Synapse Nine

By Eilis Muir

FROM EXCITING SCI-FI ROMANCE AUTHOR EILIS MUIR

Book one in the Deep Mesa series

Elana denied her special abilities so she could live an ordinary life—until she's recruited into a top-secret project involving something otherworldly.

The demands of followers seeking answers from Elana Ryan's special abilities had taken a toll. To feel normal again, she got a job working at Los Alamos National Lab. It worked—until she was recruited into a top-secret project to use the very gifts she'd left behind.

The project's head scientist, Dr. Cameron Graeme, is pushy and arrogant, but Elana is also inexplicably drawn to him. As her abilities grow, she finds that his presence amplifies her powers. Now she fears her feelings for him and the intentions of the government.

Dr. Graeme finds Elana irresistibly alluring, which conflicts with his responsibilities for her as an asset.

They resist their mounting mutual desires, but something more powerful than either of them has a different plan in mind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing
• Release date: Apr 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781839434969

Book preview

LLC

Chapter One

This was the farthest Elana had ever been on the Los Alamos National Lab campus. She unzipped the soft-top window of her 2005 lime-green Jeep Wrangler at the gate and handed her badge to the guard. He inspected it and handed it back with a smile. Have a nice day!

Another day, another interview, she thought. She passed several technical area intersections with buildings that resembled prisons fenced in with barbed-wire coils before she turned at the TA17 sign. Ponderosa pines straddled the straight road for the ten-minute drive to a group of one-story concrete buildings marked TA17, at the end of the mesa. She parked in front of building TA17-1, the Weapon Experiments Control Center, refreshed her red lipstick, straightened the barrette holding her strawberry-blonde mane and checked for smudges in her tortoise-shell glasses in the visor mirror. Good to go. She clipped her badge to her blazer, and with her portfolio case in hand, she headed to the entrance. Signs on the door read ‘Q’, which meant ‘Q-level cleared only, no electronic devices’. She inserted her badge into a console, entered a code into the keypad and the door clicked for entry.

At the reception, Elana greeted a young Hispanic woman. Hi, I’m Elana Ryan, special investigator with the Defense Counterintelligence and Security Agency. She flashed her credentials. I have an appointment with Wayne Fordham.

Have a seat. He’ll be right with you.

Being so official was second nature to Elana after working for the feds for over a year, something she’d never imagined she would do. After traveling the country in her RV, making a living from her book and related sales over the Internet, she welcomed the regularity. She had fallen for the wild, dramatic sweeping skylines of New Mexico, but lots of open space meant it was sparsely populated. The national lab was one of the few significant employers in the area. With a clearance backlog, there was a demand for investigators, and with her communications background, it made sense.

In many ways, the job stood for everything Elana Ryan did not. She told herself that it wasn’t all about weapons. There was important science happening here, great minds working for the future of humanity. After living an unconventional lifestyle, being in the secret city where the atomic bomb had been invented, working for the government at thirty-five was a turn of events she couldn’t have predicted. It’s just another adventure, she told herself.

Wayne Fordham, white-haired with a dry-cleaned dress shirt tucked into plain-front slacks, greeted Elana and ushered her into one of the larger offices she’d been to at the lab that had a view, as was expected for a division leader. Wayne moved a few piles of papers from a round table and gestured for her to sit.

As she’d done for hundreds of such interviews, Elana presented her credentials, checked his ID and opened her portfolio to take notes. She made small talk before running through a standard introduction, such as how being untruthful about any issue more often had a greater negative influence on the outcome of their case than any underlying issue, that Title 18 US code 1001 stated that hiding a material fact was a felony and could lead to fines, imprisonment and so on, ending with him swearing under penalty of perjury under the laws of the United States to tell the truth to the best of his knowledge and belief.

He appeared to be relaxed, this being his fifth clearance re-investigation. He would have done these interviews every five years, so it was obviously familiar.

Your full name is Wayne Fordham—no middle name—and you have not used any other names? She looked up from the papers to check his expression through her glasses.

That’s correct.

She went through his security questionnaire and took notes of changes or items that needed clarification, glancing up at him periodically.

To lighten the serious tone, she asked about his being from New Jersey and commented on his lack of a ‘Joyzee’ accent. He chuckled but didn’t give an explanation, so she offered, I’m originally from the only New England state that has no accent but is surrounded by states with strong accents. She often made people guess which state it was, but she wasn’t in the mood at the moment, so she just told him she was from Connecticut.

Fordham had a pleasant demeanor and conversed with an ease not typical among the socially challenged scientific community, which was likely why he was in management, but he was also a respected scientist, as the awards on the wall and the work history on his form suggested.

