Prototype Read online

  I was going to see the side of him that I’ve only heard about. I’ve always been everything he has asked me to be … but right now, I had to take the chance of him either killing me or letting me go, so I took my chances and attacked him head on.

  “Now what Marshall?—just because I didn’t come to you with this information what are you going to do?—you gonna take me out? All the years mean nothing to you? My loyalty is nothing to you?” I figured I better get to point as quickly as possible. “Roger, Doctor Finway; they’re both dead, Marshall! Which one of us is next? Four other people already had it in their heads. Why?”

  He put the paper down on my desk. His demeanor changed as he turned his back to me and started to talk as if I wasn’t in the room.

  “This is useless … it’s not going to be worth it. I need her to go to California … she needs to finish the job! No, wait … he’s paid a lot of money up front for it and he wants to make sure it’s viable before the transfer.”

  Job? Viable? “Transfer What?” I interrupted and broke his concentration.

  “Disconnect.” I heard him mumbled under his breath.

  I stood toe to toe with him, right in his face; I had reached the end of my rope. I wanted answers.

  “What job? Who were you talking to? What do you mean viable? Start answering me. You’re in my house and I …” It had suddenly clicked that I never let him in and I locked up tighter than a drum before I went to bed. “Wait, how did you get in?”

  “Lauren, you need to settle down … I’m willing to tell you what you need to know, but you work for me and with that comes the responsibilities. I need you in California.” He was holding my arms right below my shoulders, looking me square in the eyes as he wrapped his words in a deliberate tone. “Settle down … I’ll tell you what you want to hear.”

  I pulled out of his grasp.

  “I want the truth, Marshall!” I howled.

  “Fine, the truth,” he sighed before continuing, “Roger and I entered into a contract with a private company that specializes in data storage and replication of software for a clandestine sect of our government.” His eyes widened as he kept talking, “Roger was the brains behind the nanobiotechnology and I was the capital. We made a perfect team. He created it without anyone knowing about it, not even you. When it came time to reveal it, we couldn’t risk using the computer in Roger’s head for obvious reasons. And I couldn’t compromise my position in the negotiations. Sam and Finway were no-goes from the start. So we had to make the next logical choice, and that was you. I could’ve let the prototype go to Russia, North Korea or whoever was willing to pay our price,” he chastised, showing me that he was in charge.

  “Basically, Marshall, what you’re telling me is that you manipulated me mentally and physically so you could sell me to your highest bidder? —you son of a bitch! Obviously I was completely wrong about you—but Roger, he wouldn’t do that. He has morals. He wouldn’t be so vile.”

  I stood up and leaned forward. He shifted into a defensive stance.

  “You’re wrong about Roger, Lauren. He was the one who suggested you because you’re fiercely loyal. I was the one who questioned him about your abilities. Roger reassured me, he said, “Lauren has the perfect mind for this, and that if anyone could handle the psychological component of the prototype, she could.” He relaxed, as I stood there again frozen as my mind worked to catch up to my reactions.

  “The page you found in the old book at my library, Roger put it there. He knew you would find it … it was the only way he was able to test the prototype objectively; as long as you thought you weren’t suppose to see it, he would be able to collect data on your ability to interact with the prototype and how the prototype responded to you and your commands.”

  I cradled my head in my hands between my knees. Everything was so convoluted I couldn’t hear him speak. I couldn’t register what he was telling me. Moreover, I couldn’t trust him.

  Almost broken, I questioned him, “Who’s in California?”

  “The buyer—that’s all you need to know.”

  I took a long deep breath knowing I couldn’t accept his answer. “What’s to stop our government from finding and killing you for the technology?”

  There was an awkward pause between us. I lifted my head and peered into his eyes, waiting for him to answer me.

  “You … they aren’t going to kill us because they need Roger’s research. As long as you are around, we will live … they aren’t going to kill the people who keep the prototype evolving.”

