Chapter 15

Early risers, Wainwright and Margaret decided to go to the kitchen and fix themselves breakfast before everyone else got up, reasoning that even Jeff would still be in bed because of the injury. Instead, they opened the door to a moil of activity. There was laughter, giggles, the clattering of cooking utensils, etc. — and heavenly smells.

Diana yelled out from the other end of the kitchen, "Come on in sleepy heads. Get some coffee. The breakfast bar will be ready in five minutes. We were just about to give you guys a call."

Wainwright and Margaret walked on into the room as Laura separated herself from the group and approached them. She stopped for an instant, just short of Wainwright, then took the last step and flung herself into a full body hug.

As Wainwright's arms closed around her, "I'm sorry," she said, her face buried in his shoulder. "When I felt that Jeff was threatened, I just lost it. I won't say I'm sorry I tried to protect him. But I am sorry things got that bad. I respected you at your company, and you were good to us. I don't want to mess things up between you and Jeff. Please, let's try to start this thing over again," she finished, looked up into his face, tears about to spill from her eyes.

Into the total quiet that had descended on the busy kitchen, Wainwright said, "Nothing to forgive. I acted like a fool. I was worried about Jeff, and let my imagination take control. When I saw his wound, I guess I lost all reason. I'm sorry, Laura. You have nothing to be ashamed of — I do. Please, if you can, forgive me."

Wainwright looked over Laura's head at Helen. "Doctor Boswell, I humbly apologize. As I did with Laura, I acted like a fool. The only thing I'll say in my defense is that I was worried about Jeff. But that's no excuse for the way I acted.

"And to Diana, I came into you home and tried to take over. Again I was a fool.

"And to everyone else, the same, "I humbly apologize for my actions."

Every woman in the place took their turn hugging both Wainwright and Margaret. Then the bustle in the kitchen started up again.

A little later Wainwright said, "Diana, we didn't mean to impose on you people this morning. We were going to sneak in, maybe fix a bite to eat, and head out as soon as the limo company opened and we could get someone to come pick us up."

Diana piled scrambled eggs into a serving pan in the warmer, wiped her hands on a towel, and laughed at him. "Now why would you think two more people would be any kind of imposition when we're already cooking for ten? Besides, this is the first time that we've really had a chance to use the steamer for a breakfast bar. And with all the cooks we have here, fixing breakfast is trivial. My husband and daughter will be here in a minute. She's helping him with a modified shower this morning."

Seeing the look on Wainwright's face, she responded, "Yes, Frank, she's one of the wives, too. A couple of months ago, I would have been appalled; now I'm not even going to try to defend it. Just look at her when she comes in with him, and then tell me there's something wrong with it."

Wainwright grinned at her as he pulled his chair out to sit down. "Now, who's jumping to conclusions? It's hard to argue with seven — overused, but the expression still fits — drop-dead gorgeous women for wives."

"Six," Doctor Boswell said, putting a stack of plates on the breakfast bar, "I'm too old. Even though I, like his wives, have somehow learned to know where he is all the time. But I'm flattered at the description, even though you didn't really mean it to apply to me."

"Oh, yes I did," Wainwright quickly replied. "And yes, you are a little older than the others, but I meant for the description to include you, but I apologize for including you as one of his wives. I just thought..."

"She's one of us," Diana said. "It's just not official yet. And for some reason, she can't seem to believe she's gorgeous."

"Diana," Boswell said, dragging out the word. "I'm not. And I'm way too old to be one of his wives, and you know it."

Diana just grinned at her and went on with breakfast preparations, thinking, Just wait until he shoves that wonderful cock up you until you think your womb is going to come out your throat, then tell me you're too old.

Turning back to Wainwright, a couple of moments later, she continued aloud. "I hope you haven't called for the jet yet, because if you have, you need to cancel it. You two aren't going to leave here like a couple of whipped pups. We had a little disagreement — well actually — a big disagreement, but all of us, including you two, were trying to help Jeff. You overreacted. We overreacted. You have apologized, and we have apologized. It's over.

