A Question of Intent Page 2

  "Is that your vehicle parked by the road?" she asked, keeping him pinned in the flashlight's beam.

  "Yes."

  "Who are you and what are you doing in this area?"

  "The name's Richardson. Cody Richardson."

  Jill sucked in a quick breath. She recognized the name, if not the face. Commander Cody Richardson, Public Health Service. Dr. Richardson, if she accorded him his title instead of his rank.

  Jill had thoroughly reviewed the background dossiers and security clearances of every test cadre member, including that of Dr. Richardson. But the head-and-shoulders photo of the PHS officer assigned to the Pegasus Project didn't come close to matching this hunk of raw maleness. The subject of that photo had worn wire-rim glasses, a white lab coat and scowled into the camera as if annoyed at being disturbed.

  This man wore a red knit Polo shirt that clung to his wide shoulders and a pair of worn jeans that displayed lean hips and muscled thighs. Evidently the doc—if he was the physician and brilliant researcher expected at the site—believed in keeping himself in shape.

  Squinting at her from under his upraised arm, he rapped out a question of his own. "Who are you?"

  "I'm Major Jill Bradshaw, United States Army."

  Some of the belligerence seeped out of him. "U.S. Army?"

  "That's right."

  His tense, corded muscles relaxed. "Sorry I came at you the way I did, Major. Chalk it up to the fact that you surprised the hell out of me. I saw the rifle pointed straight at my middle and my self-preservation instincts kicked in."

  When she made no comment, he angled his head behind the shield of his upraised arm, trying to see her.

  "How about you get that light out of my eyes."

  "How about you show me some ID?"

  The cool response didn't win her any Brownie points with the doc. Above the muscular forearm, his black brows snapped together. "My wallet's in my back pocket."

  "Get up, plant your hands against the rock, and spread your legs. Please," she tacked on after a moment.

  He rolled to his feet with an athletic grace that didn't impress her a bit. The butt-head who'd attacked her in college had been a star skier, golfer and swimmer. Personally, Jill preferred the gangly, gawky type.

  She patted him down for hidden weapons, then asked him to extract his wallet from his rear pocket. Slowly. Carefully. He did so, turning around to hand her the slim leather billfold. She examined both his driver's license and Public Health Service ID card. The ID confirmed he was, in fact, the expert in biological agents who'd been tagged to work the Pegasus Project, but Jill still had a few questions thai needed answering.

  "May I ask where you were headed?"

  "I'm en route from San Antonio to San Francisco. I decided to cut across country and pick up I-40 in Albuquerque, but took the wrong road out of El Paso."

  She gave him full marks for a good cover story. He must have figured out by now she was with the Pegasus security team but wasn't going to admit it until she asked for the code. She took her time doing so.

  "Why did you stop here? Did you run out of gas?"

  "No."

  Neither his expression nor his stance altered, but Jill didn't miss the slight hesitation before he continued.

  "I stopped to admire the view from the top of the rocks," he said ruefully, as if admitting to an embarrassing character flaw. "It's pretty awesome."

  Yeah, right.

  Jill had been a cop too long to accept a trite explanation like that. Particularly when it was accompanied by a grin that showed a flash of even white teeth and crinkled the skin at the corners of too-blue eyes. If Dr. Cody Richardson had left his vehicle to climb the rocks, her instincts told her it wasn't to admire the view.

  Still, Richardson had been cleared for this project by the highest levels at the Pentagon. He matched the physical description in his dossier, more or less. He wasn't supposed to arrive until tomorrow but could have made good time on the road and decided to press on. Jill saw no other choice but to put him through one more gate.

  "Do you have the time, Dr. Richardson?" He bent his elbow. She caught another flash of gold and the ripple of muscle under his knit shirt when his shoulders lifted in a shrug.

  "Sorry, my watch seems to have stopped." Jill dipped her head to acknowledge that he'd given the proper response. Something about this guy still didn't sit right with her, but he'd passed every test. Filing away the nagging little doubt for further examination later, she handed him back his wallet and rendered the salute he was due because of his superior rank.

