“Well?” he asked.
“We got him, sir,” replied the analyst. “He was calling from a cell phone in downtown L.A. The signal stopped abruptly, so I’m guessing he destroyed the SIM card, but you were on the line long enough to complete the trace.”
“Thank you,” said Jones, sounding distracted. “Oh, and Steve…?”
The analyst had turned to leave, but stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Yes, sir?”
“Delete the trace request from the system. Give me the exact location, hand written — don’t log it in a report. This is classified, and a matter of national security. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” said Steve, nodding; his eyes unable to hide the trace of excitement.
“That’ll be all, thanks.”
As the junior analyst closed the door behind him, Jones stood and paced around his office, which was located on the top floor of the CIA’s headquarters. He had worked for the agency for over half his life, and for the first time in a long time, he was worried. Maybe even a little afraid.
He ran his hand over his head; the tight, graying curls of his hair feeling coarse on his palm. Nearing retirement age, Jones was a fiercely intelligent man, and had been a senior analyst and chief advisor to many directors over the years.
He looked down at his hand, studying the dark, leathery skin as it quivered slightly. Was that through fear? Or something else?
He took a deep breath and walked back over to his desk, picking up the phone and dialing an extension number.
“Director Matthews, please,” he said as it was answered. “Tell him it’s urgent.”
After a few moments of nervous silence, a voice came on the line. It was stern and authoritative, with just a hint of fatigue.
“Julius? It’s late, so make this good,” said Director Matthews, abruptly.
Distracted by the current predicament, Julius dispensed with the formalities. “Tom, we have a problem. A very big problem.”
“What is it?” he asked.
Julius closed his eyes momentarily, summoning the courage to deliver the news. “It’s Jericho Stone,” he said. “He’s… he’s alive.”
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, USA
April 20th, 2017
The next morning, Jericho left Julie sleeping and headed out to buy them both a change of clothes and some breakfast. He was still dressed like a GlobaTech operative, and she still had her nurse’s uniform on, so they were both in need of a wardrobe change.
He’d found a department store that opened early, so he picked the first thing he could find that fit his large frame — a pair of light blue jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a tan, zip-through hooded sweater. He kept the boots he was wearing.
He guessed Julie’s size, and picked out a similar outfit for her, quickly finding a feminine sweater and skinny-fit jeans. He also sprung for a pair of sneakers, which he figured she’d prefer. He never professed to know much about women, but he knew, where possible, that comfortable shoes were always a good thing.
He changed into his new clothes in the store, and paid for everything in cash. He put his old clothes in the first trash can he found, and made his way back to the hotel, stopping in a Starbucks on the way to pick up two coffees and a couple of bagels.
He opened the door to the room just as Julie was stepping out of the bathroom, dripping wet and wearing a short towel wrapped around her slender frame. She gasped, placing her hand to her chest, startled.
“Oh my God!” she said, breathing heavily. “You scared the crap outta me!”
Jericho stood, momentarily frozen with embarrassment, staring at her. He couldn’t help but cast a quick, approving eye over her before regaining his senses and turning his back on her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize…” He took a couple of steps back, without looking round, and held out the bag containing her new clothes. “Here — I hope they fit.”
Julie took the bag. “Thanks… I’ll just go and…y’know.”
“Yeah… of course, sorry.”
He turned only when he heard the bathroom door close. “Jesus…” he muttered to himself, unable to suppress a small smile.
He placed the coffee and bagels on the table near the door and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently. After a few minutes, the door opened again and Julie appeared, dry, and dressed in her new outfit.
“What do you think?” she asked, cocking her hip out to the right and shrugging, in a light-hearted pose.
Jericho looked at her approvingly. The sweater was a little big, but she seemed comfortable enough in it. The skinny jeans were a perfect fit.
It was the first time he’d seen Julie in anything other than the nurse’s uniform. She had a great figure; her legs were deceptively long and toned.
“You look great,” he replied, which he noticed made Julie’s cheeks flush a little. He nodded at the table. “Breakfast is over there. Hope you like coffee!”
“Who doesn’t?” she said, eagerly taking a sip. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste. “How did you sleep?” she asked him.
Jericho shrugged. “I’ve slept enough over the last week. You?”
“I got a few hours, but nothing significant.”
She handed him his coffee, which he took gladly. He had a mouthful and moved over to the window, looking down at the street below. The sun was rising, and the new day was already in full flow. He turned back to look at Julie.
“What did GlobaTech do to me?” he asked her, gesturing to his bandages.
Julie took a deep breath and a sip of her coffee before replying. “If I tell you, are you going to freak out and run like you did before?”
Jericho smiled, feeling a little embarrassed. “No, I swear. I just need to know.”
She took a seat on the bed, where he’d sat a moment ago, holding her coffee in both hands. “Okay… your left eye was damaged beyond repair by the bullet, you know that already, right?”
He nodded. “Josh mentioned it, yeah.”
“Well, they had to remove it completely during surgery.”
Jericho’s right eye went wide, and he gestured angrily to his bandages. “I have no fucking eyeball under these?”
Julie went silent, avoiding his gaze.
“What?” he asked.
She took a deep breath before continuing. “GlobaTech have been doing a lot of research on stem cells, as part of an ongoing healthcare program designed to aid the recovery of damaged limbs.”
Jericho frowned. “Josh started to say something about stem cells? Isn’t that to do with, like, cloning or something?”
Julie nodded. “About a month ago, GlobaTech manufactured a right hand in their labs, and were able to successfully attach it to a field operative who lost their own during a skirmish. This prompted more investment in the program, and they’ve since been able to grow pretty much… anything…”
She trailed off, and Jericho quickly put the pieces together.
“I’ve got a cloned eyeball in my head? What the fuck!”
“Hey, you promised you wouldn’t freak out…!”
“Yeah, but that was before I found out you’d put a fake… real… whatever, eyeball in my fucking head! Jesus!”
“The surgery was successful,” she explained. “It just needs time to… settle, for want of a better word, before you start using it.”
“So, what’s going to happen if I take these bandages off now?” he asked. “My eyeball’s not going to fall out or anything, is it?”
“I doubt it,” she replied with a smile. “Personally, my only concern is the stitching across your forehead. If that’s not properly healed, you run the risk of re-opening the wound, which would lead to significant blood loss.”
Jericho stroked his chin, feeling the stubble scratch against his fingertips. “This is ridiculous…” he said, mostly to himself. He took some deep breaths, subduing the surge of adrenaline coursing through him, brought on by both his anger, and his confusion. “Right, well, we need to try,” he said. “If I’m to lay low for a while, I need to be invisible…” He tapped the tourniquet covering the left side of his face and head. “…this thing’s got to go.”