"We're going to eat breakfast, show you the work we've done on the lab, and show you our bedroom suite, now that you know the gory details of our family life. Doctor Boswell can show you the sketches of her classrooms and tell you what she has planned for the girls — and actually for Laura and me, as well. Later today we'll show you our firing range, and tell you about some other trouble that we're trying to avoid.

"But right now, sit, eat, and forget about any diets you may be on. Let's get better acquainted. Jeff sat us down this morning and had a talk with us. He says you two are class. And Jeff never makes mistakes about things like that. He trusts you. And you have been good to him and to us. Jeff thinks you are super people, and we want to know you better. Besides, I want to ask you about some problems I'm having with the conference center."

Both Wainwright and Margaret looked like a load of worry had been lifted off their shoulders by Diana's little speech.

Ten minutes later, they were all, including Jeff, seated at the table after having helped themselves to the breakfast bar. Wainwright, the last to sit down, noticed that no one was eating. Wondering, he picked up his fork as Jeff, his wives, and Doctor Boswell suddenly bowed their heads, a second later, followed by Dave and Evie, then belatedly followed by Margaret and Wainwright. Arlene gave thanks for the food and for the recovery of her father and husband. The whole prayer took no more than ten seconds, but it was so sincere that Wainwright felt the sting of tears in his eyes.

Jeff's left arm was still covered with a towel, albeit a much smaller one, showing the hump of the healer clearly visible on his upper arm. Noticing that Dave and Evie, as well as Frank and Margaret, were furtively glancing toward his arm, yet would not ask, he chuckled and said, " I guess you can tell by the pile of food on my plate that I'm much better. She flushed out the synthesized blood, and brought my own blood volume back up during the night. "If my wives are a little grouchy today," he joked, "it's because I woke them up getting out of bed about ten times. That liquid had to go somewhere during the night." With his right hand, he lifted his left arm up enough for everyone to see, then slowly wiggled his fingers...

"They work again," he grinned, then grimaced. "But much movement, tends to light up my life." After rearranging the sling and repositioning his forearm, he continued, "She's finished the nerve trunk, and if I understand her, she's about half-way through with regenerating the missing muscle tissue. I think..."

Margaret interrupted with, "Am I to understand that you literally mean that the healer itself is generating the tissue. Surely you meant that she is helping your body to regenerate the lost muscle tissue?"

Jeff finished the bite of steak, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and said, "She does, dramatically speed up my body's regenerative abilities, but I didn't misspeak. She is generating muscle tissue, just as she did the nerve tissue, and the synthetic blood."

Margaret hesitated a second, put her coffee down, and turned a questioning look at Jeff. "But that's..."

"Direct conversion of energy into matter. Is that what you mean?"

"That's exactly what I mean. It's just not possible, at least with our tech..."

"Exactly, but this isn't our technology. She's alien. We have only just begun to communicate. Sometimes I can say something to her, and she seems to easily understand, other times, well... It's the same way, or maybe worse, when she tries to talk to me. At times, the concepts are clear, other times, I know my mind is mistranslating.

"It's like something I read about in anthropology class at school. Years ago a anthropologist discovered that some aborigines were unable to see straight lines, or ninety degree angles, say, like the corner of this room, because their environment had no straight lines, or ninety degree corners. Their minds kept trying to process the information their eyes were receiving into something else, something familiar to them.

"She doesn't usually communicate with words. It isn't just a matter of learning another language. She transmits, I assume, concepts. At least that's what it seems like to me, pictures and occasionally feelings. Sometimes, it's clear as a bell what she means, other times, it's almost like you had somehow cut a number of pictures into small pieces, then put them into one large picture, totally jumbled. But instead of just pictures, I'm talking about concepts, as well. I think she's learning to convert her thoughts into pictures more frequently, and occasionally I hear words, mostly broken, but sometimes intelligible.

"She seems to be able to communicate with me much better when I'm asleep, or nearly so. Sometimes, it's like a memory suddenly surfacing. My mind, of course, keeps trying to put her concepts into words, and when I'm trying to communicate with her, I need to use concepts, not words. When I'm in that state — I'll just continue to call it sleep — where she puts me when she's doing serious work on my arm, I can almost carry on a conversation with her. Then I suddenly get hit with the most ridiculous thoughts, along with her frustration. We're different mentally — really different."

