Inner Workings

Inner Workings - Part 27

"From what I see of the weather radar you guys are in a mud puddle until three in the morning at the earliest," said Cetz. "Do you have any questions?"

"How far can we go with protecting Massaru and his family?" asked Louis. "I don't suppose we can tell them the truth and get them the hell outta dodge?"

Cetz sighed covering the mike to his headset. "If they don't know what he was really doing, then they need to stay not knowing. As far as Watch Mission Control is concerned, Freewill was a terrorist organization, and they treat any cases with terrorist threats as classified."

"Did Massaru have to take an oath or sign a non-disclosure?"

"It doesn't say in his file, but I wouldn't assume any leniency if you break silence."

"Fan-frickin'-tastic. What if we lied?"

"Up to you guys, as long as you stay safe." God knew Cetz had to lie plenty of times in his line of work. "Remember, the more lies you lay out, the more likely you're going to get caught."

"We'll be fine. So far Fanboy is a terrible liar."

"Work with it. I'll try to keep an eye on the radar on my end. You keep your eyes open for Sandra."

"Are we allowed to shoot her?"

"Only if it isn't lethal. Unless you want to fill out the mountain of paperwork that would cause?"

"No thanks. We'll call you if anything comes up."

Cetz signed off. He needed another cup of coffee, and he wanted to go down to the shooting range and fill a couple of targets full of holes. Really big holes.

***

Nate tossed away another used tissue, missing the overflowing trash can and plopping wetly to the floor with the rest of his nasal excrements. He had suffered hours through his dripping and stuffed nose to filter through the video recordings of the car explosion in San Francisco and of the night before. The finished product was a set of faces with attached IDs. All he had to do was send the files up to Cetz who would then hand it over to the right people.

After a hard day's misery, he deserved an antihistamine and a spoonful of grape cough syrup. Despite Franklin's earnest advice, Nate wasn't about to chug a tablespoon of peppermint extract to clear his nose. Home remedies couldn't compete with Med Tech.

He went to the first person who knew of his cold and would give him relief; doctor Rachel Sampson. He knocked, heard nothing, then opened her office door.

Nates voice came out nasal and thick. "Rachel?"

The blonde doctor jerked up from her desk. "What?"

"Crap. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

Rachel groaned and batted away a paper that stuck to her cheek. "S'okay. What did you need?"

"Antihistamine and cough syrup."

"A cold again? Can't you go to one of the nurses?"

"They'd just confirm it with you before they do anything. Blame my weak immune system."

"I blame humanity for not coming up with a cure for the common cold already," mumbled Rachel, stretching as she got up and made her way around the desk. Then she paused, staring at something on her desk. "Nate, can you taste anything?"

"Nada. Can't even enjoy toast."

"Then let's try something else first." She handed a steaming bowl of something fiery red to him.