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Chapter -8- Not According to Plan

January 25, mid-afternoon Aboard "The Busty Belle" yacht ...

** Andrea Monroe groaned** and opened her eyes. She looked around at the group of people surrounding her then drew her hands to her chest. She blinked with a measure of incomprehension then looked down at her unsecured hands, shocked at her freedom.

"Yes," said a woman with red hair to a somewhat tall, lean, light-skinned black woman. "I really like the lovely light-and-dark striations of the wood. And if you look at an angle, you can see it has a bit of a patina. Beautiful isn't it, Patty-san?"

"Quite so. I think this is Olive Wood, isn't it?" The second woman leaned a bit, gazing at an object beyond Andrea's point of view. "You're right, Ms. Crevan. At this angle, it has a bit of a luster." The second woman's accent was a hint of Russian but some of her words sounded South African.

Andrea thought back but couldn't determine where she'd heard either dialect in person before, or how she recognized them.

"Falcon has how many artifacts?" asked the ginger. "We have a very small amount. The twins put those weapons away and now we have this. How old is it?"

The black woman leaned over the artifact, still out of Andrea's line of sight, then said, "I understand the oldest Olive Trees in the world are in Galilee, and in Bshaale, Lebanon. They're three and four thousand years old. There's no way to tell how old this piece is but, for its age, it's quite well kept."

"Explain, kudasai?"

"Here, look at it in this lighting."

"Ah. Douzo."

"Right. So, possibly it has been kept away from oxygen for long periods of time. I'd be willing to wager it's at least six to seven thousand years old based on where it came. The container is with a specialist now. He suggests the container, itself, was about sixty-two hundred years old, and it seems to have been closed for ages. I simply cannot comprehend how people can claim to live that long."

Another voice came into the room from the left. Andrea noticed the gentleman was rather plain in appearance. "Pretty, isn't it Patty? And to answer your question, it has to do with our DNA. You can measure - with some degree of guesstimate accuracy - the age of a person by looking at the telomeres, a compound structure at the end of a chromosome. If you want the medical definition, it's the natural end of a eukaryotic chromosome composed of a usually repetitive DNA sequence and it serves to stabilize the chromosome. As a human being ages, they come apart. Think of the human body as a computer's data. As a person ages, the data corrupts. Then the person show signs of slowing down and aging because of the data corruption. So, the person ceases to function at an optimal..."

"Lance-san. Stop, kudasai." The redhead folded her arms. "You know that neither of us are studied in such a field. Welcome aboard. Have you any conclusive information about this ... trinket?"

"Yes," said the man with a somewhat candid smile. "Startlingly well preserved, like myself, I can say with absolute certainty that it's an artifact that will help us. We cannot allow Aris Falcon to get his hands on it."

The woman with the long red hair stood up from a sofa and said, "Perhaps it's best we not speak of this matter for now. Our little friend will be waking up soon."

Lance stepped around the woman and said, "Please, Sinopa, she's been awake since I walked into the room. Do try and notice your surroundings." He approached Andrea and lowered to one knee in front of Anne's chair. "Hello, there. I'm Lance Patterson. What's your name?"

"You already know it and my affiliation."

"I took a sample of your blood. I'm sorry I didn't ask first but I'm a very busy man and I like to get right to answers. Did you know that you're a clone?"

Andrea fidgeted nervously. "What else did your blood sample tell you about me?"

"You're not the real Andrea Monroe. She died in Colorado back in 2011; that was many years ago. And look how young you are. So come now, dear, who are you fooling, here? You died well over a decade ago. Yet you're barely drinking age. I looked at something called Telomeres in your blood. I've determined that you're right around twenty-two to twenty-four years of age. But that's based on degradation. I did a far more extensive study. You're not really in your twenties at all. Plus, you're not even who you say you are."

"Pardon?"

Lance patted her knee. "You're six ... maybe seven years old. And your blood is apparently on file from an autopsy performed by the on-duty Medical Examiner working for the Federal Bureau of Investigations."

Anne opened her mouth but couldn't think of any words to say. Instead, she pressed her lips together and sat in silence.

