One morning, some weeks after her husband’s death, Kamal and Brock had taken her on a hike in the mountains behind her Alaskan home. At the summit, they had chanted in her husband’s memory, offered seed pods to the wind, and gifted her a wood carving of an eagle in his honor. Tears had been shed. Lisa had left that carving on top of the mountain with instructions for one of her own to join her husband’s.
She blinked as she came back to the present, still staring at the rosary. If there is anyone left to do so.
Sofia grunted beside her and blew out a breath. Sweat glistened on her brow. “Do you think they bought it?” she signed.
“Keep climbing. We’ll find out soon enough,” Lisa signed back.
Sofia nodded and reached above her to engage the magnetic glove. Meter by meter, they climbed on in silence.
Thirty-Five
When Alba had tortured Zanzi, Zanzi had retreated into her mind and retrieved her favorite memories. Sitting before fires with her family, sipping hot chocolate. Her first kiss. Scoring a goal for her soccer team after struggling all year. The warmth of the setting sun on her skin. The taste of her favorite foods. Anything to escape the hell she was in. She had clung to thoughts of her father and had used their bond for strength. Now she was back in the place of her torment.
Zanzi glanced at Tilly, crouched next to her in the stairwell. Whatever she had been through, Tilly had suffered worse, and survived. “This one?” Zanzi said.
“I think so,” Tilly answered. “Barko’s office is on the third floor.”
Tilly cracked open the door and peeked out. Nothing moved in the hallway beyond, so Zanzi slipped through. Her eyes snapped up, hunting for cameras. There, in the corner, was the little black dome. She couldn’t tell if the lens was pointing in their direction or not, but the flashing red light told her it was operational. She used the scrambler device and waited until the light blinked out.
Tilly gestured with a flick of her hand. “That way.”
The corridor and the rooms leading off it had a musty scent, much like the one that spills out the front door after you arrive home from a long vacation. Zanzi tried a light switch. Nothing. Any computer they saw had a layer of dust on it. Zanzi tried to turn on any she came across, but nothing was functioning. She stopped outside a white door. It had no handle, only a push plate, rectangular and about thirty centimeters long. It was scratched, dented and greasy, evidence of years of use. The door had no lock, nowhere to put a key. No keypad. She pushed on the door, hoping it would swing open, but it held firm. “This is the room?”
“Yes,” Tilly said. “It was always unlocked. Barko’s office is down the end.”
“No other entrance?” Zanzi asked.
Tilly frowned as her eyes darted left and right. “Once I followed him and we went down some really narrow stairs. He called it his shortcut.”
“Can you remember where they are?”
“Of course.”
Tilly turned and skipped back to the stairwell. They went up a floor and entered another abandoned corridor. Zanzi recognized this one. She and Tilly had been here before, had walked past the same rooms. One had a basketball court, another a swimming pool. Tilly took her past the padded room and into one with a large bank of screens. A chair sat in the center, locked in place with metal clamps. It reminded Zanzi of a dentist chair, with pivoting parts and joints.
Tilly shivered and kicked out at the chair as she reached it. She gripped the armrest and let out a sob. “They used to strap us in here…” Her voice drifted away, and tears streamed down her cheeks. “Alba said it was the reason I’m helping. To stop the evil.”
Zanzi gripped her friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
Tilly took some deep breaths, then led Zanzi to a small kitchen area in the back of the room. A low door was tucked away in the corner. Tilly opened it. Beyond was a flight of narrow stairs, barely a meter across.
“Down here,” Tilly said.
Barko’s office at the bottom of the stairs looked like a doctor’s consultation room. A large mahogany desk took up most of the space. The walls were painted a mustard yellow and covered in diplomas and medical licenses. He also had photos of himself, taken with various politicians and heads of companies. Zanzi stared at one photo: Barko shaking the hand of the then-Senator Ward. Now President Ward.
She checked the computer and grinned when it hummed to life. After waiting for it to boot up, she inserted the USB stick and watched, fascinated, as Avondale’s virus began to work. Thousands of files flicked through on the screen. One mission complete.
“Virus uploaded,” Zanzi said, speaking into her comms.
“Copy that. Nice work,” Ryan said. “And the other thing?”
“Still working on it.”
“I want you two out of there asap.”
Her radio clicked twice as Ryan signed off. Zanzi was just as eager to leave The Eyrie. Too many memories. Sweat beaded on her neck and ran down her spine. Visions of Alba’s death flashed through her mind. Zanzi adjusted her cap and pulled it down as she tried to calm her nerves.
Bootsteps thumped down the hallway. She froze for a moment. Then, moving fast, she switched off the screen and hit the floor. Tilly, now also on the floor, glanced at her, fear in her eyes. She brought her weapon out in front of her. Zanzi held a finger to her lips as the thumping footsteps grew closer. They paused at the locked door, then the door shook in its frame. An inaudible curse sounded out, and the door shook again.
Were there cameras in here too? Zanzi hadn’t seen any. Maybe the computer was monitored?