  I stood there trying to wrap my brain around all of the information. “So as long as you keep developing upgrades to the computer in my head, they won’t come and kill you.”

  He turned and looked at me and mumbled, “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Well how do you suppose you’re going to do that if Roger’s dead?”

  He stared into my eyes, and I could tell he didn’t want to answer me. There was a long period of silence between us.

  “Who were you talking to?” I demanded, hoping he would say Roger. He started to say something when he stopped. I could see on his face that something was terribly wrong. He looked at me and then peered out the window. Without warning he leapt at me, his body pinned me to the bed before rolling us both down onto the floor. His gun cut and pressed into my stomach. He rose slightly and in seconds drew his gun.

  “Stay down here and don’t move! I am going to check the house; I’ll be back.” He carefully slid his body off of mine; while crouching he scurried across to my bedroom door. “Don’t move,” he repeated in a whisper before turning and leaving the room.

  There was no way in hell I was going to stay here if someone was breaking into my house. I stretched my hand up to my nightstand and slowly pulled the drawer open. I reached in, groping for my loaded revolver. I was not the type to wait around for danger to find me.

  I crawled to my bedroom window, leaned against the wall, and shimmied up to look out into my backyard. I peeked out and saw three quarters of my yard. The other quarter of my yard I couldn’t see, dictating to me what I had to do. I crawled on my belly to the bedroom door and scurried down the hall, stealthy as possible. Seconds later I pushed up against the wall in my living room. My french doors were sprung wide open to my side yard patio. I peered around the corner and saw two people talking and the only one I recognized was Marshall.

  I noticed that he didn’t have his gun drawn or pointed at the person. In fact, it seemed they were in a friendly conversation. His body blocked my vision and for a moment my heart leapt in my chest, thinking it was Roger. Consequently, once Marshall shifted to one side, I caught a glimpse of the person, a woman; someone I had only met in my head. Her long red hair blazed in the sunlight and her facial expressions were strong and forceful. It was Samantha Wilkins. I leaned closer to hear their conversation.

  “Marshall, she might compromise the exchange now that you told her so much!” Her left hand split the air pushing it toward him while using the backside of her other to pop him in the chest.

  “Don’t worry, she doesn’t know all the details.” He grabbed her hands and pulled her toward him.

  “What details did you leave out? Because from what I heard—”

  “Sweetheart, don’t worry, after we get what we want, we’ll be long gone, and it will be just you and me.” He slowly bent forward and kissed her.

  I watched as his mouth curved to bury hers. Every moment I had pushed my lips against his filled the hollow space in my heart. His hands anchored strong into her back just before he reached feverishly down to her rear, thrusting her hips against him; she let out a slight whimper. Was he giving her what I achingly craved for so many years? Every moment of betrayal thundered through my body.

  “Haven’t I been here for you? Taken care of you, given you what all the other men have failed?” Marshall whispered across her cheek.

  I recognized those words, they were the same ones he said when using me. My blood boiled as I w
atched her push her hands up into his hair and give him back every ounce of desire. The pit in my stomach tore open, spilling any hope for us. Instead of desolation filling my soul, it seethed with anger. Marshall had lied to me about everything.

  I hurried to the garage, yanked the keys from the hook in the wall and noticed that my garage door had been left wide open. That’s the way Marshall got into my house. I slipped into my car and put the gun on the passengers’ seat as I backed out. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I needed to get out of there. I left without anything; no bag packed for California, no tickets, and no money.

  The images of Marshall and Sam kissing exploded through my mind, causing everything in my soul to become tainted. Every job I did for him, every moment I ached for him to want me … all were lies painted by his deception. I just needed to get the hell out of there, deal with situations as they came up. Unexpectedly, I felt my phone vibrated in my front pocket. I didn’t want to look at it; I didn’t want to see that Marshall had discovered I was gone. I didn’t want to hear any more of his devious lies. Then, again, I was a slave to technology … and the urge to see if it was him out-weighted my stubbornness. I glanced at it and noticed it was my dad calling. Wouldn’t you know it … He must have a built-in daughter distraught detector. It never seemed to fail that in a crisis of emotional upheaval, he’d call me. I answered it as cheerful as I could.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hey, Honey Bunny.” He always called me that. “I talked to your mom last night and she mentioned you were coming home to see us.”

