Chapter Twenty-Four
Zella Mills - Solace Base
Two Days After The Costaluna Strike
Zella shifted slightly, nesting her head more comfortably on the pillow. She drew in a breath. Her dream lingered at the edge of her consciousness. In it, Joe Halili had arrived in a jeep, scooping up both her and Khloe. Khloe threw her arms around him, sealing their reunion with a kiss.
Zella shuffled her body over, readjusting her position on the bed. She took the pillow beside her and pushed it between her legs. Now she was aware of her conscious state. Ovulation turned her mind to the dumps. A new vision penetrated her mind when she closed her eyes again. She envisioned Halili pulling her away from the dining room where Khloe had been sitting with Lola and Elias. Halili tugged on her arm, taking her into her room. He kissed her just as passionately as he had kissed Khloe in her dream.
The urge was too strong. She had to feel something. She took two of her fingers and slid them into her panties. The world was lost to her for a time until the chiming on her phone jerked her away from fantasy.
At first, she hoped to ignore the phone. But when the invasive blares showed no signs of stopping, she figured it had to be urgent. Raul’s name flashed on the screen, causing her to remember the last time she’d seen him. “Hello,” she answered.
Raul’s gruff came through the phone speaker. "There she is. The immortal slayer, the Costaluna savior.”
“I’m no savior. It wasn’t just me out there. All I did was shoot down a hub.”
“And rescue some kids by the sound of it.”
“Not that big a deal. The troops and mercs who were out there deserve the praise.”
“Despite that, your group is making a name for themselves. Solace is on everyone’s radar.”
Zella grew impatient. “Is there a reason for this call, Raul?”
“There’s a favor I wish to ask of you.”
“Raul, the underground legend needs a favor from me?”
“A small one.”
“Shoot! What is it?”
“Here’s a secret. Naguela and Xopren have been collaborating on a project. A system, if you will. And I’m the middleman in the operation. I’ve been brokering the deals to get the parts needed to finalize this system. And it’s now nearing completion. All that’s left is for Xopren to hand over the prototype so it can be finished here in Naguela.”
“What kind of tech are we talking here?” Zella asked.
“Right now, we refer to it as the EnigmaCore. It’s a temporary name until the geniuses find a better one. To put it plainly, this is a multifaceted system with the capabilities needed to end any war. It’s an intelligence system powered by AI. It pulls data from all over the world. The EnigmaCore has hacking tools, viruses, communications, and surveillance. It can encrypt any data in real time, giving it anti-espionage qualities. With further development, the thing will even be able to control nukes. And it’s all housed in a portable package. Though you can insert it into more powerful network setups for enhanced processing. This is necessary for certain tasks.”
Zella got up and walked over to her window, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties. She looked out into the garden and saw the Grid Warden hovering around. Raul had sold her the drone the last time she saw him. “Raul, this sounds terrifying,” Zella said. “I’m not sure any country deserves to be in control of such a thing.”
“You’ve seen what groups like COG and those immortal freaks want to do to the world, Zella. You were in Costaluna. To beat corrupt forces, sometimes you need to beat them at their own game. The EnigmaCore will be in our hands, and we don’t wish to abuse it. We want to protect the future of our world.”
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“And maybe you have good intentions, but what about the Xoprens? Surely they’re not just going to let you keep such a thing.” Zella asked.
“Zella, can we talk about this after? The reason I called is because I need an extra set of eyes on this deal. I’m paranoid. I need multiple eyes on this exchange. Just so I can feel some peace of mind.”
“You think someone might try to steal the prototype?”
“Anything is possible. I must always implement contingency plans. If you wish, you can even bring a few of your people with you. Just don’t be seen by the Xoprens. Park yourself down with a sniper rifle. I’ll pay good scratch for this.”
“When is this taking place?” Zella asked.
“Two days from now. At a warehouse in Plaza de Vulcan.”