There were no red flags on Fordham’s case, so Elana expected to be done before the usual hour. She wrote down the references he gave her to interview and was about to wrap up the counterintelligence questions when there was a knock on the door.

Excuse me, Wayne said politely as he got up and opened it.

It was his receptionist. I’m sorry to interrupt. Dr. Graeme is insisting he speak with you right now. It’s urgent. He’s on the line.

Patch him through. A hint of irritation marked his brow as he shut the door, raised his index finger to Elana and picked up the phone on his desk. What’s so important, Cam? I’m in a meeting. He turned to look out at the Jemez Mountains. Yes. He turned back to look at Elana. That’s right. How did you know that?

Elana organized her papers. In her peripheral vision, she caught Wayne squinting at her as he fiddled with items on his desk. "He says what? He turned his back to Elana again and exhaled. Really? Okay. Okay… I’ll get back to you." He hung up the phone, his forehead furrowed.

He sat across from Elana. Sorry about that. Where were we? Connecticut, the Northeast. Winters are bitter there, eh? He feigned nonchalance.

Yeah. I like the dry climate here.

"What about Christmas? The traditions—you know, with the farolitos and all—it’s different."

His question seemed contrived, but she played along. I don’t put much stock in the holiday anymore.

No? Why not?

His whole attitude had shifted. He was pushing for something and it made her uneasy. She was supposed to be pushing him, not the other way around. Oddly compelled, she revealed, I was born on Christmas Eve, so it has had a lot of loaded meaning for me, but I left that behind long ago. Why did I share that personal information?

So your birthday is Christmas Eve, he said with a conclusive satisfaction that was a bit creepy and differed from his earlier apathy.

Wayne’s desk phone rang, and he sprang to answer it. Yes. Okay. Give me about ten minutes. He hung up and sat back down at the table.

That was my colleague. He can do my reference interview. You can do it here when we’re finished.

When they’d concluded the interview, Wayne invited Dr. Cameron Graeme in, introduced him to Elana and left them alone. So this is the Dr. Graeme with the urgent matter. He sat down at the table with Elana. He was at least a decade younger than Wayne, closer to her age. His full head of hair was still more pepper than salt and he was more casually dressed in blue jeans and a pale green button-down shirt that wasn’t perfectly pressed. He’s cute, in a dorky-scientist kind of way, she thought as he peered at her from behind round, metal-framed glasses. She was flustered. Is it his stare or that odd phone call?

She showed him her credentials and asked if he was aware of the Privacy Act of 1974, as was required of her job. He said Yes, and she indicated that on her pad. He confirmed the spelling of his name and she asked his title.

Senior Scientist.

She scribbled ‘Sr. Sci.’, and began asking the forty questions that she had almost entirely memorized, starting with, What has been the frequency and nature of your contact with Wayne?

We met five years ago working on a project at the Remote Sensing Lab, and about three months ago I came to work with him in this division. We’ve had daily work contact.

As she jotted down his answer, she noticed him scanning her intently, like he was taking a grid sample of every inch. Another weird scientist thing? Is Wayne married? Cameron folded his hands together. No wedding ring, she observed.

Yes, to Marge. They have three grown kids, but I can’t recall their names. He rattled off answers to her list of questions, clearly having done these interviews before. Every position, from janitors on up, needed a clearance to work there. She also noticed he had a remnant accent—not Irish, maybe Scottish.

The fifteen-minute interview felt like an eternity. Something hung in the air between them that slowed time. She tried to ignore it and was relieved when she got to the final questions. Is there any reason to question Wayne’s loyalty to the United States?

No. He caressed his chin with his entwined fingers.

Is there anything in his background that would make him susceptible to coercion or blackmail?

Not that I know of, he answered abruptly. Did he even give a thought to the answers? Is he thinking of something entirely different? Finally, the last question. Do you recommend Wayne continue to have a position impacting national security and hold a clearance?

Absolutely. He leaned back in his chair, his clasped hands now in his lap.

She slipped her notes into her portfolio. Well, that’s all we need. Thank you for your time. She was about to get up, but he didn’t move, so she paused.

His gaze penetrated her. Do you like your job?

Sure. I meet interesting people and work from home. It could pay better, but I’ve got no complaints overall. She zipped her portfolio to hint again that she was ready to go.

He leaned forward. "What other kind of work background do you have?

It’s my job to give the third degree. What’s up? She stood. He did the same but didn’t move toward the door. He was a couple of inches taller than her five foot nine, even with her two-inch heels on. He raised his eyebrows in anticipation of an answer.

