Generations Beyond: Project: Generations, #1

CHAPTER ONE

Washington

The black car wove its way through the labyrinth of Fort Lewis. Christina Aarons looked at her watch, eleven hundred hours and an unremarkable day in the Tacoma area as the car eased in front of the HQ building. She exited the back seat in her Class B uniform; fitted light green shirt with double silver bars on black cotton resting on her shoulders, though no ribbons affixed to the left breast; her name tag on the right. A solid black stipe ran along the outside of her darker green slacks. Her long blonde hair secured in a French twist. A brisk wind blew past her as she looked at the unremarkable building in front of her; light blue paneling and light gray brick with steel double doors that led into a middle bay central hub.

She leaned through the passenger window, paid the driver of the black sedan in cash. Clean shaven, the driver wore a dark pressed suit and solid black tie. She gave him instructions to take her bags to her hotel and deliver them to her room.

I’ll call when I’m ready for you. She instructed the driver. The quiet building stood three story high and a few soldiers passed through its doors.

Captain Cross’ position as the Officer in Charge give him rank the department, the S2 Intelligence section, of the Battalion offices. Quick steps on low heels brought her to the doors as a Private held open with a sharp salute. Aarons saluted back and walked on her way. Aarons removed her beret and tucked it under her arm with the file on Cross. Eyes drifted from one object to the next as she took slow steps.

The first hallway turned held plain doorways with plaques on the walls, but the second held the jackpot. Half-way to the far door an electronic pad hung on the wall. Aarons observed a soldier approach the pad, place his hand over the electric device, and open the door before he disappeared through the unlocked doorway. Aarons mimicked the soldier's actions and pressed a green button to the right of the keypad. There came a disembodied male voice through a middling quality speaker, Hello? Not an impolite voice, but it carried some bothered qualities.

Visitor to see Captain Cross, she answered.

And the visitor’s name?

Classified.

A click of the connection closing and a protracted silence, save for the occasional footstep somewhere in the obscure hallways followed her reply. The seconds passed until another more mechanical click heralded a man in Army green with crossed arrows on his lapel and blue-and-gold on his shoulder. He held no hesitation in the steps that took him from the room beyond, into the doorway, into the hall, and into her personal space. Cross, the nameplate on his jacket read, and his expression matched.

The uniform he wore made it hard to access his size, he stood a couple inches over six feet and still in peak physical condition, for a thirty-year-old. His full face was not flabby, with a sharp jawline and a cleft chin with the signs of returning stubble. His green eyes peered at her from beneath thick brows furrowed with annoyance. The un-hatted head sported a cut military crew.

This some kind of joke, the tone made it a question.

The corner of her lips twitched upwards at the irritation in his voice. She couldn’t glean his demeanor from his file. Jokes aren’t something I come by often, Captain. Is there somewhere we can speak in private?

You’ve been on a base before, less crass, more amused; still little emotion in his face. Private doesn’t happen all that often.

Touché, giving him an amused smirk of her own. A room without an audience will do.

I hardly have time for social hour, Captain, his brows furrowed a touch, You are welcome to wait until I have down time, or you can get something on my calendar. If that is all, he left it hanging in polite dismissal, but he made no move to open the closed door.

Aarons sighed and shook her head. This could have gone easier, but have it your way. I have orders for you, Captain. I can hand them to you now and walk away, letting you go to your prepaid hotel room tonight, and get on your scheduled flight tomorrow with your unanswered questions, or we can go to a room and talk, as I already asked. The decision is yours, she said, lifting one arched eyebrow.

Easier? He wondered. He received new orders and they didn’t come by his Colonel hand. Well, he extended an expectant hand, I suppose you should deliver those orders.

She gave a smile as she reached for the file under her arm, beret staying in place. Her leather clad fingers opened the thin, tan folder to expose his picture, along with dates of service, education, and tours of duty, all classified information lay bare. Pages flipped before coming to the final pages. She handed them to him as her eyes met his once more.

Your replacement is Captain Morales. He’s flying in from Fort Bragg this morning. We have a car picking him up from the airport, the hand flipped the file as she looked at her watch, in three minutes, barring any unforeseens. I already briefed your Colonel and he scheduled you at fourteen-hundred. Your room is at the Hotel Murano. Be there no later than eighteen hundred. Give them your name and they will show you to your room. Your belongings will be packed up for you and shipped to your new assignment.

His eyes flicked to the pages she handed him while she spoke, any further objections having quieted when he realized that she held an un-redacted copy of his service record. His lips screwed as he reviewed the documents.

You understand I will wait to be relieved by Captain Morales.

And I’m sure you can appreciate the hurry up and wait mentality, albeit tradition, doesn’t fit with our timeline. Now you have your orders and we are to be, well, let’s say we will spend time together, best not to get off on the wrong foot. Take my advice on this one, Captain, keep whatever you feel you need to pass on to your successor short and sweet.

The file folder replaced her beret under her arm as she prepared to walk away, One more thing, she added with a hint of a pause, dinner reservations are at eighteen thirty. Be presentable.