  "Welcome to Site Thirty-Two, Dr. Richardson." He returned the salute with a precision that surprised her. Although the Public Health Service was one of the seven uniformed services, the members of their small officer corps were more noted for their medical expertise than their strict adherence to military customs and courtesies.

  "My vehicle's just over that rise," she informed him. "Wait here until I retrieve it, then I'll escort you to the compound."

  Cody slipped his billfold into his back pocket and watched the major stride off into the darkness. Damned if the woman hadn't taken five years off his life, popping up out of the desert the way she had.

  Given the security briefings he'd received after being selected for the Pegasus Project, Cody had fully expected to be challenged when he arrived at the test site. He just hadn't expected that challenge to take place out here, in the middle of nowhere. Or in the form of a bristly female soldier.

  Well, maybe not all that bristly. The woman's smooth sweep of silky blond hair softened the Amazon image considerably. Not to mention the trim, tight butt he'd taken note of when she turned and strode off. Despite the beret, combat boots and bulky web belt with all its accouterments, Major Jill Brad-shaw looked pretty good in her BDUs. Cody ought to know. He'd studied the human form in all its variations for going on fifteen years now.

  Lord! Was it really that long since med school? That many years since he'd tumbled into love with a bright-eyed Red Cross volunteer? Those days at Duke seemed as if they'd happened in another life. To a different man.

  They had, he thought grimly as he yanked at the Navigator's door. An entirely different man. Or so Alicia had claimed the night she'd stormed out of their house three years ago. Her last, furious tirade haunted Cody to this day. Not even a velvet night and a brilliant tapestry of stars could ease his soul-searing guilt.

  He wasn't about to admit he'd stopped out here in the middle of nowhere in the vain hope of finding solace, though Particularly to a tough, no-nonsense military cop.

  Wrapping his hands around the steering wheel, he stared into the darkness and waited for the major's vehicle to appear.

  Chapter 2

  Radioing ahead, Jill advised Navy Captain Sam Westfall that one of his key team leaders had appeared on the scene well ahead of his estimated time of arrival.

  "I'm escorting Dr Richardson to the compound now."

  "Good," the commanding officer replied in his deep, gravelly bass. "Bring him to my quarters when you arrive."

  "Will do, sir."

  Hands on the ATV's wheel, Jill navigated the dirt road shooting straight as an arrow across the desert The headlights of Doc Richardson's SUV speared through the darkness behind her.

  "I don't know about this guy," she muttered to Goofy as she flicked a glance in the ATV's rearview mirror. "He sure doesn't look like any brilliant research scientist I ever stumbled across."

  Not that she'd stumbled across all that many. After the brutal assault in her freshman year and a subsequent bungled investigation by the campus police, Jill had made up her mind nothing like that would ever happen to her again. She'd switched her major to law enforcement and enrolled in every available self-defense course available off-campus. And once she'd been commissioned as a military police officer, she'd pretty well lived, breathed, eaten, and slept in her fatigues. She hardly knew anyone who wasn't a cop, much less a brilliant scientist.

  "Think I'll take another look at
his dossier," she murmured to Goof. "Something about his roadside stop to drink in the stars just doesn't sit right with me."

  Mickey's pal bobbed his head in vigorous agreement, as he always did.

  Some forty minutes later, Jill slowed for the first checkpoint. The MP who came out of the modular booth that served as a guard shack recognized her in the glare of the spot angled down from the shack's roof. The sergeant saluted respectfully but still asked for ID. Jill handed him a flat leather case, pleased that he hadn't let her pass on mere visual recognition.

  He aimed a small electronic sensor at her face, then ran it over her holographic ID. The flat, credit card size bit of plastic contained an astonishing array of photo imaging, retinal scan data, fingerprints, DNA information, and a special code signifying Jill's level of access within the compound. The card also contained a built-in signal transmitter that allowed the Control Center to track the movements of the person carrying it. When the card reader gave two soft pings, the sergeant handed her back the leather case.

  "You're cleared for entry, Major."

