Blue Angel
Page 26
“If you could?” Pax answered. “It’s your plan!”
“Sure but I’m not activating those charges myself. Arnold’s boys are – it’s the least they could do after failing to hunt the codes. You know what happened? After my FTC contacts said no, and Arnold’s boys did their lame best to find another source, one of them found a note left for me. My name, two words: MEE Charges. Then a bunch of numbers. Anonymous – for all I know it might make the detonator explode.”
Pax gritted her teeth, watching the building again. “We discussed it. It’s a bad plan.”
“Oh, you’re just afraid of action. Don’t worry. It’ll be fun.”
Lightgate was grinning, and Pax saw there was no reasoning with her. The Fae was an unaccountable danger. Pax considered the scooter, back round the corner – the seat compartment, with the glo – it could help – but no, the glo was back in the shopping centre now. Increasingly desperate, she said, “There must be some way you can –”
Lightgate held up a hand for quiet, and for a moment Pax expected another belch, or worse. No, she just didn’t want to talk: “We’ll chat after this, okay?”
“For Christ’s sake!” Pax gaped. “If this happens, there’s no –”
“Let it go,” Lightgate said, firmly now. “I’m still keen to work with you. Don’t run in there trying to help your fellow humans. That would be a waste.”
Pax glowered, striving for something, anything to say. She darted across the road.
A wide desk created a barrier to the rest of the building, with two plastic turnstiles to one side. It was manned by a uniformed guard and led to a corridor of elevator doors. She could shout a bomb scare or something, but the guard would stall, questioning her or otherwise not taking it seriously. Her best bet was the fire alarm, get people moving without question. But the closest one was on the other side of the desk, near the lifts.
Pax scanned a hanging board of company names, gold on brown, some with logos. A couple of municipal departments, as she suspected, but companies, too. Klondike and Feather LLP, Burgher Logistics, even one she recognised, Warlowe Ltd, a name you saw on shipping containers bowling towards West Quay. The turnbold plan had been bad enough without Lightgate conveniently failing to mention so many innocent people shared the Ministry’s space.
The Ministry’s name sat at the bottom of the list, in discreetly small type. The Ministry of Environmental Energy. Floor 5/6. Pax opened her mouth to speak to the guard, but the ground spoke for her, a creak below them, like metal being dragged through a tunnel.
The guard smirked at Pax’s startled expression. He was young, spotty and skinny, with a nose too big for his face. He said, “Sewage works. Been noisy this morning. I guess they’re making sure everything’s up to standard after the mess yesterday.”
“They?” Pax replied. “What they?”
“Gas company?” he suggested.
It was that easy, wasn’t it? The Ministry under their very roof, and you had people assuming some anonymous gas company was doing anonymous work that explained away the weirdness. Pax eyed the fire alarm again. She needed a quick way in. “I’m hoping to surprise my friend, up on the fourth floor, to invite her for lunch?”
The guard raised a questioning eyebrow. “What’s her name?”
“Jenny,” Pax said, off the bat, playing the ditsy friend. She leant an elbow on the desk, thankful for her awful new clothes. “She tells boats and trucks where to go. Kind of?”
The idea was that he’d suggest a surname, but he didn’t bite. “Full name?”
“Jenny Talbot.” Common enough to sound real without being generic.
The guard’s face said he didn’t recognise it. Pax smiled encouragingly.
“Best if I buzz her down,” he said, hand going to his phone.
“That’d ruin the surprise!”
“Yeah.” He was staring, unsure what to do. He was young and spotty enough to want to please a random young woman, so searched his monitor for an answer that wouldn’t put his job at risk.
The ground shook. The monitor rattled and one of the guard’s pens rolled off the desk. He twisted to get it, muttering, “They’re really at it down there.”
“Yeah, and you’ve got a pretty tall building,” Pax stifled a nervous laugh. “I’d like to get up to her floor before the place collapses.”
