Reid walked into the beach house. Silence. Relief flooded in. He went to the upstairs living room. West owned the place along with everything else, but no one had a permanent claim on it. They used it as needed. Two weeks of waiting to get off Dalir’s shit list and into the next mission was grating on his nerves. Time at the piano and hanging out on the beach would help.
He launched into one of his grandfather’s favorite pieces, by Rachmaninoff. Quiet chords moved back and forth, creating a melody similar to a lullaby. He could phase anywhere in the world. Do anything he wanted. Why was he still there? Back in the day, he and the team had gotten off on changing the scenery. Coffee in Paris. Surfing on the Gold Coast. Skiing in Argentina. Gambling in Monte Carlo. Finding a random hookup in Ibiza. All before sunset. When had it changed? That day in Switzerland or in New York…or was it London? He’d sat in the lobby of the hotel watching people at the checkout desk. They were returning to their normal, familiar lives while he faced starting from scratch.
Sure, West maintaining the essentials made the transition easier. Still, when they got back, having to constantly explain the same basic crap over and over again to people killed. This time around, he’d forgotten the barber no longer knew how he liked his hair faded. The friendly barista at the corner spot hadn’t automatically added the extra shot of expresso as she’d done before he’d left. His neighbor was back to hounding him about buying a garage full of shit he’d told them more times than he could count he wasn’t interested in. He couldn’t lose his cool over the inconvenience. The guy didn’t remember the conversations.
He transitioned into the next movement, lush, romantic. Lauren’s image floated in. The guys razzed him about not dating. He didn’t even hang onto a woman guaranteed to let him back in, no questions asked, for recreational sex. His fingers flew over the keys, building the concerto into a passionate melody. Thane rarely double-dipped with the same woman either, and if he did, it was for a quick visit. Nothing serious. Thane couldn’t believe he was in love, but that explained why he was so off at the start of the mission. They’d talked about Celine. Thane was going to drop her and move on. If Thane had a different take on it, why hadn’t he told him? Yeah, he would have tried to change his mind, but after all they’d gone through… Fuck. Now who wasn’t letting shit go? He sounded like a jilted girlfriend.
The front door opened. Heavy footfalls coming up the stairs ended with West stalking into the room. “We need to talk.”
“About?” Reid kept playing, reluctant to break from the music high.
West leaned against the back of the couch and crossed his arms. “When Colby phased into the future to recon intel for the last mission, he cultivated info from Speaks, one of my informants. He believes every conspiracy that pops up, but he’s a damn good hacker, now and in the future. What he gave Colby didn’t have anything to do with Xenia or Red Path Anarchy, so I shelved it.”
Reid ended the song. “But now you’ve taken a look.”
“I have.” As West exhaled, his frown deepened. “Back when we were in Regimental Recon, do you remember when all that chatter popped up about the Pentagon’s interest in technology that would increase our physical capabilities? Then later on all those rumors about command putting together a unit for a classified experiment?”
“You mean the cyborg unit?” A cross branch project of SEALs, Rangers, and other special ops areas. The assignment had sounded tempting at the time. Extra pay, a chance to spend a few months playing with newer and deadlier toys.
West slipped papers out his back pocket and handed them to Reid. “It went through a year ago. A company called Greenhill Technologies has the contract. The top sheet, that’s what they’ve created. Body armor with a mechanical skeleton integrated into the fabric. An onboard computer adjusts the skeletal frame to enhance strength and endurance. It even monitors metabolic function. The headgear has a threat identification system to increase situational awareness. That’s only a part of what it can do.”
Reid flipped to the second page of eight names. “What’s this?”
“Some of the operatives selected for a special assignment called Project Samson. Do you recognize any of them?”
“Hurley, Moore, they’re Rangers.” Reid scanned through the rest of the names. “Hayes, Fordham, Fuentes, aren’t they Navy SEALs? Where are they? Did something happen?”
“Not yet.” West’s expression clued Reid in on the bad news before he finished. “They’re going to die in the future in Yuma, Arizona.”
“Damn.” Reid breathed out. Sadness shifted to resignation. Every guy on the list had known the risks of being an operative. They’d willingly taken an oath to do what they believed in. “How?”
“Plane crash during a demonstration. That’s the official word. Speaks claims they were already dead and the crash was used to cover it up.”