Zella blew through her lips. Making big decisions like this on a whim wasn’t ideal. Talking it out with her team would be necessary. “Can I get back to you on this?”
“Just let me know by this evening. Give me time to make adjustments.”
“Gotcha,” Zella said.
“And Zella, keep your wits about you. You’re making a name for yourself, and that means your enemies are watching.”
“Then let them come,” she said, ending the call. Sounding confident to Raul was how she maintained her hard-as-nails reputation. The truth was, all this fighting was scaring her. Trying to predict what would come next made her anxious.
She tossed her phone on the bed. Her moment of desire had passed. She scratched her scalp, thinking how best to approach her team about this proposition.
*
Hubert Quinn - Calloway’s Mansion, São Paulo, Brazil
The air inside the small mansion was a thick, choking stew of dust and decay. The Neoclassical influence on the architecture was clear with the intricately carved ceiling rosettes and marble pillars that stood tall. Much of it was chipped and stained from years of neglect. Thick cobwebs stretched across many of the home’s furnishings.
The core lighting system wasn’t functional. Fortunately, there were a number of portable LED lanterns with enough charge to illuminate their path. The walls and floor still bore drops of Calloway’s blood stains, revealing his desperation to escape from his creations in his last moments.
Jade had left Quinn’s side, searching for clues in the bedrooms upstairs. Quinn headed for the ornate door leading down into the basement area, which he knew to be Calloway’s laboratory. The door’s design set it apart from the rest of the mansion's aesthetic. An eerie, modern security panel contrasted with the elegant carvings of cherubs and laurel wreaths. A biometric scan was required to receive entry. An oddity for such an antiquated door.
Quinn patched a call through to the local COG base in Brazil. “This is Quinn of the Seers speaking.”
“Can I get your ID?” the operator asked. Quinn recited his COG identification string. “Okay, gotcha. Sorry for having to ask. You know, my son dressed up as you for science day at his school.”
Quinn’s nostrils flared. Stupid humans and their sentimental crap! “That’s great. Look, I may require a team of technicians who can breach a door with biometrics. I’m currently in the south of São Paulo. How soon could you get someone over?”
“Let me check.” Quinn heard no clicking of a keyboard or mouse. The operator was likely set up with an AR or holographic interface. COG liked to spread its wealth across all its bases.
“The soonest I can get a team out there is six hours.”
“Send them just in case,” Quinn said. “Call back this number if you need to.” He ended the call. He would not wait around for six hours, knowing that there was always another way.
Jade’s heels resounded off the stairs. Her boots had a distinct tap on them. “Look,” she said, carrying a medium-sized chest across her arms.
Quinn relieved her of the chest and placed it on a desk. He flipped the lid over and observed the contents.
A battered and torn pad work set lay inside, complete with two gloves. Quinn removed them and placed them to the side. A photo print of a much younger Zella lay under the pad. He took it between his index and thumb and examined it. Zella was throwing a hook at Dr. Calloway, who wore the same pads. Zella donned the identical gloves that Quinn had only moments ago set on the desk.
“He trained her since she was a pup,” Jade said.
Quinn turned the photo over and saw something scribbled in Portuguese. Fortunately, Quinn had recently learned and memorized several Latin and Germanic languages. The text translated to: Reflexes improving.
“Reflexes, hmm?” Quinn mumbled. He placed the photo down on the desk and set his eyes on the last item in the chest. It was another portrait print of a middle-aged woman with a French Bob hairstyle. Her glossy-gray eyes were inviting, matching her broadly stretching smile. Though the portrait cut off just above her breast region, the lab coat she wore was clear. Quinn flipped the photo over and saw a name written in the same handwriting as the last one. Marina.
“Of course,” Quinn said. He slammed the chest shut and slid the portrait into his pocket.
“That was the assistant Calloway had working for him,” Jade said. “And she lived in Brazil too.”
“Yes. We have our way in.” Quinn sneered.