His eyes were hard, not amused, but Pax kept smiling. He took a breath. “You’ve gotta sign in.” He tapped the guestbook and Pax scrambled to write any barely legible shit. He pressed a button and the barrier parted as he tried to make conversation, “It’s a – there’s a nice place you can go a few blocks down, if you like Mexican –”
“That’s perfect,” Pax beamed, racing past. “Thanks! You’ve made my day, hers too!”
“Or there’s a Nando’s!” he called out, more enthusiastic. She pressed the call button as he watched her. Fuck, if she pulled the fire alarm now he’d cancel it before anyone so much as left their chairs.
The lift arrived and she had to enter. She’d go up to 1 and pull the alarm there. The doors closed, with the guard calling out another helpful flirt, and Pax frowned at the numbers on the panel as she realised she’d hit 5 without thinking. As the lift rose she looked up. Her hand hovered over the panel, ready to press another number, but a sense that there was something up there made her hesitate.
This feeling was getting stranger, her fingers tingling again, chest warming. But it was different this time. She wasn’t sensing something below her. It was above, where she was heading, it was there. Had Lightgate got something else in the building? Or was it Rufaizu? Perhaps she could sense where he was. Or Casaria? Had she developed a useful psychic link?
It burned stronger as she rose higher, coupled with a desire to see what was there, and in the distraction she almost forgot why she’d come. She’d be at the top of the building when Lightgate struck. She’d be stepping into the Ministry’s offices, for fuck’s sake, what was she thinking –
The lift pinged as it reached the fifth floor and Pax froze.
The doors slowly opened onto a long, empty corridor. No people. Just the burning feeling that there was something waiting for her behind one of these doors. And, equally important, there was the friendly red box of a fire alarm, halfway down the hall.
7
Casaria was mad.
It had always been obvious he was a little unhinged, lacking social skills and operating to an odd personal code. But he was actually mad. It was all that Sam could think as he advanced on her. She landed heavily on a chair, rocking it onto two legs, too stunned to resist. But he’d already stopped, muttering to himself, looking away, “You’re useless – wretched – never understood.”
His fists clenched, and his eyes, aflame, rolled back towards her.
She should never have come down here without an escort. She’d been distracted. Bewitched by resolving everything that was going on, forgetting who she was dealing with. Wherever he’d been, he was still Casaria.
He stepped towards her and she curled up into the chair, saying, “Let me help you!”
A flicker of doubt in his face.
“You don’t have to do this – ” Sam urged.
“The MEE’s a mess,” Casaria said, voice quavering. “You are the MEE.”
“So are you!”
“No. My eyes are open. At last. And you –”
“Don’t,” Sam said. “Please. Don’t.”
He smiled. Sadistic, even as his eyes vibrated with uncertainty. He’d act in spite of his confusion. Because of it. He had no idea how to handle his emotions, except this – violence – anger – Sam held up a defensive hand. “You’re a good man, Cano – I understand –”
Wrong choice. His hand came at her from the side, not quite a punch but hard enough to knock her off the seat. She tried to push herself up onto her hands and knees.
“You don’t understand shit,” he hissed, by her ear.
“I – I –” Sam blinked into the carpet.
“You were never anything but a –”
He was cut off by the piercing whine of the fire alarm.
Casaria stood. “The hell?”
Sam crawled clear of him as the sound escalated, the unbearably loud chime drilling at the pain in her head.
“Stay here,” Casaria snarled, and stormed away. The door slammed behind him.
Have to move. Get out before he comes back.
Sam pulled herself up using the edge of the bed and reached for another support. She found the pole of a drip stand, with its thin metal limbs and a base of wheeled legs. Leaning on it, she wobbled to the door. Casaria was saying something on the other side. Someone was out there. He’d persuade them to leave – everyone would evacuate – leaving her –
The room shook, making Sam falter. Then the screaming started below. Still dazed from his blow, she didn’t know what was real – was it her fear bouncing back at her? The world was falling apart – she had to move. Sam gathered up the drip and charged. She screamed herself as she burst through the door. Using both hands and all her weight, she rammed the end of the drip into Casaria’s head, sending him flying into the opposite door. The wood cracked as he slumped down, lifting his face stupidly towards her. Sam kept screaming, raising the drip over him.
