Deadlock by Robert Liparulo Read Free Book Online

it.”
    She tapped a Wired magazine cover tacked to the wall beside the plaque. Brendan Page looked out from it. She said, “What, no bull’s-eye drawn over him?”
    â€œReminds me how smug the guy is,” Hutch said. “Look at those eyes, those pursed lips.”
    In the photo, Page stood casual and confident, holding a cigar near his face. Around him a battle raged: soldiers fired machine guns at unseen targets, a fiery explosion was frozen in mid-destruction, and over his shoulder a sleek tank crested a ridge. Where plumes of smoke obscured his feet and legs was the line HOW THIS MAN IS RESHAPING THE WAY WE FIGHT.

SIX
    Brendan Page pulled off the helmet and stepped out of the boots. He unzipped the VR suit, pulling it down to his waist. Perspiration beaded over him like sequins. Close-quarters combat was a strenuous activity, mentally and physically—even in virtual reality. He glanced up at the control room.
    Ian sat before a monitor, his hand gliding over a trackball. Brendan’s teenage son, Julian, stood behind him. The boy returned Page’s nod and returned his attention to Ian’s shutdown procedure.
    Julian was not a happy child; he hated being housed and schooled on the Outis compound. The only part of it he did seem to enjoy were the VR facilities: learning its programming and control protocols and experiencing the VR environments himself.
    Ian caught his eye and clicked on the intercom. “Got some news, Brendan. Come on up.”
    Page gave the man a thumbs-up. He went into the locker room. Five minutes later, he’d showered, dressed, and was bounding up the stairs to the control room. Julian had left. Page dropped onto a leather couch.
    Ian studied a computer screen displaying a map.
    â€œFound a glitch,” Page said. “I hit my helmet with the weapons prop and got static, like what’s-his-name described the other day. It’s systemic to the design.”
    â€œYou wanted it bulletproof,” Bryson said. “You never mentioned anything about soup cans.”
    â€œChili,” Page corrected.
    â€œAnyway, that’s not the problem,” Ian said. “He wasn’t ready.”
    â€œNothing gets you ready like doing,” Page said. “How many tactical training missions has he completed? How many VR simulations?” He felt his pockets for a cigar case and realized he’d left it in the locker room. “He’s our seed for Fireteam Bravo. The whole point of getting newbies into fully functioning teams is to eventually have entire teams made up of soldiers who’ve known nothing else but Quarterback.”
    Quarterback was Outis’s latest project—the human equivalent of pushing the technological envelope. The name derived from QRBO—Quick-Response Black-Ops. They consisted of four-man teams whose sole purpose was to move in quickly, accomplish a task, and pull out just as fast. The plan had been to lease these teams to governments who needed their services, at phenomenal premiums over the everyday soldiers Outis provided.
    During their development, Page had encountered his own need for their expertise. Like a drug dealer cooking the purest meth, he couldn’t resist sampling his own product. And like that dealer, waking one day under a bridge, covered in vomit, Page had felt the sting in an operation that had gone south.
    Ian waved a hand at Page. He had other business on his mind. “Our guy at Purdue intercepted a call from Nichols. You were right: he tried to avoid the keyword system.”
    â€œWhat got him?” Page said.
    â€œHe used your name. That, coupled with slaughtered within three words of family .”
    â€œWe got a location?”
    â€œPay phone in a town called Pinedale, California, between Redding and Eureka. Fireteam Alpha’s on its way there now. Shouldn’t be too hard to find him.”
    â€œWho’d he call?”
    Ian grinned. “Your favorite