Convergence Point by Liana Brooks Page A

her finger on it. They seemed . . . out of order almost.
    Raw metal requested in late January, was that for the machine or for another project? The radio parts the second week of February . . . And then the answer formed like the shape of a rabbit coalescing in the clouds overhead. Tuesday, February 18, Dr. Troom went from ordering everything through the standard channels to applying for rush deliveries. Six extra forms to change the delivery date of the laser diode by a week. March 3, he’d paid triple the standard rates to have special silver and gold wires shipped from San Martin de Bolaños overnight.
    Why was the original delivery date of March 26 not enough? A few weeks was nothing.
    No, that wasn’t quite right. A few weeks should have meant nothing. Unless Dr. Henry Troom needed his machine working before a certain date because something significant was going to happen. She stared at the large calendar hanging where a window would have been in a building with a more open design.
    She shook from the memory of a purple light. The memory of a room that smelled both sterile and cruelly alien assaulted her.
    The other iteration. He comes to my lab. He is stealing my work. Changing my formulas.
    Agent Rose! Yes. Yes, of course, the paladin rushing to the rescue. It makes perfect sense.
    The doctor, the soldier, the paladin, all the local einselected nodes near the machine have been deactivated.
    I feel confident that we have reduced this iteration to yet another bad dream.
    A gnarled brown hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her into the purple light. Cold air bit at her cheeks as her mirror image pulled a gun.
    Sam tore herself away from the memory. From the hallucination. It was a stress-­induced dream caused by an overdose of the drug Senior Agent Marrins had administered when he kidnapped her. Dr. Emir was dead, shot through the throat behind his laboratory by Agent Marrins. He hadn’t come to rescue her from the small storage room.
    The bureau therapist had reviewed it very carefully with her.
    Sam escaped by herself. Picking the locks on the manacles chaining her to the wall, she’d kicked the door down and run for safety, only stopping because Henry Troom, then an intern at the lab, was captured.
    She’d done the right thing, going back to save Henry, but the episode with Dr. Emir was a dream. Something conjured up by her subconscious to protect her from reality.
    It didn’t matter how many times she repeated the mantra, nothing made it real.
    The memory of that other iteration was burned into her mind like a brand. Haunting her. Torturing her with a possibility she couldn’t confirm.
    Unless Henry had rebuilt the machine.
    Grimacing, she checked the address of the shipments again and dialed a number from memory.
    â€œSammie!” Bri answered on the third ring. “Long time no contact, chica! What’s up?”
    â€œNot much, whatcha doing this week?”
    â€œAerial yoga instructor training and a half marathon on Saturday. You?”
    â€œThe usual: beach runs, weight lifting, and tracking down sociopaths. Want to do me a favor?”
    â€œAlways,” Bri said cheerfully.
    Sam smiled. “You remember that little self-­storage place on the edge of town?”
    â€œThe one with the green roofs? Yeah, what about it?”
    â€œMy junior agent has been trying to reach someone at their office all morning, but no joy. Could you stop by there sometime this week and see if one of their boxes is still being paid for? I’ll send you the number.”
    â€œAm I being recruited as a minion?” Bri asked suspiciously.
    â€œYes.”
    She laughed. “Sure; I can’t make it today, but I can get there later this week. No rush, right?”
    â€œNo rush. It’s a loose end. Probably nothing.” Sam sighed and poked her pen at the pile of papers.
    â€œYou okay?” Bri asked.
    Sam shook herself back to reality. “Yup. Never