Communications.

Perfect. We need someone like you in our division. Can you come tomorrow for an interview? She was surprised at this curt and assumptive invite. She had applied for jobs at the lab, which she’d thought had to be done via proper channels, and had never gotten called for an interview.

What’s the job?

Communications Specialist. Did he just come up with that in the moment? Employment directly with the lab paid better than her Department of Defense position, so she was intrigued. Weapons division—not her first choice, but somehow she couldn’t refuse. Okay, why not?

Tell Denise at the front desk to give you an appointment in the morning. Email me your resume tonight. He handed her his business card.

Sure. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow for that?

Chapter Two

Elana thumbed through the few suits that were tucked into the cramped hanging closet of the camper trailer that had been her home for the past four years. The lifestyle didn’t allow for the collection of material things. It kept expenses low, but it made for a scant selection of clothing. She chose her favorite thrift-store suit—a navy Ann Taylor paired with a pleated white blouse that accentuated her breasts. She stepped outside to enjoy the canyon view while sipping her black coffee before she had to set out to her interview.

Elana welcomed the nip in the air and the lengthening shadows of autumn that eased the high-altitude ultraviolet rays. She rehearsed answers to standard interview questions in her mind. Prior to her current job, she had written a book and done a promotional tour across the US. Her resume was not typical, especially for the bureaucratic lab. To add to her eccentricity, the subject of her book was metaphysical, which she’d learned not to mention in the science-focused town of Los Alamos.

When she’d tested the ideas in conversations at the local brewery hangout, she’d gotten a lot of blank stares. There was no point in continuing if no one was listening. She would have gotten it if it were a ‘You’re nuts, lady’ look, but she’d gotten nothing. She imagined that the cell towers in town radiated a magnetic field that blocked the ‘labby’ brains from venturing outside government-allotted perimeters of thought. Given this, she tried to come up with what to say if she were asked about her book in the interview. With a long, breathy sigh, she prayed it wouldn’t come up.

* * * *

The butterflies flitting in Elana’s stomach during the first few mundane interview questions turned into wickedly spiraling bats when Dr. Cameron Graeme looked up from her resume and said, Tell me about your book.

She was sitting across from him at a conference table in a windowless room. There was nowhere for her mind to escape to, so she squelched the bats into submission and answered with a question to buy time. What would you like to know?

It’s a nonfiction book in which you claim to speak for beings from another world?

You’ve got to be kidding me. The cell tower must be down today. None of that was on her resume. He’d had to have looked it up. The tummy-bats landed like a lifeless dead weight, pinning her to the chair. She wanted to run, but she was stuck. She managed to muster, Yes.

I’m not judging you for it. He squirmed his lips, as if he weren’t sure whether to smile or frown. I’m curious.

An attempt to see how I handle pressure? She took a breath and hoped something brilliant would tumble from her tongue. He interrupted whatever it was she didn’t know she was about to say.

I mean…how does that work? Did these beings just start talking to you one day? Do they speak to you regularly? He closed the folder and leaned toward her, seemingly truly interested. His golden eyes widened. Who has gold eyes anyway? It must be the fluorescent lights.

She did not want to get into this, especially with some weapons guy. She had left this other-worldliness behind her over a year ago, deciding it was too bizarre, even for her. Um—she swallowed—is this relevant to the job, Dr. Graeme, because…I would rather not get into that. It is, as you may imagine, a big topic. She tried to sound nonchalant. I’m such a jerk. No way am I getting this job. She pushed her glasses up on her face with her finger. Come on. Say something professional. But she was losing hope at impressing him.

Dr. Graeme rubbed his chin. Actually, Elana, it is the most relevant thing about you.

Not really computing what he had just said—or just plain denying it—she blurted, Look, Dr. Graeme. I appreciate your consideration, but you know I’m not the right person for whatever the job is. Honestly, I don’t even believe in weapons. I’m a pacifist. She gathered up the portfolio that held samples of her writing, which didn’t include her book, pushed her chair back from the table and stood.

Sit down, Elana.

She leaned over the table, gripping her portfolio. She froze in that position.

He repeated, Please, sit down.

The arrogance of the ‘weapons people’ was infamous, and he was proving the reputation. His commanding voice sent goosebumps rippling through her body and knocked the denial out of her. Her heartbeat forced her back into the chair. I’m attracted to him.

Dr. Graeme placed a document in front of her. Sign this nondisclosure agreement so we can do some…tests with you. What we do here cannot leave this room. Read it over. Sign it. I’ll be right back.