The conversation stalled as Arlene and Ann went around the table refreshing everyone's coffee. Wainwright, realizing that Jeff had become uncomfortable with discussing the healer, cleared his throat, "Uh, Jeff, what about your new lab?"

Jeff grinned at him because of the abrupt change, and Wainwright grinned back, "Well, what about your lab? How much have you gotten done on it?" he persisted, obviously determined to redirect the conversation away from the healer, after realizing that Jeff didn't want to talk about it any more.

Diana buttered another piece of toast, then added Jeff's favorite jelly. As she handed the toast to her husband, he said, "Nothing much. Just two big rooms and a couple of offices. We moved the equipment I had in Georgia into one of the rooms, but I didn't have a lot, so there's mostly just empty space. Laura and I have got to sit down and do some ordering soon. With the threats, and everything else that's been going on, we haven't had much chance so far."

Wainwright and Margaret looked at each other. The edited story about Hagewood took the rest of the mealtime.

"But, why not hire an off-duty cop, 24/7?" Wainwright asked, a little later, refusing more coffee from Ann.

"Okay," Jeff answered. "And how long would you expect it would take him to figure out what was going on with my women? I think we're legal with what we're doing, except for Arlene, and without a complaint, nothing is going to happen. But with a police officer in the house, everyone is going to be stressed, probably, including the cop. If we put him in a guard shack down at the entrance to the driveway, then he's going to be down there by himself. He would be in a very, very vulnerable situation. I don't want to see a cop get killed because of us. I respect the police and what they do, far too much to leave one hanging out like that."

"Wainwright thought for a moment, then asked, "Isn't that stack of boxes in the corner of the living room the security equipment that I sent you?"

"Yeah. Things have been a little too hectic for me to have time to install it. Then with the bear..."

"I'll send a team down. Even with the distance to the end of your drive, they should be able to install the cameras, motion detectors, and all the rest of it in two or three days. Where do you want the monitors?" Looking at the monitors mounted above the kitchen cabinets, on the back wall, he continued, "What about alongside the existing ones. There's plenty of room. We can also mount one in the living room and you suite, plus you lab, and anywhere else you think of. Of course you can still use you televisions as well, by just changing to whichever channel you decide on for the security system. "

"Yeah, that's where we had decided to put them," Jeff said nodding to the monitors above the cabinets. And the other places sound fine, as well. But Dave and I can install everything. There's no need..."

"Let me do something. You wouldn't let me get you to a hospital," he teased. "You're still not in any shape to be trudging up and down that driveway, pulling wire and setting up cameras and relays. Come on Jeff, I owe you."

"Frank, you don't owe me a thing." When Jeff glanced up at Diana, she stared at him, then let her eyes drift to Wainwright.

Getting the message, Jeff sighed, "Frank, on second thought, I would appreciate it. Hell, your crew will probably do a better job, anyway," he lied. "But please tell them that we have a shooting range up here, and to not panic when they hear gunfire. Tomorrow, if not this afternoon, we're going to continue our handgun training."

Wainwright smiled at him, having seen the exchange. "Great," he said, getting up. He quickly picked up the portable phone and went through the kitchen door, dialing.

"Thanks Jeff, for letting him do this. He's still uptight about what happened. Your allowing him to help you will make him feel a lot better," Margaret said.

Margaret moved her empty cup back and forth between her fingertips. "He didn't just send you what you ordered. There is literally cutting edge technology in those boxes. Some of it is so new, that we haven't even started selling it to the military yet. He also sent enough to replace all your current security cameras and monitors. When you tore up that check, he felt like he was cheating you. You have no idea how much stress there was around that lab before you and Laura got there and fixed the decimal problem. They had been going at each other for a week, and essentially given up, just running the same test over and over, and yelling at each other. Your prototype just sat there, doing exactly what it was supposed to do. But theirs wouldn't do a thing.