More cursing, and the boots thumped away. Tilly bolted up and ran into an adjoining room. It was long and narrow, with storage boxes stacked on metal shelves and filing cabinets lining the back wall. Tilly ran toward them and yanked open the first one. She threw files out, then opened the next drawer, then the next, scattering files as she searched.
Finally, she stopped, a file in her hand, a smile locked in place. She held it up to Zanzi. “At first I couldn’t remember my name. I had to look at all of them.”
Zanzi glanced down. Matilda Henry.
Tilly handed her the next one. “My sister. Madison. We called her Maddie.”
Zanzi flicked to the last page, not wanting to read any of the test results.
Subject sent to Site 45b. Showed promising signs. Recommend for Project X10.
That was it. No other entries, no explanation as to what Site 45b was, or Project X10, for that matter. More questions.
Zanzi slammed the file down. “I’m sorry, Tilly.”
Tilly read the entry and began to cry. “All this effort for nothing?”
Zanzi grunted. “No, it’s never for nothing. We know for sure Maddie was sent to another site. We must find out where. See if you can find 404’s file.”
The two young women hunted through the cabinets for a few minutes but neither of them found anything close to resembling a red file.
“Maybe they’re kept somewhere else, not in Barko’s office,” Zanzi said.
The outer door to the corridor crashed open, slamming into the wall. Without thinking, Zanzi grabbed Tilly and ran toward the back of the file room. She had spotted another door there earlier. She tested the handle. It gave without resistance and lights blinked on as they entered the room beyond, bathing the space in bright, white clinical lights. Like the file room, this one had metal shelves, but instead of boxes, they carried specimen jars. Row upon row of brains preserved in clear liquid. Zanzi walked the length of the room.
There, strapped to an upright gurney, was a naked man with snow-white hair. His open mouth revealed toothless gums. His tongue, purple and swollen, hung out to one side.
But that was not what frightened Zanzi. It was the wires and tubes sticking out of his head. There were dozens of them, snaking up into one thick coil and disappearing into a server-like machine.
Tilly stifled a scream.
The man’s eyes slowly opened, and he let out a small
grunt, a pained sound, like he wanted to die.
“It’s Barko,” Tilly whispered. She backed away, throwing glances at him.
Zanzi locked the door and moved in front of Tilly, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. From the stories Tilly had told her, Barko was one of the nicer scientists, often blocking Alba and the others from using more extreme testing. He had treated the children as humans, not subjects. Maybe this was why he was here.
Barko moved his swollen tongue around his mouth, and said, “Kill me…please.”
“Why children?” Zanzi said. She had wanted answers ever since meeting Tilly. Maybe fate was going to provide them.
“Kill me…”
“Why children?” Zanzi said again.
“Brain developing, easier to program nan…” Barko’s head dropped.
So Offenheim had used orphaned children to experiment on simply because it was easier to code the nanites.
Zanzi slapped Barko hard across the face, bringing him back.
“Why did they do this to you?” Zanzi asked.
“Helping the girl.”
Speaking seemed to tire him. He closed his eyes and hung limply in his bonds.
Zanzi shook his shoulder. “Barko. Where’s Site forty-five B?”
“Forty-five B?” He let out a giggle and wriggled against the straps holding him down. “Why do you want to know?” he said, giggling again. “Nothing there but death.”
Zanzi motioned for Tilly to step forward.
Barko immediately perked up. He smiled, showing his gummy mouth. “Ah, Tilly, my chatterbox angel… Come to me to take me home… Your sister, of course…”
Barko slipped into unconsciousness again. His vital signs were weak. The beeping machines he was hooked up to showed that his heart rate and blood pressure were at critical levels. Whatever this man had done, he didn’t deserve to wither away and die slowly.
“Barko.” Zanzi shook him again. “Forty-five B?”
“I know why… why… I know why…” His chuckling, replaced by a smirk. Like he was proud of the fact that he knew something Zanzi didn’t. His head snapped up and his eyes focused on Tilly. “You want Madison?”
“Yes. Where is she?” Tilly said.
“I’ll tell you, but you have to do something for me.”
“Anything. Where’s my sister?”
“Tilly, my angel. You must end this for me. I’m dying. I should be dead. Killian is keeping me alive for his own amusement.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You must.”
Zanzi pulled her friend away and cupped a hand over her ear. “Tell him you will, and I’ll do it.”
Tilly nodded and turned back to Barko. He looked pitiful in his chains, kept alive by nanites and whatever fluid was pumping into him. It must be maddening, a never-ending nightmare.
“I’ll do it,” Tilly said.
The smile on Barko’s face could only be described as pure joy. His torment was going to end.
“Pull these cords from me, then I’ll tell you.”
“Forty-five B. Where is it?” Zanzi said.
“San.” Barko giggled again. “Pull the cords and I’ll reveal the rest.” His voice became high-pitched and sing-song-like.
Tilly reached over and pulled several of the cables from his skull. Blood and a clear liquid dribbled out of the holes. Barko’s eyes became hooded.
“Diego,” he said. His chin rested against his chest and the machines next to him began to beep an alarm.
“Where in San Diego?”
“Comic-Con…”
“Where?” Zanzi shouted, but Barko was nonresponsive.