Aarons turned and walked back the direction she came. She pulled a phone from her pocket, checking a single message before placing it away again. When she turned the corner, a quick glance to the hallway found an empty spot where Cross stood moments. A quick call to the driver and within ten minutes, seated in the back seat once more, Aarons watched the base blur from focus as it gave way to its more modern counterpart.

CHAPTER TWO

Washington

After the car arrived at the hotel, Aarons gave the driver his due and instructions for pickup in the morning. The Bellman held the door open for her as she made her way to the front of the multi-level hotel. The light stone building opened to an impressive lobby, backlit in blue with sculptures and earth tone furnishings. Aarons smiled and gave the receptionist a nod of greeting before she stepped into the elevator.

As expected, her bag waited for her inside the door of her suite. Blue wove its way through the décor as the predominant color of choice in the hotel. Aarons’ suite held two bedrooms, a living room area, a dining room, and a separate bathroom. She took a few steps in, kicked off her heels by the couch in the living room area, and tossed the file folder on the bed. While taking off the tight, kidskin gloves, Aarons made her way among the rooms, looking in this lampshade or that knickknack, picture frames, and small nooks and crannies. Her demeanor relaxed when the room was cleared and shoulders eased. She stood near the window as she glanced at the city. Her thoughts returned the man she met. She needed more time to think before the call to Penn.

The shower took fifteen minutes to the mark. Long, blonde hair twisted in the off-white towel as she tucked the end of the second towel under her arm to secure it in place. Long, delicate fingers slid the papers from the file and spread them on her bed.

Jonathan Cross, a remarkable subject. An intelligent and well trained soldier; a fact his service record more than exemplified, but more hid between the lines. Aarons let her fingers dance above the papers. The answer resided beneath the surface, but remained out of sight as it should be; as they should be.

Aarons grabbed her phone and hit the quick dial number for Penn. General.

What, Aarons? Penn’s voice sounded.

The orders delivered to the subject. I meet with him again in four hours and will administer a test.

No. Complete the test. If he passes bring him for further testing. If he fails get rid of him.

Understood, Sir.

Report back to me once it’s finished.

Aarons didn’t wait for any further reply or answer from Penn before she hung up the phone.

Aarons reviewed the conversation in her mind. She paced along the room, read the file, looked to the window. One minute she had a conversation with Penn and the next her watch started a silent, vibrating alarm to tell her to get ready for dinner.

The man that stepped from the cab did not resemble the same man who left his post for the last time earlier that day. He wore his camouflage and the signature green beret, having eschewed the dressier greens in favor of something more comfortable and practical. With the rucksack slung on his left shoulder, he gave the driver cash and headed toward the hotel entrance with deliberate steps and a hyper vigilant awareness old habit to Special Forces.

At the front desk, he and the woman across the counter locked eyes, "Cross, checking in. Miss Aarons made the room arrangement." He kept his words sterile but not rude.

The girl needed a moment to right herself, O-of course, Sir, she checked the computer with the soft clack of nails on keys, Here you are, Mr. Cro-

"Captain, he interrupted, Captain Cross."

Her cheeks reddened a touch as she nodded, My apologies, Captain Cross. She swallowed and wet her lips before speaking, You are booked for one night in one of our Superior Suites. She smiled and reached for a keycard.

No, Cross frowned a touch, stopping her hand right in mid-flight. A suite is too much for me. If the price change is a problem issue me the smallest room, refund to whomever paid, and I will cover the gap.

I... Well, her brow knitted, if you insist. Our Suites are best in class. She let her fingers fall on those keys again without waiting for him to change his mind. There is one Deluxe remaining, she smiled again, with less enthusiasm and confidence, and presented a key card in a half-envelope with the room number written across the front.

Thank you. He took the card and slid it into a pocket before giving her a small smile, A wake-up call at o’four hundred, please. He didn’t wait for confirmation before he turned on his heel and made his way toward the lobby elevators.

Captain. she replied to his back, Enjoy your night! Once he walked from sight, she picked the phone from its cradle and dialed a room.

The phone rang in Aarons’ room. She slid her hand into her glove before answering, Aarons.

Captain Aarons, this is the front desk. You asked to be notified if your guest checked in before your departure for dinner reservations.

The gentleman has arrived?

Yes, Ma’am. However...

Go on, she prodded, holding back the tinge of annoyance that crept into her voice.

Captain Cross has changed his room, she offered.

Aarons sighed. Of course he has, she thought. Fine.

The front desk clerk also confessed to not carrying out her due diligence in providing the good gentleman with his information regarding dinner. She offered after giving Aarons the new room number.

The second glove pulled on, wallet placed in pocket, phone in opposite pocket, handgun at the small of the back, knife in boot. Her dinner companion being the missing accessory. Time to put right that defect.

Five minutes after receiving the phone call, a knock sounded on Cross’ door. A firm knock, not SWAT at his door. She wasn’t angry, simply annoyed. Aarons stood in view of the peephole.

