They parked at the outskirts of Kira’s trailer park and made their way silently to her class A motor home. It was nearing three in the morning, and the other residents of the park were sound asleep and didn’t stir at their arrival. Kira had taken care to select a park at which there was ample spacing between RVs.
Kira’s RV was forty feet long and eight wide. The drapes were already closed and she kept the lighting low. Despite the limited space, Kira had decorated the dwelling tastefully with several well-placed knickknacks and plants that gave it a homey and unmistakably feminine feel. The RV was packed with cherry cabinetry and had a self-contained bathroom, kitchen, dining area, living room, and bedroom. Desh had never been inside an RV of any kind and marveled at how much could be fit inside, and how cleverly. The kitchen had an oven, a three-burner stove, and a microwave, along with a large stainless steel refrigerator-freezer. There were two tan leather couches along either wall, facing each other, with about four feet of space between them. A high-end computer rested underneath the small kitchen table with a full-sized keyboard and three monitors on its surface. Desh couldn’t imagine wanting or needing more than a single monitor, but after the last few days he was beginning to think this was a minority opinion.
Kira gestured for Connelly to take one of the two couches and for Griffin and Metzger to take the other. The driver and passenger seats were cushioned, soft-leather captain’s chairs, capable of being swiveled around one hundred and eighty degrees to become additional living room furniture; a configuration Kira used whenever the vehicle was parked. She sat in one and motioned for Desh to take the other. The only hint that the group was gathered inside a mammoth vehicle rather than a tiny house was the presence of a large steering wheel protruding into the living room.
“We need to brief you and we need to do it quickly,” began Desh as soon as he was seated. “There’s a lot to tell, so let’s get right to it.”
For over an hour, Desh and Kira reviewed everything they knew: intelligence enhancement, Kira's longevity therapy, her self-imposed memory blockade, the murder of her brother, the Ebola frame, and finally, their recent interaction with the ruthless man they had called Moriarty. They did their best to impart the information succinctly, but understood the importance of being thorough. The team had to know the entire truth; no matter how much valuable time was consumed in the process. Desh observed the major carefully throughout the briefing, finding him to be intelligent, inquisitive, and a positive addition to the team.
It was Desh's passionate description of the awesome power of an enhanced intellect that persuaded the three men to believe the rest, as utterly fantastic as it all was. If the level of intelligence that could be attained was truly as phenomenal as Desh described, they readily agreed that age retardation could be achieved after a number of sessions in this altered state, and that a hyper-infective virus targeting egg cells could be perfected as well.
Thirty minutes into their briefing, Kira had brewed up a pot of coffee and provided a cup to each member of the team, who were unanimous in expressing their gratitude for the caffeine.
Finally, at just after four in the morning, the briefing was complete.
Metzger leaned forward on the couch, so he could see around the now clean-shaven giant seated beside him, and glanced worriedly at the bandage-covered bald spot on the side of Kira’s skull. “I hate to bring this up,” he said, “but the explosive is set to go off in only six hours.”
Kira nodded, but remained silent.
“Is something like this really possible?” asked Griffin, directing his question to Connelly who was across from him in the compact living room.
The colonel sighed. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “C-4 is the explosive everyone knows about, but the military has developed plastic explosives even more potent than this. Shape the charge correctly and it wouldn’t take much. Easy to booby-trap a device so it can’t be removed.”
“Jesus,” said Griffin in revulsion. “I am so sorry, Kira,” he added gently. “This Sam is truly a monster.”
Kira attempted a half-hearted smile. “I appreciate the concern, Matt, but I’ll be okay. Remember, he didn’t implant the device to kill me. He did so as an insurance policy: to make sure I don’t kill him. If he dies, I die. In the meanwhile, he’ll continue to reset it. He needs me alive to get his hands on the fountain of youth. He’ll expect me to try to stop him for a few days, get nowhere, and then let myself be recaptured: giving him my secret rather than letting him carry out his plan.”
Griffin nodded, but the frown didn’t leave his face.