"Frank thought you were pissed, regardless of what you said there in the office. The recount of your having words with Miller just added fuel to the flame. He was very impressed with Laura. Of course, he was impressed with her in a little different manner when she thought his actions were threatening Jeff," she said, sardonically, grinning at Laura.

"Frank sent everything but the kitchen sink, when you called him about your problem. He had a lot of people stepping and fetching, as he loves to say. And they had a long meeting discussing the technology to give you the absolute best system they could come up with. Have you read the paperwork he sent with the system?"

Jeff shook his head. "I haven't had time."

"The system is virtually impossible to jam. It uses three different means to transmit the signals from the cameras and detectors to the base here in the house."

"I saw the fake rocks with the camera's inside them. They're realistic as can be and look just like the rocks and boulders alongside the driveway."

"Frank has been expecting you to call when your read the specs for the system, so I won't spoil it for him. Let him tell you what it will do. I'll just say that it's a very intelligent system, beyond anything we've ever designed before. Maybe this will even up things a little, both monetarily, and perhaps, for the other incident, as well."

"'Even up?' he didn't even send a bill with the stuff. At least, not that I've found yet, and I opened everything except the monitors. And he sent a computer that even Laura is impressed with."

Margaret just smiled at him.

Later, the women chased each other on four wheelers around the back of the cleared area, before the property started to climb steeply on up the mountain. Frank and Jeff shared a golf cart riding at a much more sedate pace toward the partially completed range. Cringing, Jeff came to a halt as the women dashed into the area where the trees began, that was more than a quarter of a mile away.

Wainwright grinned at the women's antics. "And you're building this outside handgun range to use until your inside range is installed?" he said, stretching out his legs.

"Yeah," Jeff managed, preoccupied as two of the four wheelers came flying out of the woods, hit a small hump, and were temporarily airborne, then turned and headed back for the woods, one right on the tail of the other, mud spraying high in the air behind them. Jeff seemed to tear his eyes away, to answer Wainwright's question. "Yeah, it will be used temporarily, in good weather. But the inside range will only be twenty-five yards, while this is fifty. Plus, I can put up an obstacle course out here. Teach the women to shoot while being stressed a little.

"I can make a 'tunnel' out of cardboard, that they have to crawl through, shoot at a target, then run to another spot, go prone, and shoot over a low object. Lot of things like that. Good guy, bad guy targets. I've got some that are life-size, in full color — very realistic. They're just blown up pictures of people, printed on target paper. Guy dressed like a priest, but pointing a gun at you, woman with a baby, guy pointing a cell phone, hostage, oh, a bunch of things.

"When we get the turning apparatus installed, the targets will pop around to face the shooter, who has to make a decision, then shoot on target, if it's necessary to shoot, then run to the next obstacle. Between the physical exertion, the strain of trying to get a good score, plus your peers watching, and trying to outdo you, it's stressful. All the time, the clock is running. You compete against each other. Every hit on a good guy is minus ten points. It's fun, and a hell of a lot harder than it sounds. It gives you a very small sample of what a cop must experience in a gunfight. Except, targets don't shoot back. Even so, you quickly get a different outlook about what a cop has to go through.

"That magazine that was so easy to change in the classroom, suddenly won't go into the pistol, because you're trying to insert it backward when the adrenalin punch hits you. When you're through shooting, with a great time, then you look at your targets and realize that you have shot worse than you ever have in your life. Then it dawns on you. You forgot to even line the sights up. You didn't focus on the front sight; you just stared through the sights at the target, and yanked the trigger as fast as you could. While staring through the sights at a very close target might work with the proper trigger pull, it certainly won't work for anything else. After your depressingly low score, you start over and learn how to shoot under stress, pumped full of go juice.

"But first, I've got to train them to shoot a lot better, except Diana, of course. She's already had a lot of training, but she's never shot an obstacle course. She's going to be pissed when she sees her first score," he laughed.

