nobody that Jennifer would ever want to establish a friendship with, a burned-out shell filled with frustrations, fears, and petty jealousies that crowded out any of the finer emotions that might have once been there.
Fine. If she couldn’t accentuate the positive, there was always the other side of the coin. Jennifer focused, selecting the maid’s fear of authority, twisting and amplifying it as she held the woman’s gaze.
The change in Gloria’s expression was instantaneous.
“Perdón, se?orita.”
The woman lowered her head, almost as if she expected to be struck across the face, but having just glimpsed the woman’s soul, Jennifer felt no sympathy.
Turning toward the vanity, Jennifer glanced back over her shoulder. “Help me with my hair. Then we will try on some clothes.”
Exactly fifty-eight minutes later, the maid knocked on the door to Don Espe?osa’s private terrace.
“Yes?”
Opening the door, the maid curtsied, a sight that almost brought a smile to Jennifer’s lips as she waited just behind and to the left of the massive, hand-carved teak door.
“Well, bring her in.”
Jennifer stepped forward, pausing when she was just across the threshold, her breath catching in her throat. The terrace opened out onto a spectacular view over the city of Medellín. It and the surrounding mountains formed the most beautiful sight Jennifer had ever seen, its grandeur dwarfing the Spanish opulence of this private dining area and the elegantly dressed man who had just arisen from his chair.
When, after several seconds, her eyes focused on her host, she was surprised to see a warm smile on his face. Don Espe?osa’s eyes swept her body, lingering on the delicate, flowing lines of the white peasant dress and the colorful silk sash tied about her waist. Jennifer’s short, coal-black hair had been softened ever so slightly with an orchid just above her right ear. The man’s gaze left a tingle of self-awareness that made her notice the tropical evening breeze across her bare arms and shoulders, the feel of the sandal straps between her small toes.
Don Espe?osa stepped forward, taking her hand and raising it gently to his lips, the surreality of the moment making her head spin.
“Welcome to my humble home, Se?orita Smythe.”
116
“Welcome to my humble home, Se?orita Smythe.”
The petite young girl standing before him opened her mouth as if to say something, but the shock of hearing her real name robbed her of her voice.
Don Espe?osa smiled, lowering her hand from his lips. He had been looking forward to this meeting more than anything he had done in a long, long time. It was quite funny, really. In almost any other scenario, he would have personally supervised the videotaped torture and killing of someone who dared to touch his personal bank accounts, then posted the video on the Internet as a warning. But his standard response didn’t fit this situation.
Somehow, this teenage girl had hacked a network of banks and casino security systems in a way that all his high-paid computer experts hadn’t begun to figure out. Combine that surprising fact with the discovery that she was a runaway whose father worked on Dr. Donald Stephenson’s top-secret Rho Project in Los Alamos and you had Jorge’s full attention. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t rape and kill her, but he would take his time deciding.
The drug lord bowed his head ever so slightly. “I must apologize for the conditions in which you have been kept. Had I not been away when my people brought you in, I would have ensured that you received proper treatment. Unfortunately, some of those I employ can be a bit overzealous in their efforts to protect my interests.”
Leading her to the small table, Don Espe?osa pulled out her chair. “But let us defer such talk until after dinner.”
The speed with which the girl regained her composure amazed him. A soft smile spread across her lips as she slid into the chair he held for her.
“Thank you, Don Espe?osa.”
The don moved to his own seat, a snap of his fingers bringing two members of his wait staff to the table.
“May I offer you something to drink? Some wine, perhaps?”
The young lady laughed, her easy, comfortable manner surprising him once again.
“I’d rather have a Diet Coke if you have one. Otherwise water’s fine.”
“I think we can manage that.”
Jorge spoke a few words in Spanish and one of the servants scurried away as the other poured a small amount of red wine into the don’s glass. Jorge swirled the red liquid several times, smelling the aroma before taking a sip. Seeing his nod of approval, the servant filled his glass, set the bottle on the table, and began serving the appetizers.
As the first servant returned with the Diet Coke, Don Espe?osa leaned forward so that his elbows rested on the table.
“So, Jennifer…it is okay if I call you Jennifer?”
“My friends call me Jen.”
There it was again, that unnatural maturity and self-confidence.
“Very well then, Jen. What do you think of my city?”
Jennifer paused, her gaze taking in the city nestled in the valley below his hacienda. The purple sunset crawled across the sky above the western mountains, its rich palette forming a backdrop to the lights that were just beginning to wink on across the valley.