"Apparently, you were beneath Virginia and brought up by an agent working for Central Intelligence. He delivered you, quietly, to the FBI, one year after your death. His report suggests that your body was the property of Aris Falcon for a year. The CIA agent brought you out, from stasis, marked as Top Secret, eyes only, with a Need-to-Know status. He gave you to the FBI to perform an autopsy. Cause of death was rapid cellular breakdown consistent with that of contact with a nuclear detonation from a distance. However, the radioactive particles were a new form of radiation never before recorded or studied. They were new. To this day, they still don't have a name."

Anne swallowed but remained silent.

Lance continued. "Apparently, people that were with you during the blast, but shielded from the detonation by means of a solid object, survived. This includes the CIA agent. As a clone, I believe you were supposed to be Krys Monroe."

"Krys is my lover. I only tell people she's my sister because we live together and some people cannot stomach lesbianism."

Lance rubbed his chin. "Fascinating. Genetic Sexual Attraction between clones. No. This other version of "Krys Monroe" is also a clone. The real Krys Monroe died. And her very real sister, Andrea Monroe, also died - in a blast that occurred twelve hours prior to the one that fatally injured Krys Monroe. Not much was recovered of Andrea Monroe."

"Let's say you're being honest with me, since this is too fantastic of a story to have made up. I just want to be clear. Andrea Monroe died in 2011 beneath Colorado? And there was very little left of her?"

"Certainly not enough left from which to extract genetic material for cloning. And even if there was ... there would be no way to retain her memories the way Falcon must have done for Krys. You see, when Krys was injured, she didn't die right away. Greg Watson, the CIA agent I mentioned, has told me that much. Falcon surgically transferred Krys' hippocampus somehow. I'm not sure if he performed a brain surgery or if he put the brain of Krys Monroe into a computer chip made of flesh, then downloaded some of her memories and thoughts to the clone. I would be curious about the interface from computer to brain."

Andrea stared at the man for a moment in silence. Finally, she said, "We can't possibly be the same person. You're wrong. I have a genetic disease. Cellular level. It causes health issues. Speaking of which, I need insulin."

"Interesting. So you're the first failed attempt at creating Krys Monroe," Lance murmured aloud. "The second one must have been the success. He probably named you Andrea so that the reborn Krys would have you in her life to help with the memory restoration..."

"No!"

"And don't worry. We'll get you insulin." Lance put his hand on her knee again. "Do you remember your childhood?"

"I was injured recently. I've been suffering from amnesia for several years. But I still don't believe you. How can I be a full grown adult if I'm supposedly not even ten years old yet?"

"Oh that's quite easy," Lance replied. "A doctor simply needs to engineer the genetics to rapidly rush through the youth years while you're being grown. You know how a dog ages seven years for every one human year? Think of it that way. You age several years for every set amount of time you spend in your incubation cycle. Once you were the appropriate age, you were released. He must have given you some interface to the real Krys Monroe's mind. You can speak, you are astute, and you have her tone."

"What you're suggesting doesn't sound like it's even realistic. Science fiction at best."

A smile returned to Lance's lips. "I assure you what I've told you is most likely all true. Aside from the fact I've taken your blood already, I've worked with Aris in the past. Rather, I should say, it was quite a number of years ago. I saw he had promise. Isaac and I invented the cloning procedure he used. The only thing I cannot understand is how the blue haired woman from San Francisco actually remembers her childhood. Falcon must have succeeded - the last time we worked together we were researching a way to move the thoughts and memories of one person into another host body. He must have found a way to transfer it from Kry's mortally injured body before death. Greg Watson was also working for me, dear. However, I've not spoken to him as often as I once did. We've both been too busy as of late."

"You worked with Isaac? Are you Methos?"

"I told you, I'm Lance Patterson."

"Why are you telling me these things?" asked Andrea.

"Well, we took you hostage to use as leverage against Falcon. But after my blood test, I'm not sure whose side you're on ... or if you know whose side you're on."

"Why would you want to take my blood to begin with?"