He left her there, speechless.

Dr. Graeme’s thoughts reeled as he scurried down the hallway. Does she have to be so disarmingly beautiful? What if she refuses to do the tests? I can’t allow her to leave. Did I approach this all wrong?

He swiped his badge to enter an office that looked more like a storage room. Issues of Science magazine and various similar papers were stacked everywhere. He grabbed a computer bag next to the cluttered desk. While walking back down the hall, he took a cell phone out of a side pocket of the bag and dialed a recent number. Are you ready on your end? Good. I’ll be connecting in a few minutes. He hung up and slid the phone back into the bag.

He sighed with relief to find Elana still in the conference room. She was standing again. Is she about to leave? She looked frightened—or maybe angry. He pretended not to notice her scowl. He took out a laptop and placed it on the table, then set an iPad beside the unsigned non-disclosure agreement near where she had been sitting.

You need to sign the non-disclosure, Elana.

She put her hands on her hips defiantly. No. I don’t. I mean, I’m happy to cooperate with your tests, Dr. Graeme, but…

You can call me Cameron, he interrupted, trying to deflect the anger that was now clearly coming from her.

What is this test about? Am I here for a job or what?

He needed to choose his words carefully. It didn’t help that she was even more gorgeous standing there with her suit jacket open and her chest heaving in displeasure. The top button of her blouse had come loose. He tried not to stare at it and went back to her eyes. No, that’s worse. Their piercing steel blue cut into him. Steady.

The thing is that what we do here is classified. We work on projects that very few people know about. You have a top-secret ‘Q’ clearance that allows you to be in this building, but as you know, access to classified material is compartmentalized, and you need permission. I can’t tell you what we do until you are cleared for it. But I need to know certain things about you in order for you to work with us. Please… The tests won’t hurt. They’re a way for us to learn how you think. I’m a neuroscientist. I study the brain. Please sit. It won’t take long and it’s painless. I promise.

Her face muscles appeared to relax slightly. She took a deep breath and walked over to where the non-disclosure was on the table and picked up the pen beside it. You promise?

Her eyes said he had better or else. He didn’t want to know what the ‘or else’ meant. She might want to hurt him, but he certainly couldn’t imagine hurting her. He nodded and pinned his eyes on the non-disclosure. She hesitantly signed it and slid into the chair in surrender.

Whew. Thank you. Now, all you need to do is choose some images on the iPad. She picked it up and touched the screen to activate it. Dr. Graeme’s laptop displayed a series of shapes that matched those on her screen. When I tell you to start, just pick whichever image intrigues you in the moment. Don’t think about it. Just pick one. More images will come up. Do the same until I say to stop.

Skepticism radiated from Elana. He almost felt guilty putting her through the tension. At the same time, he was hopeful, even though all those who had tested before had failed. Not one had gotten enough right answers to be statistically significant.

One of the shapes flashed on Dr. Graeme’s screen. He looked up at Elana. Go ahead and choose one. When she tapped the iPad, his screen came up with a second row of the same shapes labeled ‘Elana’. She chose the same shape—a square—as was highlighted on the row above. The screen cleared and was replaced with another row of shapes. A star flashed on the first row. Elana chose the same. A smile edged from Dr. Graeme’s lips as Elana repeatedly picked the same image as was flashing on the line above. She peered curiously at him every so often. He tried to contain his mounting excitement as the images became more and more complex and Elana continued to choose the same one as was highlighted. No one had ever done that. Then she chose one different. Did I get excited too soon? Was it a fluke?

Wait! she interrupted. Can you go back? I meant to choose the dancing man. I accidentally touched the wrong one.

He pressed a back button to allow her to choose what was again the same answer as on line one of his screen. He could hardly contain himself. Is this even possible? They carried on until she had chosen fifty images, all matching the one highlighted on the line above.

He closed his laptop. See? That wasn’t so bad, was it? He was ecstatic and wanted to jump out of his chair, dance around the room and give her a big bear hug. While I’m at it, I may as well kiss her lovely full lips. Now he was distracted. Pull it together. Take a break then we’ll wrap up. He pointed to the door behind her. The restroom is down the hall.

When she left the room, Dr. Graeme got on the cell phone. Can you believe it? Every single one! I didn’t think it was possible. I know. It’s fantastic! If she has this kind of ability, I hope the other test doesn’t reveal too much to her. Gotta go. Talk later. He hung up as Elana walked back in and sat down.

You did well on the test. I want to do another, more-involved test tomorrow.

That’s it? No more questions about my background?

"Not for now.