The beeping machines began to annoy her. She hunted around for an off switch, scrambling on her hands and knees before locating it behind dusty boxes.
As she stood, she closed Barko’s eyes and draped a towel over his head. He had been part of the evil of The Eyrie. OPIS had adopted children from orphanages, bringing them here to test their sick theories. His actions had ultimately led to his own death.
“Maddie is in San Diego?” Tilly asked.
“That’s what he said.”
“What did he mean by Comic-Con?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.” Zanzi grabbed some more files as they returned to the cabinet room and shoved them into her rucksack. “Take some of these. Maybe we’ll find a clue.”
Tilly did as asked. “Will you help me find Maddie?”
“I’ll do everything I can. But first we have to get out of here.”
Zanzi spoke the truth. She would do everything she could to locate Maddie. Ryan had told her of the Yamada lab, their experiments. He had theorized that Offenheim would have research facilities too. Now she might know the general location of one such place.
Zanzi’s radio sparked to life in her ear.
“SITREP?” Ryan asked.
Thirty-Six
Ryan cracked open the door and slid inside. The white dome of the ceiling camera swiveled in a 180-degree turn. He dived across the corridor and entered another office, Booth hot on his heels. He hated to leave Zanzi and Tilly, but he had to distract the Black Skulls so The Nameless could complete the first part of the mission and give Avondale access.
He thumbed his comms as he ran for the servant access stairs. “Cal. Meet me on the roof. Be aware multiple hostiles on the north side.”
“Copy that.”
As he and Booth ran, Ryan recalled their flight through Shinjuku, with the yakuza chasing them. This time, they sprinted through empty cafeterias and living quarters, through lounges with comfortable seating and televisions. Apart from the Black Skulls chasing, they spotted no other workers and none of the servants. Bullets stitched the wall, showering him with plaster dust and chips of sheetrock.
“Split up,” Ryan said. “See if you can take some of these assholes with you.”
Booth tore off in the opposite direction, heading north. Ryan kept running and, bursting into another stairwell, took the stairs two at a time. Three minutes later, he was on the roof. He ducked behind one of the many ventilation intake vents. A short wall, about a meter high and coated with bitumen, bordered the flat roof. Small frozen puddles dotted the surface, refracting the glaring floodlights. On the north side, Black Skulls were peering over, firing their rifles every few seconds.
Pop… Pop… Pop.
In their arrogance, they weren’t watching their six. None that he could see, at least.
Ryan lifted his MP5, but hesitated. Over short distances it was lethal, but he was more than sixty meters away.
Another door banged open and Black Skulls poured out. Shouts rang out.
Ryan ignored the new guards and squeezed his trigger, aiming for the commandos attacking Sigma team. Keeping his head below the vent, he kept firing. The Black Skulls scattered and took cover as he shot four in the back. Two stiffened and toppled off the roof.
Ryan stopped firing and flattened his body as much as he could. “Cal. I need you.”
“Nearly there.”
Bullets pinged off the metal and concrete, keeping Ryan pinned down. His goal had been to get the Black Skulls away from his daughter. Success. Now he was pinned down with nowhere to go. His mind flashed back to three years ago, on this very roof. Cal had been at his side that day. A day that had ended with him thinking he had lost nearly everything. Not only his wife but his desire. His purpose.
It had taken a worldwide catastrophe to find it again.
Bullets stitched into the vent he crouched behind. He let loose a volley of his own, to keep the Black Skulls guessing, and dived behind a bigger structure. He couldn’t be certain what it was, and frankly, he didn’t care. Not getting shot was what mattered right now, with the commandos moving toward his position from two sides. To the north, the four remaining Black Skulls leapfrogged each other, hoping to flank him. The other group held their position, covering the only escape available: back the way he had come.
That didn’t bother him. If he’
d figured correctly, he wouldn’t need it.
“Booth. Where are you, buddy?”
“North stairwell. Third floor.”
“Stay sharp. Black Skulls are everywhere.”
“Copy that.”
Ryan let off another burst. “Cal? You copy?”
Silence over the radio.
“Cal. What’s your position?”
More silence. Was she too far inside the building for their comms to work?
The Black Skulls, tired of being cautious, rushed toward him, weapons hot and firing on automatic. Ryan tucked himself into a ball behind the low wall as round after round hammered into every surface. He slithered, as flat as he could, to his left, away from the advancing men. He glanced at an air conditioning unit and tried to calculate the odds of making it. Not great, but he had to keep moving.
He sensed, rather than heard, movement over the din of rifle fire. Twisting onto his back, he swiveled the MP5 up and squeezed the trigger. The Black Skull who had leapt over the structure caught the full brunt of his attack. All three bullets caught him in the throat, sending fountains of blood into the air. The commando slumped over, and Ryan shot him in the head, just to be sure. Another Black Skull let out a shriek, followed by another. Ryan took a bullet to his shoulder and another to his leg. He ignored the searing pain and kept squeezing his trigger, searching for targets. His combat instructors’ words repeating in his mind, ‘Forget the number. Focus on one target, then the next. And keep your head down!’
Ryan did exactly that: focused on one target – the one that posed the greatest threat.
Masks of Ash Page 27
