The Exfiltrator by Garner Simmons (read after txt) 📗

to make the first move.  Definitely a problem not shared by the Spanish men she had encountered daily in the streets of Salamanca, who constantly seemed to hit on her, whistling and undressing her with their eyes.  Like every other unescorted woman, she had felt the need to be on guard against these unwanted advances.

Clearly, these complications were decidedly American.  Over the past few years, given the public outcry against sexual abuses by powerful men – men in business, entertainment and politics – toward younger women, flirting had become a risky business. But if neither sex took the initiative, what chance did anyone have for any kind of serious relationship?  Maybe that’s what happened to the Neanderthals, she thought with an ironic smile. No wonder they called it the Ice Age. Obviously, if anything was going to happen, it was simply going to have to be up to her.  She would just have take the first step

Reaching the bottom of the incline for the eighth time, she slowed to a stop.  Then turning, she walked quickly backwards for twenty meters, reversing the action of her muscles, allowing her body to start to cool down.  Breathing deeply, she was beginning to feel better already.  At last, she turned and walked quickly into camp only to encounter one of the security men as he emerged from the darkness carrying a paper coffee cup.

“¿Quien va…?” His challenge caught her by surprise.  But the moment he saw it was the girl he relaxed shaking his head with a slightly lascivious smile.  Ignoring him, she moved past and re-entered her tent.  Some things never changed.

*****

Caught in the last vestiges of some half-imagined dream still lingering in the corners of his mind, Corbett found himself awake.  He vaguely remembered chasing something… or was it someone?  Or was something chasing him?  Exactly where or when he could not be sure.  Only a fleeting recollection of a face that had vanished the moment he had tried to open his eyes.  A woman, he thought?  Or was it a man?

He lay there for several minutes attempting to retrieve some fragment or detail from his dream only to find himself thinking of Amaia, of seeing her again after so long.  Suddenly, the image of her brother Jon, his bullet riddled body lying dead in the street in Kibera Slum filled his mind with a sense of guilt.  How could Corbett have allowed it to happen?  How could he have he failed him?  He should have been quicker.  Death, indeed, was the ultimate betrayal.

Thinking about Jon brought him back to Amaia and his need to find and exfiltrate Tariq.  Which in turn conjured up the face of the man who had attacked him at the airport.  The fact that he had now appeared in Xeria proved the attempt to steal his computer could not be laid to mere coincidence.  And then there was the fleeting memory of the two men who had attacked him in the street outside the clinic.  The adrenaline rush of unexpected combat.  The finality with which he had been forced to kill them both.  Troubling memories. Faces intermingling with those of others he had been forced to deal with – to “terminate” – in the past.  It had been a knee-jerk response.  No time to question when your life is on the line.  To stop and consider some less draconian alternative.  Reductio ad absurdum.   Either kill or be killed.  Take action.  Move on.  Compartmentalize and assuage the guilt.  Yet why, he wondered, were some deaths easier to dismiss than others?  What was it about Jon Alesander’s death that continued to stalk him?  Perhaps the fact that those he had been forced to kill in such moments held no emotional weight.  Unlike the death of his friend for whom Corbett’s failure still embodied the last full measure of his own inadequacy.

Checking his watch, he found that it was nearly five.  Soon it would be daybreak.  Rising, he managed to locate the light switch and turn it on.  The bare bulb swayed on its cord, sending a cascade of shadows ricocheting around the walls of the tent.  Moving to the computer, he sat down and attempted to reboot the screen once more.  To his surprise, he had service. Within thirty seconds, he was connected and logged onto the Internet via the WiFi connection.  Quickly typing Professor Asurias’s university email address, he began his report:

Arrived safe at site and have begun to settle in.  Camp is up and running. According to Sebastian, the spare parts needed to repair our winch have now arrived and hopefully it will be working by noon.  The delay allowed us to rappel down into the main chamber of the cave itself.  Preliminary recon very promising.  As soon as winch is operational, we will set up the lift.  Laser mapping to begin ASAP.  More to follow.

                                                                             – Corbett

Clicking the “SEND” button, Corbett returned to the INBOX where he found a new encrypted email waiting from MOTHER@firewall.org. The subject line read: “Status UPDATE…?” Hitting REPLY, he wrote:

Dear Mother – Saw doctor in town.  Explained critical need to find specialist A.S.A.P.  Doctor non-committal but promised to consult specialist directly.  Encountered a couple of minor complaints upon exiting clinic but terminated both accounts.  Will be in touch. – Sonny

Clicking SEND again, the email vanished into the Ether.  Completely preoccupied, he had failed to hear Ella enter behind him.

“We really are in the middle of nowhere,” her voice caught him by surprise.  Seeing his head abruptly turn in her direction, she smiled.  “Sorry.  Didn’t mean to startle you.  I tried using my cell phone when I got back from my run and couldn’t even get a signal.  Did you actually just send an email…?”

“Sometimes the magic works, sometimes it doesn’t,” he said without answering the question.  “You ran this morning…?  Out here?”

“Some habits are hard to shake.  The terrain’s a little daunting, but I