“Stop, you fucking psycho!” a female voice cried into her ear, arms wrapping around her chest and pulling her back. Sam bucked, struggling to get free, but the interruption jolted the madness from her. The drip clattered away.
The other woman wrestled her back against a wall, pushing her weight onto her even after she’d stopped struggling. Sam cried, “He wanted to kill me – wanted to kill me –”
“He wanted your help!” the woman shouted, and Sam recognised the voice. She raised her hands to show Pax she was calm. Pax stared back with madly wide eyes.
“What – you?” Another siren chime refreshed the pain in Sam’s head. “You set off the alarm?”
“Fucking right,” Pax said. “You need to clear this place out. Yesterday.”
Before Sam could ask why, another high-pitched sound joined the alarm. A nasty, wheezing sound, growing in volume with each gasp. Sam had heard it once before, one of the few times she’d been in real trouble in the tunnels of the Sunken City, when Casaria had defended her from a scaled monster. It was his laughter. The base, uncontrolled laughter of a lunatic.
Pax followed her gaze to him. He was propped against the door, legs bent under him, face split in a savagely wide grin as he touched the lattice of cuts Sam’s blow had left. Thick blood streamed from his brow.
His laughter kicked up a notch as he tapped the blood, frantic, terrifying.
“Damn,” Pax said. “You broke him.”
“He’s always been broken,” Sam said.
Another scream shot up from somewhere in the building, far below, more piercing and distinctly pained than the ones before. Then a crash. Something shattering. A tremendous noise of metal sheared in two. The sounds cut off Casaria’s laughter, which reduced to dribbles of sniggers as he started to push himself up. More screams followed. Sam met Pax’s eyes again. What had she done?
“It’s not me!” Pax guessed her thoughts. “I came to help – so did he.” Pax ducked to Casaria’s side, getting under one of his arms. “Where’s Rufaizu?”
What was happening? Should she fight them off? Sam spotted the drip, lying a few feet away. Almost within reach.
“Don’t,” Pax said. “Please – everyone in this building’s in danger.” She lowered her voice to Casaria, positioning him upright like balancing cards. “You good?”
“Every agent in a fifty-mile radius will be here in minutes,” Sam said. “You can’t –”
“They’re already too late,” Pax said. “Please, give me Rufaizu. We can’t leave him here.”
“I’ll get help –”
“There’s no time!” Pax yelled.
There was another crash, many storeys below, and another scream, and Pax stared imploringly, pleadingly, into Sam’s eyes. Whatever they’d said about her, Pax had put herself in the path of this catastrophe to help.
“In there.” Sam pointed at the door she’d fractured with Casaria’s weight. As she approached it, she looked towards the lifts. Casaria was in the way, painted in blood, but he slumped, with Pax, towards the door.
Someone shrieked below, but was cut suddenly short.
The corridor to the lifts suddenly seemed hopelessly long, and the thought of getting out of this building alone desperately frightening. What was happening – half an hour ago everything had been normal – Casaria had walked back in and –
“Can you open it?” Pax shouted. Sam started and her body made the decision for her. She bolted forwards to key in the code to Rufaizu’s room.
Pax tried to disengage her brain as she raced to unplug Rufaizu. The machines around the room beeped violently, adding spice to the blaring fire alarm. He was okay, judging from the colour of his skin and the fact that he was able to open his eyes in terror, but his pupils looked like tar pits. His hands lifted and flopped back down uselessly.
“You fuckers drugged him to hell,” Pax snarled.
“No,” Ward insisted. “I cut it off – he should be clean –”
Pax shot her a look to shut up. Rufaizu had a bandage around his neck and wore a hospital gown, bare at the back, lanky skin and bone on show with no other marks. He tried to sit up, but couldn’t carry his own weight, so Pax struggled to help.
“You missed a tube,” Casaria said, somewhat recovered but just watching.