  "Thanks. I'm escorting Dr. Cody Richardson to the site," she told him, pointing a thumb at the vehicle behind hers. "He's on your key personnel list."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  The sergeant walked back to the idling SUV and requested the doc's civilian ID. Angling his flashlight at Richardson, he scrutinized the physician's face and compared it to the photo before taking the identification back into the guard post to check the access list. Tomorrow Jill would issue each of the cadre members a holographic ID similar to hers and considerably speed up the entry process.

  After some moments the guard returned to Richardson's vehicle and handed him back his ID. "Do you have a camera, computer, cell phone, or other electronic device in your vehicle, sir?"

  "Just a cell phone."

  "Sorry, sir. I'll have to take that."

  "Right."

  Reporting instructions had advised all cadre members not to bring their own computers or electronic notebooks. Encrypted versions would be issued to them. The same instructions had advised that personal cell phones used en route would have to be turned in on arrival. Any calls coming in to those phones would be routed through the Control Center to secure instruments on-site.

  Once cleared, the doc followed Jill's vehicle down another lonely five-mile stretch of road. The compound lights were mere pinpricks in the distance, almost indistinguishable from the bright wash of stars. Gradually, the pinpricks grew brighter and closer.

  Jill stopped at a second checkpoint, this one guarding a cluster of prefabricated modular buildings and trailers surrounded by rolls of concertina wire. In the wash of lights mounted at regular intervals within the compound, the main site had all the charm and warmth of a lunar moonscape. There wasn't a tree or a bush to be seen. White-painted rocks marked the roads and walkways between the buildings. Off in the distance, the hangar that would house Pegasus loomed over the rest of the structures like a big, brooding mammoth. Aside from a few picnic tables scattered among the trailers, everything was starkly functional.

  Guards at the second checkpoint cleared Jill through. She waited once more for the doc, then drove across the compound to the trailer housing the commanding officer of the Pegasus test cadre. The Lincoln's tires crunched on the hard-packed dirt as it pulled up beside her ATV. Cody Richardson climbed out, thudding the vehicle's door shut, and gave her a questioning glance.

  "These are Captain Westfall's quarters," Jill informed him. "He requested I bring you here."

  Nodding, Richardson followed her to the trailer. Jill's knock brought Westfall to the door. The tall, spare Naval officer was still in his working khakis, which didn't surprise her. The captain had only arrived on-site yesterday morning, but Jill had already formed the distinct impression he wasn't the type to retire early or sleep late.

  "This is Dr. Richardson, sir."

  She stepped aside, allowing the Public Health Service officer to brush by her and offer a crisp salute.

  "Sorry I'm out of uniform, sir. I didn't expect to report to you tonight."

  "Not a problem, Doc. Come in, come in." West-fall speared Jill with one of his penetrating, steel-gray glances. "Thanks for delivering him, Major. Everything quiet out on the test range?"

  "It is now."

  The captain raised a brow. Before Jill could elaborate, Richardson offered a cool explanation.

  "The major and I ran into each other. Literally. I ate sand until she decided I was who I said I was."

  "Did you?" He tipped Jill an approving nod. "I'll see you tomorrow at the in-brief."

  "Yes, sir."

  After an exchange of salutes, she made her way to her vehicle. Instead of driving back out to run the perimeter and check her patrols, however, she headed for the squat, dun-colored modular unit that served as her detachment's headquarters and operations center.

  A welcome blast of chilled air greeted her when she stepped inside, along with the even more welcome scent of fresh-brewed coffee. Rattler Control occupied the rear half of the unit; her cubbyhole of an office, the armory, and a small break area took up the front half.

  She stopped at the armory first to turn in her rifle and ammo clips. That done, she made a beeline for the coffee. Filling a jet-black mug emblazoned with her unit's self-designed crest—a rattlesnake coiled around the crossed Revolutionary-War-era pistols designating the MP Corps—she stuck her head inside the control center.

  "I'll be in my office for a while."

  "Yes, ma'am." The lanky Oklahoman at the dispatch console spun his chair around. "That was some takedown out there."

