He had stopped three steps above her, and his back stiffened when she snapped at him.
“I am the Operative Nine. All Items of Special Interest fall under my jurisdiction.”
“He’s not an ‘Item,’ Nueve. He’s a human being.”
Ashley stood up. “What going on?” she called across the room.
They turned and stared at us. I don’t think they knew we were there.
“Ah, Alfred,” Abby Smith said with forced pleasantness. “How did you sleep, dear?”
“I had a great dream,” I said. I looked at Nueve, then back at her. “And now I’m kinda sorry I woke up.”
Nueve said to Abby, “Tell him.”
She came over to me and put both hands on my shoulders. “Alfred, I’m afraid there’s been a minor modification to the extraction protocol.”
I shrugged her hands away. “Cut the Company double-talk and tell me what’s going on. Are you going to extract me or not?”
“The short answer is yes,” Nueve said from the stairs.
“I’ll handle this,” Abby snapped at him. She looked up at the ceiling. I looked up too, wondering what was the matter with the ceiling . . . and then I heard it, the low growl of helicopters in the distance.
Nueve fairly bounded toward the front door.
“They’re here,” he said. He flung open the door and then flung himself outside, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Who’s here?” I asked Abby.
She sighed. “My guess is Dr. Mingus.”
“Mingus?” I asked.
“Mingus!” Ashley gasped.
“And a security detail,” Abby added. “Nueve is quite thorough.”
“Who’s Dr. Mingus?” I asked Abby.
“The head of GD,” Ashley answered when Abby hesitated. “Why is he here?” she asked her.
“I know what ‘GD’ usually stands for,” I said. “But what does it stand for in OIPEP-speak?”
“Nueve ordered it,” Abby said. Her face was very pale. “Before the conference call, obviously. He must have already known the board’s decision.” She gave my arm a quick squeeze. “He’s here to conduct the standard preextraction evaluation, Alfred. It’s part of the protocol and perfectly SOP.”
Ashley choked out a laugh. “SOP—right!” She turned to me. “Alfred, ‘GD’ stands for Genetic Development.”
04:03:43:05
Abby led us to a conference room on the second floor. We sat at a long table, Ashley right beside me and Abby Smith across the table with a laptop in front of her. She pressed a button and a screen slowly lowered from the ceiling. She tapped another button and the lights in the room dimmed.
“What’s going on?” Ashley demanded. “Alfred has a right to know.”
“A minor shift in the extraction protocol.” Abby hit a key on the laptop and a picture faded in on the big screen. It was an aerial shot of a tropical island on a sunny day. Palm trees, waves breaking on a sparkling white beach, a few buildings with whitewashed walls and straw roofs. It looked like something from a travel-agency poster.
“What is that?” I asked.
“That is Camp Omega-I, an uncharted island in the South Pacific,” Abby answered. “And our most secure base, other than headquarters. Besides the personnel permanently assigned to COI, only myself and the Operative Nine—and now, Ashley, of course—are even aware of its existence.”