“Make yourself fucking useful!” Pax commanded. Casaria moved to the other side of the bed to push Rufaizu her way. She turned to Ward. “Got a wheelchair? Anything?”
“There isn’t one here?” Casaria asked, and Pax gave him a savage look.
“Think I missed it behind all the room’s emptiness?”
“The other room,” Ward said, and rushed away.
Pax and Casaria manoeuvred Rufaizu over the side of the bed, as his head lolled like a rag doll’s. His hazel eyes locked on Pax. “Lookit who’s here – barfly, pretty barfly –”
Pax huffed irritation. Was this her life now? Tolerating the semi-conscious hindrances of variously incapacitated men? She patted Rufaizu’s cheek, saying, “How far gone are you? You in there?”
Rufaizu didn’t answer, snapping his head aside like a child refusing peas.
“Here, here!” Ward reappeared, a wheelchair squeaking in front of her, frame mottled with dark rust.
“Couldn’t find anything older?”
The floor shook and the lights blinked off. The fire alarm missed a beat but continued screaming as dull white emergency lights flicked on. The brief respite was torn by a massive piece of furniture breaking below, bits slamming into different parts of a room. Was it directly beneath them? One floor down?
“What is it?” Ward asked, terrified.
“I don’t know,” Pax lied, returning to Rufaizu. She pulled him off the bed as he playfully resisted, too doped up to be worried. “Quit it!” Vaguely aware she was doing all this herself, Pax looked at Casaria, watching her questioningly. Ward looked similarly uncertain.
“What?” Pax shouted. “Think we should stay here?”
“You know what it is,” Casaria said. “You came in because you know.”
“I came up here because you were taking so –”
“Stop bullshitting me!” Casaria shouted, veins popping up under his bloody flesh. Ward backed off fearfully, but Pax just felt fucking annoyed. She stood up straight.
“Turnbold, that’s what they called it,” Pax told him, bitterly, and Casaria spun away, cursing. “You didn’t guess it was serious?”
“Take the boy, go,” Casaria instructed. Already halfway out the room.
“Where are you going?”
He pointed up the hall. “Obviously there’s no one else in this damn building who can deal with something like that. I’m going to get something that can stop it.”
“Help me, already!” Pax shouted at Ward.
Spurred into action, Ward joined her and together they shoved the rusty wheelchair into the hall. Pax faltered in the corridor, noticing the sensation tugging at her chest. Her eyes were drawn to a nondescript door at the end of the corridor. It looked small, not even another office entrance – a cupboard – why was this buzzing energy drawing her there? Didn’t she have enough to worry about?
A groan from Rufaizu drew her attention back to the chair. She shook herself out of it, leaning heavily on the handles and racing the other way, towards the lifts. Ward scrambled after her. A door was open on the right, ahead, with sounds of equipment being tossed about coming from inside. As she got closer Pax saw shards of wood across the floor, the door busted in. Inside, the room was filled with metal caging. Casaria was somewhere in the middle, searching for a weapon. Pax slowed down and shouted, “The Dispenser, don’t forget –”
The lift pinged, drawing her attention back to escaping. She watched the doors open. An older man, square-shouldered, silver-haired, a stern look on his face. At his elbow was a younger suited man, eyes a little too far apart. Both as surprised as her.
“What the hell is going on?” The older man regained his senses first. “Ward?”
“Sir, it’s not what it looks like –” Ward started. How would she explain this? She didn’t get a chance, as the corridor shook again. They all stumbled, the men cursing as they banged into the walls. Rufaizu laughed.
“Oh, it’s coming! Judgement coming up, them that’ve been bad, it’s coming!”
“Not a reason to be cheerful,” Pax hissed, steadying herself and slamming her weight into the chair. It moved with a piercing squeak, Rufaizu whooping, and the two men staggered out of the way rather than get hit. Speeding between them, Pax couldn’t slow down entering the lift, the chair and Rufaizu crashing into the far wall. The doors rolled closed on her leg, sticking out, and rolled open again.