"We know you're affiliated with Aris Falcon. That much is obvious," said Lance. "The last person to be captured by him came out with a genetically modified virus that hasn't been seen for well over ten thousand years. Ask me how I know. Anyhow, my dear, I wanted to make sure you weren't carrying. Jonathan Parker died because of that virus. It went dormant after his death. Then, the girl who gave it to Jonathan, paired off with a woman who has a passive ability to render germs and viruses inert."

"That would be me!" announced a teenaged girl who appeared in the room, seemingly from out of thin air. The blond bombshell approached Andrea, catching her eye. "I'm Karla. I make the world a cleaner place one lover at a time. I'm on hiatus, however. Sorry, sweetness." Karla waved a hand and, to Andrea's surprise, Lance disappeared then reappeared on a nearby sofa, adjacent to Sinopa and Patience.

Karla curtsied with her skirt then leaned over, coming almost nose-to-nose with Andrea. "You sure look pretty real to me. Lance, if we let her out of our sight, she'll run back to Falcon and tell him everything. She'll tell him that we have the little trinket that somehow acts as a key."

Lance stood up from the sofa and grimaced. "Don't talk about it in front of her. If she managed to steal it and get it back to Falcon, he'd use it to access the city nearly three miles beneath Israel."

Karla stood up and turned back to Lance then folded her arms. "Good job, dumbass. For a man who was born when dirt was new and God was a boy, you sure just made a bonehead move by saying what it does."

A frown marred the man's features. "So I have."

Andrea looked at each of the four people in the immediate vicinity then back to Lance. "How can a piece of wood act as a key? Anyone could easily carve a replacement. What makes this artifact so special?"

"Ancient technology sealed inside of a pretty looking paperweight fashioned from wood. The key is inside of it."

"Why didn't you secure me?" Her eyes lifted once more to the group of people surrounding her.

Lance shrugged. "Where would you go? When Reno Nevada arrives - you most likely have met his brother - you'll be interrogated further for information. As it stands, you have to swim to get away from us. We're currently two miles off the coast of Bermuda. I could care less if you jump into the ocean with the artifact. We won't have to worry about hiding it if it finds its way to the bottom of the ocean."

"Wood floats," she rebutted.

Lance laughed. He walked over to Sinopa, took the intricate object and put it into Andrea's hands.

Her eyes widened, surprised by the weight. "That's certainly not normal."

"There's a piece of technology inside of it. I've already X-rayed it. It won't float. It's too heavy for buoyancy. When Reno arrives, he'll ask you what else you know then we'll figure out what to do with you."

"Until then," Karla butted back in, "You're a guest. We'll give you your own bedroom and bed; we'll feed you. Reno will be here in just a few days. You probably know Top Cop's brother."

"Yes. Vincent."

Karla snapped her left thumb and forefinger then pointed directly at Andrea's nose. "You got it. So!" The demoness turned back to her friends. "The new artifact is from an Olive Tree that's thousands of years old, huh? There's only one sure way to know if it's an artifact. We have to pour _olive oil _on it and see if Sweet Pea shows up."

"Excuse me?" Lance quirked a brow. "I sometimes cannot follow your odd sense of facetious humor."

"Well, that depends, too," Karla said with a shrug. "What kind of Olive Oil do you pour on the Olive Tree trinket? Do we use Virgin? Extra Virgin? Olive Oil with a questionable history?" She trailed off and walked away.

"Dear God, you're so odd, Karla."

The succubus smiled. "Hmm. I wonder what Reno's up to right now. I hope he gets here soon. We're leaving Bermuda so we can meet up with him." She turned back to Lance and said, "Head upstairs and tell Eric to head southwest towards Jacksonville, Florida. We'll be meeting Reno there. It's quicker. Now that we have someone needing to be interrogated, I called him and told him to hurry."

"How is his trip faring?" asked Patience from where she sat on the sofa. "How is Evan?"

Karla chuckled nervously and put a hand beneath the thick locks of blonde, rubbing at the nape of her neck. "Uh, well ... they're doing okay. They're in Texas right now. They, uh, think they've stumbled onto some sort of 'fun adventure.' I told them to get their butts here as soon as possible, so ... yeah." She drew her hands back, rather quickly, then blew sawdust away from her fingernails. "Huh. Musta' got some in my hair."