  My mom could never keep information to herself. There is no way I would ever tell her what I truly do for a living. If she knew I was a field agent for the CIA, she would probably inadvertently post it on her debunk Facebook page or forward it to her entire email list. I know better than that, so for all intents and purposes, I worked for a company that sells computers and instructional software to the government.

  My dad, on the other hand, knows I work for the CIA. However, thinks I sit at a desk decoding and deciphering messages all day; he doesn’t know that I am a field agent. “Dad, I told her that I might be coming to California. I have some work I have to do. I’ll call you if I’m coming, I promise.” I was glad to hear his voice but at the same time it caused me to feel homesick. I missed my family.

  “Okay, Hon, well, I love you, and don’t forget to call me!”

  “I will. Love you, too! Bye.” I tapped my phone off and I kept driving as my mind throttled back to Marshall and how I got involved with him beyond the CIA.

  A file popped up, robbing my vision. It was very unnerving to have shit pop up without so much as a warning. Fortunately I was at a stop sign. Marshall’s picture appeared and the phone receiver icon glowed bright green. Mental note … shit popping up in your line of vision is a bad thing when driving. I wonder if that was something Roger was working on before he die—was murdered.

  “What do you want?” I spouted.

  “I want you to come back to the house. Where are you? I told you to stay in the room.”

  His voice echoed loud through my head.

  “I am not coming back; you are nothing more than a fucking liar. I am done being used by you, Marshall. Done. God, I don’t even know why I trusted you. All I had done was trust you and you’ve done nothing but lie to me from the very beginning.”

  “Lauren, what are you talking about? You need to get back here. You’re bags are still here with your laptop.”

  “Marshall, you are the biggest asshole I know; you lied to me about Sam. I saw you with her in my side yard. Didn’t you think I would come looking for you?” I asked combatively.

  He was silent for a long, excruciating minute.

  “Lauren, don’t make me play my hand,” he stated resolvedly. A chill scurried across my skin.

  “What are you talking about, Marshall?” My question lingered in my head.

  “Isn’t your mother in San Francisco?” His words were like spears of ice running through my veins. I stared at the equalizer in my eye as it recorded his words. The one fear that all agents have is a threat against their family. I had no choice.

  A moment of silence grew between us.

  “Fine.”

  “Good, drive safely,” he replied.

  The file disappeared and I had my vision back in my right eye. I flipped a U-turn and headed back to my house. And like that … I hated him. I hated his ice-drenched words that dragged me back to him, hated the fear he sparked in my heart for my family, and I hated that he still had enough control to make me come back to him. When I pulled my car into my garage, Marshall was waiting with Sam by his side. My blood boiled through my veins … it wasn’t enough that he threatened my family, now he thinks I’m going to be okay with that woman in my house?

  I grabbed the revolver that openly sat on the passenger’s seat and slid it into my waistband, wedging it in the small of my back as I got out of my car.

  “Glad you’re back, Lauren,” he said.

  “You made it quite clear I had no choice,” I countered.

  “You always have a choice,” he said with an arrogant smirk.

  “Well, maybe in your world, but it my world I value people’s lives.” I slammed the car door and walked past him and Sam, the biggest mistake he’s made, as I entered my kitchen. I was done bantering with him. They followed behind me.

  “Lauren, I want to finish our conversation. I’ll hold this for you.” I felt him snatch the revolver from the band of my jeans. I swung around and grabbed his wrist, our eyes met.

  “Lauren, let go of my wrist.”

  My hand tightened.