  "Nothing like putting one of our own facedown in the dirt," Jill agreed.

  Specialist First Class Denton grinned. "I'm guessing that Public Health weenie will think twice before taking you on again."

  "I wouldn't exactly classify Dr. Richardson as a weenie," she replied, remembering the breadth of the man's shoulders.

  "Whatever he is, he's the first to get a taste of Rattler venom. Good goin', Major."

  Jill bowed to the inevitable. She knew the story of her brief confrontation with Cody Richardson was going to be repeated—and greatly exaggerated—by every one of her troops. Which wasn't necessarily all that bad. She was long past the point of having to prove herself to either her people or to herself, but a little Marshal-Matt-Dillon-style action never hurt a cop's image.

  "I'll be in my office," she repeated, retreating while her invincible aura still glowed bright and strong.

  Once in her closet-size cubbyhole, she wedged behind her desk and placed her mug on the red blotter. A quick click of the keyboard activated her computer. The sleek laptop was state-of-the-art, its hard drive encrypted and shielded against penetration by everyone from Kremlin spies to everyday, average teenage hackers.

  The screen hummed to life and blinked open to a screensaver featuring an Army tank in full attack mode. Jill entered her access code, pulled down the menu marked Personnel and zeroed in on Dr. Cody Richardson. Mere seconds later his file painted across the screen. A click on the thumbnail sketch of his picture enlarged it to screen size.

  There he was, glasses, white lab coat and all. With the same annoyed expression he'd worn earlier this evening. And the same square chin, which she'd somehow overlooked before. The guy was a Clark Kent, she decided, seemingly innocuous looking in his everyday work disguise. Very different out of it and in the flesh.

  Irritated with herself for forming a preconceived concept based on a sterile looking lab environment and a white coat, she opened the doc's background file. His credentials had impressed her the first two times she'd read them. They still impressed her.

  "Graduate of the University of North Carolina," she muttered under her breath, "with honors in chemistry and biology. M.D. from Duke. Completed an internship and residency in internal medicine, with a follow-on fellowship in clinical pharmacology and infectious diseases at Johns Hopkins. Masters in Public Health from Harvard."

 
Scrolling down the screen, she skimmed over Richardson's professional associations, publications and work history. He'd spent several years practicing medicine before going to work for a major pharmaceutical company. If Jill was reading all this technical stuff correctly, he'd then moved into the forefront of the battle against AIDs and Ebola. Three years ago, he'd jettisoned his job with the pharmaceutical giant to join the Public Health Service.

  Jill didn't know all that much about the PHS, except that it was a corps of approximately six thousand uniformed officers within the Department of Health and Human Services. These highly trained health professionals operated within all divisions of HHS, including the Center for Disease Control, the National Institute of Health and the Food and Drug Administration. They also served as a mobile force to provide primary health care to medically under-served rural and Native American populations. Cody Richardson had joined their ranks three years ago.

  "Bet you took one hell of a pay cut when you made that move," Jill murmured.

  If so, he was still living off the proceeds of his former life. Lincoln Navigators and flashy gold Rolexes didn't come cheap. She made a mental note to check into the corporation the Lincoln was registered to and continued scrolling through his file.

  Heading a team of researchers at the National Institute of Health, Richardson had helped isolate the West Nile virus. He also, Jill saw, worked closely with the military services to test and field counter-toxins to various biological agents. Because of that work, he'd been hand selected to test the nuclear, biological and chemical defenses installed in Pegasus. In addition, he and a small staff would provide on-site medical care for the test cadre.

  Richardson's personal data was considerably more concise. Parents alive and living in North Carolina. No siblings. Wife deceased. No children.

  Leaning back in her chair, Jill took a long swig of her coffee. Dr. Richardson's file painted a portrait of a dedicated, hardworking physician who was also a brilliant research scientist. Nothing in what she'd read suggested a predilection for stargazing.

  She'd keep an eye on the doc, she decided. A close eye. Shutting down the screen, she finished her coffee and went back to the Control Center to check the status of her deployed patrols. Just after 1:00 a.m., she called it a night.