Lance narrowed his gaze. "Karla..."

The succubus lifted her hands defensively then walked away. "Yeah, yeah. Give me a break. I did my best. Just give me my Oscar already. God, chill."

Patty nodded then, in a soft tone, said, "I hope they're doing well. I can't help but wonder; I'm starting to ... as the expression goes ... 'catch feelings' for Evan. I can't help but wonder if he's okay."

X

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X

4:45pm CST I-10, West Texas

** Reno turned on the headlights.** "We got about an hour left of sunlight. Okay, maybe we need to make a new plan. This interstate isn't big enough for the both of us with bystanders in the mix."

He turned off at the next exit and floored it through a yellow light at the first intersection. He glanced in the mirror then back at the road. "Since I'm driving, I'm Batman today. You got that, sidekick?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just keep us alive," Evan said, holding onto the dash-mounted handlebar.

"That was always the plan, bud." The road began to change in coloration. As he picked up speed, the faded blacktop became bumpy with weeds growing up through cracks. Bathed in sunlight from the west, the Franklin Mountains loomed ahead. "That's right, guys, follow me," he murmured, glancing at the mirror again. "Just a little further."

Evan peered over his shoulder and watched the vans approach. The side door rolled back. A man leaned out the side. Evan blinked in confusion seeing a flash from the side of the van. His mind raced to figure out what he was seeing.

Reno kept his hands on the wheel, eyes on the dusty ground ahead.

Evan gasped. Stark realization set in. "RENO!"

Nevada flinched. Without further warning, an object streaked by the Chevelle, leaving a small trail in its wake. An explosion caused a crater up ahead. Reno swerved to avoid it. The Chevelle passed through a section of fence where the gate had been flattened by the explosion.

"Was that a fucking RPG?!" Reno exclaimed.

Evan flinched but ignored the vocabulary. "I thought their boss told them not to scratch the car! What in the heck was that?"

"Dammit, dammit, dammit," Nevada chanted. He took a deep breath and eased into the accelerator. "Either they intended to blast the fence to keep us from scratching the car, or they're trying to corral us into turning away from the mountains. Hold tight, I'm going to stomp the brakes."

"Shoot, shoot, shoot," Evan chanted in the same monotone way as Reno a moment prior. "You need a gunnery seat option or something. Maybe a targeting computer built into your glove box. That would be pretty "Q"-esque."

"This isn't James Bond, pal." Reno slammed on the brakes, causing both vans to cut away from the chase. Fortunately, both drivers turned the same way, causing one to clip the other. The first van ripped the driver-side rearview mirror of the other. As the three vehicles left the paved road, a cloud of dust waft up, creating a smoke screen to shroud the two pursuers.

Reno punched the gas pedal, kicking up more dirt. He kept his foot on the floor for a brief moment then jerked the wheel and stomped on the brakes. Nevada cut the wheel back the other way, eased into the accelerator then hit the brakes again. The back end of the vehicle fishtailed about, facing the large miasma of loose dirt.

He could see the headlights of the vans through the settling dust cloud. "Get ready."

"Don't go blowing them up with your rail-gun thing. There's no need to kill them."

"Evan ... I was a cop, not an assassin." He offered a sidelong glance and a slight smile. "And I have Q-gadgets other than just the rail-gun." He reached for the dashboard and pressed firmly in on a panel of chrome switches, activating the middle button. It caused the second button to depress. "Hands on the handle again."

Evan curled his fingers over the handle and squared up his feet on the plate bolted into the flooring. "Ready."

Reno clenched his hands over the wheel and tightened his grip until his knuckles whitened somewhat. A blinding white arc of energy lanced from rods protruding on the front of the Chevelle.

The bolt of lightning struck one of the vans. Both headlights burst and a plume of steam rolled out from the front grille. Black smoke followed, escaping through the gaps between the hood and the side quarter panels. As the last of the dust faded away, Reno and Evan could see that the men in the left van appeared stunned and disoriented.

A flash of light came from the van on the right. With no time to react at the incoming RPG, Reno threw his hands up in an instinctive posture of defense. The incoming RPG changed course dramatically and moved away. It exploded in the distance somewhere behind the Chevelle.