They had turned around and had started back toward the house when Arlene and Jennie came roaring up. When they stopped, Arlene said, "Dad, we want to shoot. It's dry enough over where the targets are." Before Jeff could answer, she pressed on, "Mom can be instructor today. You can just be the rangemaster, and watch her work. She doesn't need this, anyway. She can do this baby stuff in her sleep. Please, Dad!"

Jeff thought for a second, then grinned. "Go tell your mom. I think it's a great idea."

He didn't get a chance to say anything else. Arlene circled them, Jennie hanging on, then gunned the motor, sending twin rooster tails of mud from the spinning back tires as she launched the ATV to find her mother, who was still on the back side of the property.

Jeff grinned at Wainwright as they continued toward the house. "The best way I know of to really learn something, is to teach it. Diana is good enough to start teaching. She'll probably learn as much as the girls do today. And I'll bet there will be some women with some tired arms when they're through."

"It can't be that..."

"It isn't, but the pushups darn sure are. And she won't have any mercy at all. They can't cut her off when they get pissed," Jeff chuckled.

"And you make them do pushups for..."

"When they fuck up. I passed up a lot of times, too. I'll have to caution Diana. They're still too new at this. If she gives pushups every time they lose concentration, or forget to double-check their weapon, and such, she'll have them so tired that they won't be able to shoot," he laughed.

A couple of hundred feet farther on, Jeff stopped and almost cringed as four, four-wheelers roared past. Margaret, driving a lot slower, pulled up beside Jeff. "I think they're anxious to get started," she laughed, pulling her helmet off and wiping mud from her face shield. Glancing over her shoulder, she continued, "That hillside is one big adrenaline rush. And your wives are a lot better on these things than I am."

Jeff sighed, "Yeah, I know. They scare the crap out of me, but I keep telling myself that they're all wearing helmets, and I have the healer. Still it doesn't do much good," he laughed, as Wainwright and Margaret chuckled at his discomfiture. Jeff sighed again, this time inwardly, as he realized that the women weren't going to take time to hose off the four-wheelers. That mud is going to be a bitch to get off when it dries.

Wainwright, Margaret, and Jeff sat chatting while the women disappeared into the house. In short order, they filed back out, wearing their equipment, and carrying shooting trays, with Laura and Melissa carrying a cooler between them. They stopped at the garage to get ammo and targets, under Diana's direction. Jeff had moved far enough away that he wouldn't be asked anything, making it obvious that Diana was in charge.

Jeff and Wainwright buzzed along behind the women, as they trudged to the range. Margaret eased along beside the golf cart, on her four-wheeler. When they stopped, well back from the makeshift range, Jeff turned to Margaret. "If either of you want to shoot, we have plenty of pistols and ammo."

Margaret shut off her idling motor, and turned to Jeff. "I don't want to today. The only thing I've shot is a rifle." Glancing at Frank, she continued, "But I think we'll take you up on it when we come back. I'd rather just watch now. How about you Frank?"

"Yes. That sounds fine. I haven't shot a handgun in years. Those women look like they know what they're doing. I would just slow things down. But it sounds like fun."

"We can come out first thing in the morning," Jeff said. "I can get you up to speed, so you can shoot with the women."

Wainwright sighed. "You don't know how tempting that is, but I've got to get back. We have a lot of things going on."

Jeff winked at Margaret, then turned to Wainwright. "Frank, you've already told me that you don't have any kids. Even if you did gold plate your Mercedes, you still couldn't spend all the money you have. What are you going to do? Leave the money to a bunch of distant relatives to fight over when you die?"

"Gold plate a Mercedes?"

"Oh, I'm always saying that we're not into yachts, drugs, or gold plated Mercedes."

"But, shit, Jeff. We have twenty different projects going. I've got..."

"Let Tingle handle it. He seems like he's sharp as a tack. Spend a while with us. Hell, spend a week or two with us. Learn to shoot. We still haven't had our talk about an architect, or my fortress project."

"Fortress?" Wainwright and Margaret said, almost in unison.

"Beside," Wainwright said, "We only brought one change of clothes with us. Just some sports clothes, we didn't even bring any jeans with us," he finished, motioning to his slacks, which looked more like suit pants than anything else.

Margaret sat chuckling as Wainwright stammered.

