Fitzduane smiled grimly. "I can't afford to, Lee," he said. "Too much is at stake."
Cochrane rubbed his forehead. The outburst was over. He suddenly looked incredibly tired. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Let's focus," said Fitzduane.
"There is a wind-down period for the Task Force," said Cochrane. "And no one likes losers on the Hill, so our effectiveness will be cut in half. We'll be lame ducks flapping our wings and going nowhere except into somebody's cooking pot. But the mission will proceed as planned. There is more than the Task Force behind this thing now. But you know that, Hugo, don't you?"
Fitzduane nodded. "I know we've got friends," he said. "But I haven't put much time into finding out who and why. There are other priorities. But I know the Task Force is the mainspring of this thing, and I appreciate it. And I appreciate what you stand for."
Cochrane stared at the table for a few moments. Then he looked up. "Enough to do something for me?" he said.
"Maybe," said Fitzduane. "But only after you get some sleep. Crisp white shirts will get you just so far."
"I want to go with you," said Cochrane.
Fitzduane's eyebrows shot up. "You're shitting me, Lee!" he said. "Look, the Hill is your battleground."
"I've spent fifteen years pushing the Task Force," said Cochrane, "and now it's going to be wiped. I want to go out in style. I'm owed that. And I can do what has to be done. I'm a trained soldier and I'm fit. I can hack it."
"This is a special-forces mission," said Fitzduane, "and the word ‘special’ is no accident."
"I can do it," said Cochrane stubbornly. He looked straight at Fitzduane again. "Do you want an apology?"
Fitzduane smiled. "I'll settle for you telling me why I had to get back here ASAP."
Cochrane leapt to his feet. "Shit! I was forgetting all about Jaeger."
"Who is Jaeger?" said Fitzduane.
"‘Doctor’ Jaeger," said Cochrane. "Maury tracked him down. He's from Livermore."
"Livermore as in the Lawrence Livermore Laboratory where they do nuclear and other weapons research?" said Fitzduane.
"The very same," said Cochrane. "Ten thousand mad scientists all working on Doomsday. We're trying to get there before the Russians, or whoever are the bad guys these days. The word is that we're doing pretty well. The Japanese may have consumer electronics sewn up, but when Earth is blown into smithereens, the device that does it will have ‘Made in the USA’ stamped on it. There will probably be a subtext: ‘Researched at the Lawrence Livermore Laboratories.’"
"That thought may bring a lump to your throat when you salute the flag, Lee," said Fitzduane, "but what has Dr. Jaeger of Livermore got to do with the mission?"
"You don't want to know," said Cochrane. He smiled. He looked less tired. Here was a man who thrived on action. "But you're going to have to."
"I have not said you can go," warned Fitzduane. "But you can train, and then we'll see."
"I may surprise you," said Cochrane.
"I will be surprised if you don't, Lee," said Fitzduane. "So bring on Jaeger."
"Maury will lead off," said Cochrane. "This is really his jigsaw. He is good at jigsaws, and this is one of his best. It just shows what the Task Force can do- and should continue to do."
"Everyone around here walks on water," said Fitzduane pleasantly. "In Ireland, we're more used to it descending on us from a height."
"The Task Force runs on it," said Cochrane.
The footsteps sounded different.
Permanently blindfolded as she was, Kathleen was becoming quite proficient at recognizing sounds and building up a mental model of her surroundings. The guards, wearing boots and doubtless armed and laden down with military equipment, walked heavily and talked loudly. Doors were slammed. Jokes were made. Coarse laughter echoed from the concrete walls. Shouts were exchanged.
The Voice had a distinctive walk. There was a liquidity about her movements that suggested a lithe, supple body, but there was also arrogance. This new arrival was not her tormentor. In fact, The Voice now visited less frequently. The novelty had worn off. She was becoming bored, and had indeed said as much. Kathleen's chosen strategy of not reacting had worked. A defiant prisoner would have provided entertainment. An immobile slumped body quickly palled.
These sounds were a break from the normal pattern. The cell door was closed quietly. The footfalls sounded more like civilian shoes. She could hear a faint squeak of leather, and the soles, she thought, were made from softer rubber.
She could just detect the sound of breathing. Her visitor was close and was at her level, which meant he or she had bent down. She was being examined. She could smell soap and an aftershave, and there was no smell of stale sweat. This person was freshly groomed.
Her hand throbbed, but the pain had been her salvation. The shock of her kidnapping and the drugs and then the horror of what she was going through had temporarily driven her over the edge.
Then had come the first dismemberment.
As the machete had cut into her hand and had removed her finger, such a powerful anger had surged through her that she had suddenly realized she could win. No matter how hopeless her position looked, she could and would triumph. She was strong. Her spirit, the essence of her being, was extraordinarily strong. They might desecrate her body, but no matter what they did, she would win. As the pain coursed through her, she knew that she was going to make it. Her baby would make it.
I am strong, she said silently over and over again. I am strong and they cannot break me. They cannot break me because I will not break. I am strong. I am strong. I am strong… My body may be weak and in pain, but I am strong. I am strong. I am strong…
"Kathleen," said a voice. He called again. She did not react but lay slumped. My eyes might have given me away, she thought, and shown fear, but I am blindfolded so he cannot see. I can use their weapons, their devices, against them. If I show no fear, I am not afraid. I am strong. I am strong. I am strong. I will show nothing. I will give them nothing.
I am strong.
"Kathleen," called the voice yet again.
The tone was sympathetic. Warm? Perhaps. It was a trick, of course, so she would not react visibly, but in her mind she would make the most of the diversion. Truly, the mind was amazing. Her mind was amazing. For most of her life to date she had taken it for granted. It was just one of several assets, and since she was a beautiful woman, her looks had arguably been more important on a day-to-day basis because, quite simply, her appearance got results.
But her mind was her true friend, and it had taken all this to bring that home to her. And the power of the mind was quite staggering. She could feel the force.
A hand was stroking her cheek. The touch was tentative and lasted for only a few seconds and then was gone. Was it an illusion? She longed to be touched, to be held, to be caressed gently by Hugo.
She wanted to cry but held back her tears. She would not show weakness. She would not move. She would not react in any way. She imagined her body in a state of suspension. It was completely immobile. It was just as well. She needed all her energy for her mind. It was a powerhouse. It was a dynamic, thrusting, vital world, and best of all, it was her world.
The voice called yet again.
She wished it would go away. It was distracting her and she was extremely busy. Her mind was a hive of activity. Ideas were just flooding into it. And memories, too. People, places, smells, textures, sounds; the very fabric of life. Truly, it was a wonderful world. And there was so much to do. She was never going to have enough time. The possibilities seemed endless. I never knew it was like this, she thought. There is so much here. I am so rich, so lucky, so blessed.