"What the...?"

Evan blinked twice then turned to Reno. "You deflected it!"

"What? I'm not Karla; they just ... missed!"

"No! Reno, you threw your hands up and it shifted away. You can push an object somehow! Uhm, maybe with static electricity or magnetic electrical energy ... in retrospect, it seems to me that you should be able to create some sort of energy push on anything that's in extremely close proximity. Haven't you ever played Infamous on the PlayStation 3 or 4, man?"

Reno kept his eyes on the two vans up ahead. "No. My parents were hippies. I didn't have a PS3 ... nor a 4, nor the fifth iteration, kiddo." He swallowed to moisten his tongue then said, "Could I use static electric cling to make this car drive vertically up a wall? That might come in handy with these guys. I don't know, maybe they're out of crap to shoot at us."

"Heck if I know. The character from the game couldn't drive cars or shoot guns, let alone touch water. But you can do all those things."

"Life isn't a video game, Evan."

"Yeah, well, just the same," Balmoral murmured, "You might want to warn women about getting into a hot tub with you. You might electrocute 'em. Heads up. The guy is popping out the side door again."

"Yeah, well, we're not going to test the 'push' theory again. It might have been a fluke and that thing might have simply missed by luck." Reno opened the ashtray, took a small metallic BB pellet then closed the tray. He put the small round object into a hopper coming up out of the dash. "I won't kill anyone. Just relax."

"Now what?"

"Watch." Reno closed his fingers over the small hopper and pushed on it as if it were a joystick. A HUD display illuminated the windshield above the speedometer. A targeting reticle showed up on the glass. "Wilfred bet me money I wouldn't read the manual he wrote. I'm about to collect on that."

Nevada tugged on the small hopper, pushing it slightly to the left. The targeting reticle moved accordingly. He pushed forward on the BB hopper and the targeting square lowered. Satisfied, Reno moved his foot over to a small pedal in the floor. He pushed in on it and used his other hand to charge the steering wheel.

The Chevelle shuddered. The small BB blasted from the front of the car at a high rate of speed. Evan saw the ground between the vans blast apart before his body registered the Chevy's jolt.

The blast caused both vans to tip over onto their sides, away from one another. Reno tapped the pedal on the floor again then eased into the accelerator and approached then put the car into neutral and used his left foot to mash down the parking brake. He unfastened his belt then opened the door. "Let's go have a talk with these morons. Get ready to do your glass prison thing."

Evan followed Nevada towards the two vans. One of the men climbed out through the opened sliding panel door on the side. Reno lifted his hand and an enormous bolt of lighting rushed from his palm. With a smirk, the ex-inspector's raw energy struck the RPG tube on the man's shoulder with surprising precision.

The Russian-made weapon flew away and hit the ground somewhere in the distance. Someone inside the van handed up ammunition but the startled gunner declined it and reached for his shoulder. He favored a spot where his neckline met his shoulder and watched as Reno and Evan approached at a casual pace.

Dusting off his shirt, Reno asked, "Is that a knockoff Russian RPG? God that thing looks like it's right out of the late 70's," then announced, "You dickheads are all under arrest. Car jacking is a Felony crime. Get the hell out here and get your asses on the ground!" Reno turned to Evan and, softly, added, "You gotta speak in a way they respect - a tone of authority. Sorry, man. Cussing what they respond to."

"Yeah, yeah."

X

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X

Friday January 26, 1:05am CST Houston, TX

** Reno rolled over, ** staring at the dark form of the adjacent bed. Evan slept soundly, having napped in the car since San Antonio.

Nevada grumbled. "Kid came in, went right to sleep. Me? I'm overtired. How come you can sleep so easily, huh?"

In reply, a noisy buzzing sound caused Nevada to sit up. He reached for his cellphone on the nightstand, noted Karla's name on the caller ID and brought it to his ear. "Nevada here. Hey, Karla, we just settled down to sleep about thirty minutes ago. What's up, sex demon?"

The voice on the other end didn't belong to Karla. "Inspector, it's Sinopa Crevan. We have a very serious problem."

"What's wrong?"