The door opened within seconds of the knock. Aarons, he nodded a terse greeting, making note of the distinct lack of Army attire. Seventy-five percent CIA, twenty-five percent FBI, he thought to himself. I wonder if she has long hair. His frame filled the doorway from side to side and most of the open frame.

Cross she answered. She looked at his uniform and at his eyes. I haven’t given you enough time to get ready for dinner. I’ll leave you to it then. Eighteen thirty, Pacific Grill, 1502 Pacific Ave. I’ll see you there, she turned in obvious dismissal.

No need, he shot back in the middle of her turn, I’m ready now.

Aarons turned and looked at him again, no longer hiding the raised eyebrow. No, I don’t think you are, but let’s go eat.

The walk to the stairs, through the lobby, and into the street in silence. Now and then she glanced at him to observe his stance, his cadence. Cross made it a death march not a three minute walk on a nice night to a highly rated seafood restaurant.

Reservations for two under Aarons, she said once they reached their destination and made their way to the hostess station.

Yes, Ma’am. This way, please, the hostess said, picking two menus and showing them to their booth. Once shown to their table, Aarons shook her head.

No, this one won’t do. That one, she said, pointing to the one at the far wall.

Of course, follow me. she said and led them to the table that Aarons indicated.

When they arrived at the table, Aarons too the chair that placed her back against the brick wall, full view of the room and the entrances.

Her seat and table choice became one more piece of evidence he filed away, along with those gloves again. So, what kind of outfit burns this budget for one relo? The right eyebrow arched upward as he turned his head to look at her for the first time since she arrived at his door.

This isn’t the whole budget, I assure you, she said. The Sacred Grove looks delightful. She commented off hand. But, she said, getting back to his main comment, if you want to begin with questions before we’ve ordered appetizers, I’m game. She put the menu back and looked him in the eyes.

He shook his head at the non-answer answer and pushed the bar menu aside to read the dinner options. We can start with who you work for and why you pretend to be Army.

It’s a good thing you’re not a betting man, Cross. she said with a soft, mocking chuckle. You lost that one. I’ve been in the Army since I was seventeen, longer than you. I just have a different skill set.

Aarons paused for a moment to order her drink from the waiter when he came. Cross ordered his water with lemon, no ice.

The General I report to thinks that you and I will be a good team, but we’re off to a rocky start. I will admit, even after looking over your file for the past few days, it never gave me the impression you were so... temperamental.

You enjoy what you do, Aarons?

Ah, I see where this is going, Cross. Aarons said, giving him a sincere smile, while her leather cover index finger tapped on the table. But no, I don’t, or who I work for, but maybe that will change. Is this the part where you tell me I will never understand because I’ve never been a part of a brotherhood, that I’ve never gone into combat with the same group of men for six month rotations for years at a time... I’ll never know the bond that builds, knowing that someone will have my back, because I’ve got theirs? She lowered her voice the further along in her questioning.

No, he sighed, you took me away from my life, their drinks arrived, and he took a small sip of his water. I don’t like it.

Aarons gave a nod for the drinks before taking a sip and setting it back on the napkin. I wonder how long you’ve been telling yourself that. You know when you tell yourself something long enough, you believe it. I wonder, is that your truth? I can tell you one thing I know to be true from reading those files in the folder, Captain Cross, you hated that assignment and that desk. The rim of the glass came back to her lips, but her eyes remained on his.

Best lies are partial truths. The desk and I have a love-hate relationship, Cross’ shoulders lifted in a half shrug as he tossed his gaze to the room. I loved to hate it, but at least it served my men. He looked back at her with that same deep calm he held since leaving the base.

Cross, I will tell you the truth, here and now. I know better than to get into a pissing contest with you. We can get out a ruler right here, but it won’t get us anywhere. If you have a bone to pick with me that’s fine, but you need to deal with it on your own time.

The basics. Cross leaned back and folded his arms. Where are we stationed and who’s our CO?

We’re based at Ft. Belvoir, Virginia. However, Aarons stopped when the waiter came and interrupted her.

Are you two ready to order? he asked as he looked between the pair.

Aarons didn’t look at the menu. Um, pita and hummus for me, please. She told the waiter as she handed the menu back to him.

Chilaquiles with a bottle of Tabasco.

Aarons waited until their server walked away before she continued. One of our first points of business will be to find a suitable location to operate. But, discretion is important.

Her eyes moved to the beret set aside and his other military decorations. As much as I know you are attached to them, you might consider letting go of... things, the sooner, the better. She took another sip of her cocktail before continuing, You asked about our CO. His name is General Penn. Next question?

Cross paused. What’s your name, Aarons?

Christina, came her answer, accompanied by a slight smile. Or Chris.

Christina. So, he smirked, the gloves?

A soft chuckle escaped her lips. I can tell you is that I am ordered to wear them when I’m around anyone in the military or a security clearance, unless it’s part of a mission. Other than that, they stay. I’ll make you a deal, later tonight or tomorrow I’ll tell you more.

"I can already