“Glorious.” The tone of her voice confirmed the sincerity of Jennifer’s comment.
Throughout the appetizers and the leisurely meal, Don Espe?osa continued to study the girl. To observe the way she enjoyed their casual dinner conversation, one would never suspect that she had been held prisoner in a filthy cell for more than two weeks, probably wondering just how she was going to die. Jorge had been around many self-confident people that would have crumbled under similar circumstances.
But there was something else about this girl from Los Alamos, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, something that raised the small hairs along the back of his neck whenever he really focused his attention upon her. Madre de Dios. What was there about this child that could do that to him?
As the servants cleared the dessert plates, leaving them alone to sip their after-dinner coffee, Don Espe?osa hardened his voice.
“Now that you’ve had a chance to enjoy your dinner, perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me why I shouldn’t kill you here and now.”
For the first time all evening, Jennifer Smythe allowed her eyes to lock with his. Never in all his life had Jorge seen anything like them. The way they reflected the candlelight made him dizzy, as if he were standing on the edge of a great precipice, looking down into depths no living soul had ever seen.
And as Don Espe?osa stared into those eyes, he answered his own question.
117
From the place where Raul floated in the stasis field, high up on the far northeastern wall of his wounded home, he stared down at the one who had just entered the room. No matter how much he hated the man, he had to admit, Dr. Stephenson had balls. Not the standard brass ones either. Knowing the kind of mastery Raul had achieved over the alien systems, the man must have juevos of tempered steel.
Raul let his mind roam the neural net, manipulating the lighting until it formed a virtual starfield, a simulation of the starship hurtling through space as it exited a wormhole. The effect made it appear that Raul was a god, hurtling through the heavens as he levitated high above the strange platform of alien equipment.
“Having fun?” Stephenson’s voice was as flat and unimpressed as if he was watching a child playing hopscotch on a chalk-marked sidewalk.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” Raul responded, amplifying his voice so that it boomed through the room, the reverb level shaking some of the instruments hard enough to produce a rattle.
“Then I suggest you get serious and come over here where we can discuss something of importance.”
The anger that bubbled up inside Raul could not be contained. He knew he needed Stephenson, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt the man, just a little. Just to let him know who he was talking to. Just to teach him to show a little respect.
As if it were a part of his own body, Raul grabbed control of the stasis field, amplifying the lines of force so that they solidified into an invisible net, dropping it from above so that it draped Dr. Stephenson’s body. Then he began to squeeze.
The corners of Dr. Stephenson’s mouth twitched in what Raul at first thought was a grimace, but which spread ever wider until he recognized the expression for what it truly was: a grin. With no more effort than it took him to step from the shower, the deputy director stepped forward, passing through the force field as if it weren’t there.
What the hell? Raul lashed out, smashing an empty metal case beside Dr. Stephenson and then throwing his full will into a wall he erected directly in front of the man. Once again, Stephenson stepped through the stasis field, his eyes locked on Raul as he moved along the narrow walkways between the machines that filled most of the floor space.
Raul scanned the neural network, running a full set of diagnostics on the equipment that powered the stasis field generator, on the generator itself, and on the computing systems that he used to control it. All were operating normally. Then how in God’s name was Stephenson moving through something that would have contained a full-blown fusion reaction?
The physicist stopped almost directly below Raul and then began slowly rising up through the air until they stared directly into each other’s eyes. Raul’s disbelief at what he was seeing almost made him miss the cause. But there it was in the data stream that swam through his neural net.
It wasn’t that Stephenson was unaffected by the stasis field. Somehow, he was overriding Raul’s control. That particular shipboard system was responding to both of them, and where their wills were in conflict, Dr. Stephenson was winning. It was responding to a higher master.
“Are you ready to hear what I have to say?”
Dr. Stephenson’s grin departed, leaving his face as cold as the machinery behind and below him. As Raul’s anger and frustration gave way to amazement, he felt himself nodding in affirmation.
“Good. As much as I appreciate what you’ve been able to accomplish so far, I have a new project for you.” Dr. Stephenson paused, his eyes studying Raul like a rat in his lab. “I think you’ll get a thrill from what I want you to do.”
Raul recovered his equilibrium enough to speak. “Like what?”
“Let’s just say that if you can do this, you’ll be able to reach out and touch someone.”
A sudden light dawned in Raul’s mind. “God in Heaven!”
Stephenson repeated his earlier question. “You ready to listen?”
Raul was.