"How far are you from a city called Jacksonville, in Florida? I understand it is at the north part of the state, some ways away from Miami ... Karla cannot get us there quickly enough due to the low travel speed of boats."

"Slow down ... I'm about twelve hours away, give or take. Why?"

"I had a premonition of something horrible that will happen there today. Something I feel deeply compelled to stop. In my dream, there were innocent people ... truly _innocent people ... and everything was cast into darkness. There were young men with guns. A _lot of people with guns. Reno-san, the last thing I saw before I woke up was the address on a sign out front. There is a serious possibility that good people will die. Many of them. I will have Karla operate her phone to send you the address. Please. With all my ability, if I cannot prevent what I saw, I ... I can't handle the thought of knowing of such a tragedy and being powerless to help; there MUST be a reason I prophesized this ... I just ... please, I am begging you."

Reno slid his legs out of bed, yanked off the sheets and comforter. "I couldn't sleep anyway. Just text me the address. We'll get back on the road right now. What other details could you see?"

"Inside the building was very dark. I could hear crying and confusion. The overpowering emotion clouded what details I could see and replaced it with details I could feel. Please. Whatever it is, it happens tomorrow morning and it's serious."

"Did you try calling the police?"

"I did. I told them I dreamt there would be an attack and they said there would be an officer to drive by and check the address but seemed suspicious of me for calling it in. I'm just..."

Sinopa's voice disappeared. Reno blinked, glanced at his phone to check for reception then asked, "Hello?"

A second later, Karla's voice came over the line. "Reno, it's me. Listen, she's practically having heart palpitations. Whatever she saw is apparently way bigger than anything else, including this hostage we have. Thankfully the girl is behaving, but I can't get us there fast enough. Topaz tried to charter a helicopter but couldn't arrange anything at this hour on such short notice. How far are you?"

"It's the middle of the night. I'll drive fast. Just ... get me the address so we're not wasting time."

"Reno, whatever she saw had her in hysterics. She woke up half an hour ago, screaming with tears streaming down her face. I can't even figure out what she saw yet. We're already underway to Jacksonville but at top speed, we won't get there for at least sixteen hours or more. It's a big boat with little propellers. Just..."

"Karla, chill out." He put his hand over the bottom of the phone and said, "Get up, Evan. We gotta go. It's time for the reality of being a superhero ... being tired and fighting crime." He pulled his hand away from the bottom of the phone and said, "I've been on the road all day and been shot at and I'm going to have to drive all night to get there ... wherever it is that I'm going. So you owe me. I need run-flat tires from the Secret Service warehouse near Greenbelt, Maryland. I think that's the name of the town. I read that somewhere."

"Reno. Whatever you want, just get there quick. This is more serious than you think. All I can understand from her at this point is that guns will kill innocent bystanders. The cops didn't take us seriously. They said they'd have an officer on the premises of this building, whatever it is. Jules said every premonition she's ever had has come true with startling accuracy. She said she was going to go and use a mirror to go there but I talked her out of it."

"Why?" he asked, while looping his belt. He turned to the nightstand and grabbed his keys.

Karla sighed over the line. "Let's be realistic, Top Cop, she's not trained to handle a situation involving guns and civilians. If she got anyone killed, she would be an even bigger mess than she is now. I told her that you're better suited and trained for the situation."

Reno fastened his pants then pushed a hand into his pockets, followed by his wallet. "I'm dressed, now. Evan is climbing out of bed. We have a case of energy drinks, caffeine pills, a bottle of honey and a bag of apples. Stop worrying. We're leaving now. Text me that address. I'm gonna go so I can get everything out to the car."

A hint of relief was heard in Karla's tone. "Take care of yourself. Don't get yourself killed. The world needs all of us as much as those people will need you tomorrow morning. And there are a lot more people in the rest of the world than just a building in Florida. Priorities. Promise me you won't be reckless, okay?"

"Speeding is reckless, so I can't make that promise. Just ... let me do the job I was trained to do. Text me that address; gotta get going, now." He hung up and reached for his bag and glanced back at Evan. "Let's go, hero."

X

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Next chapter: https://www.sofurry.com/view/664061