"We'll run down to Winter Park first thing tomorrow morning. They'll be glad to sell you jeans, and all the rest. It's not as if you can't afford it. Hell, the ride up here in the limo would probably pay for a week's worth of jeans and tee-shirts, and have a lot left over. Now that's settled, let's watch Diana and the others. I'll talk you through what they're doing, so it will be easier for you to learn the routines when you come out here tomorrow."

Margaret had given up hiding her laughter. Wainwright glared at her, and she just laughed harder.

"Ready on the right! Ready on the left! Ready on the firing line! Fire!" Diana called out as loud as she could. There was a less than resounding bunch of... clicks.

Wainwright, expecting a volley of sound, almost flinched at the barely-heard clicks. "Ball and dummy," Jeff answered as a single round fired, then a little later, another.

"Oh," Wainwright said, as if he knew what Jeff was talking about.

Jeff just grinned; this was going to be fun.

Jeff and Wainwright sat at a game table next to the window in the living room. The golden glow of sunset intensified the already-changing colors of the trees near the retreat, but the men paid scant notice. Wainwright poured over the rough sketch of the fortress. "I've been doing some research on the net. This may all change before the plans are finalized," Jeff said, sitting back and sipping a Coke.

Wainwright sat back as well, unconsciously tapping the top of a pen on his front teeth. "I don't suppose you have any idea what's under the ground here?"

"I guess we could find out — ground penetrating radar. I've heard something about some type of sonar for that, as well. I'm really not up on that technology. Of course there's the old way with core drilling. But, rock or not, we're going to build this. If it's rock, then it will just take longer, and it might even be to our advantage strength wise."

"Ten million," Wainwright said, "and that's probably low. We could be sitting on a granite shelf, no telling how thick." Taking a sip of his cold coffee, he frowned. "Maybe as much as twenty million. I don't know an architect in this field, but I know someone who does. And we're going to need a mining engineer, and a lot of specialized equipment. There's a new borer that would be ideal for this, but I don't know whether it's electric or powered by a diesel or some type of gas engine. If it's electric, we probably won't have enough electrical power out here to run it. They probably have a substation near the mines they use these things in, and special lines run to them. We'll have to do some research.

"We're going to need to get the equipment flown in, like I did when I built the conference center. I can call in some favors when we get ready for the heavy stuff. They'll bitch, but they'll be here when we need them. Of course, it's going to cost out the yingyang."

Jeff raised an eyebrow at the use of the "we."

"Yeah, I know. I want to be in on this — if you will let me. No use you using up your capital. I can front the money for you. You never want to use your capital."

"Frank, I've got more money than I'll ever use, not to say anything about the royalties that will eventually be coming. I'm not worried about using part of my capital..."

"My mom and dad had a little more than a hundred million when they were killed, and over a period of years, they had put my name on everything they owned, every bank account, everything. Oh, they made me work my ass off, even made me take part-time jobs on the weekends when I was in highschool. I worked summers with a construction crew. It instilled a work ethic that a lot of the younger generation hasn't got. I drove a piece of shit car to high school, that I had bought with the money I had earned — at least the part that they let me keep. They made me invest the most of it, and not just in companies that they had selected. They made me do the research, and tell them why I had chosen the particular stock I wanted to purchase.

"When we sat down to dinner, Dad would ask, 'How was your day, Son?' and he didn't expect some brush off. I gave him an account of my day, then he told me about his. My mom would do the same. I could talk about anything with my parents, especially my dad. Oh, I could talk to Mom, but a teenage boy, full of hormones, well; I did cull a few things when I talked to her. But not many.

"Mom gave me insight into girls, and Dad made sure I had the latest Playboy. Dad had a lot of rules, but they all made sense. One rule was that if I took a girl's cherry, I would be expected to marry her. He said I could fuck around as much as I wanted, as long as I kept up a straight 'A' average, was careful about the sex, and the girl knew up front that it was just sex. But if I went after a girl's cherry, well, that was a gift she should reserve for someone she loved. Never mind that a lot of girls didn't. He said I had to have a higher standard.