  “I want my gun back, Marshall,” I leered.

  “I’m not an imbecile, Lauren. I’m not giving the gun back to you, and you aren’t in any position to try and negotiate conditions with me.” His hands flexed tighter around the handle. I squeezed a little tighter before I let go of his wrist. I wanted him to know that he had no control over me.

  “I’ve been more than patient with you. Where’s your safe?”

  Without answering him, I lead him to my room where I had left my half-packed bag at the foot of the bed, next to my laptop. I went straight to the safe, looked around and took advantage of feeding the combination into the silent keypad when he looked away. I opened it just enough so he could slip the gun in before I closed it.

  “Okay … now let’s talk,” he snarled.

  I didn’t respond; instead, I stood up pushing my shoulders back and slipped past him down the hall and into my living room. His loud footsteps echoed, letting me know that he was only a couple of strides behind me.

  I paced around the corner and was taken aback. Sam was standing, facing an Ansel Adams photo of Yosemite that hung on my wall. She was intently staring before she turned and watched me enter the room. She was strikingly beautiful. Her long cascading hair was a deep fire red that perfectly framed her color-lavished face. Her light green eyes swallowed me with every blink of her thick long eyelashes. I hated her for being so beautiful; I just wanted to rip out her throat. Painfully, I could see exactly why Marshall was so taken by her.

  “You must be Lauren,” she said in a deep breathy voice.

  “Of course, she’d have a sexy voice too,” I mumbled to myself.

  Her hips hung in the air and her body brushed the space she occupied as she swayed toward me. Her five-foot-seven voluptuously curvy figure represented the type of body most women would kill for. She held out her hand, expecting me to reach for it. I grabbed her hand and forced her close to me.

  “Who do you work for?” I asked.

  Her eyes narrowed as she gently loosened my fingers from her hand and pulled away, meeting my eyes as she spoke.

  “I work for Marshall.” Sam tossed me a gutsy smile.

  “Are you sure of that? Because up until this morning I worked for Marshall, too,” I groused, hoping that she’d contemplate my words.

  “You still work for me, Lauren. You will always
work for me,” Marshall interrupted as he came into the room, striding with his shoulders back and his hands brushing across his pants. I looked at him and all I felt was repulsed. I knew better than to wager a bet in his psychological bullshit game. I still didn’t know if he had someone at my mom’s house waiting to hurt her.

  “I don’t know about that, Marshall. I used to think that Roger and I meant something to you, but after today, I realize we were just pawns, played so you can keep pursuing this fucked up idea about selling this technology,” I snarled.

  “Pawns? Is that what you think? You have no idea what I’m pursuing, and right now that is beside the point. I need you to fly to California and meet with the buyer,” he insisted.

  “Well that’s exactly my point. If you were involved in or pursuing something greater than your own damn ego, you’d know that Doctor Finway said I can’t fly or dive for the first two days after the lenses were installed in my eyes. So unless you want to ruin your investment, I am here until tomorrow.” I got up, casting a fake smile at Sam before heading to my room.

  I had to finish packing for California. My whole life seemed to be wrapped up in have to’s. No matter the side of the coin, be it pain or anger I felt for Marshall and Sam, I knew there was no way I could avoid going. I hadn’t been willing to risk testing Marshall’s follow through … besides, my mom’s life had depended on it.

  My duffle bag sat packed at the foot of the bed, ready to go. Marshall softly rapped on my bedroom door as he opened it.

  “Sam just left,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

  “I don’t really care,” I muttered under my breath. I hated her on so many levels, but mainly for being so beautiful. “Give me the details I need to know for my trip to California.” I briskly crossed past him, waiting for his answer as I forced a couple extra things in my duffle bag.

  “I have you on a flight leaving National Airport tomorrow at ten forty-five.” He handed me the ticket with a new driver’s license. I tossed it on my nightstand, unopened and continued to shove things into my bag.