Journey Into the Flame: Book One of the Rising World Trilogy

by T. R. Williams

  “Negative! Negative!” Luke said. “We’ve got a momma and her kittens inside a small office that contains a desk, a chair, and some ancient computer equipment. Stand down. Stand down.”

  Valerie frowned. “Keep going. Check behind those other closed doors.” Then she turned her focus to the videos coming from the groups on the other floors.

  The second floor was another large open space with rows of laboratory tables, several of which had collapsed. Dusty microscopes, computers with old-fashioned display screens, and racks of test tubes and beakers covered the tables. One of the cameras zoomed in on a corner of the lab filled with stacks of wire cages containing small bones.

  “Probably the remains of animals they used in experiments. But I’m not seeing any indications that anyone has been working here recently,” Logan said, puzzled.

  Valerie shook her head and pointed to the video streaming from the group in the basement. All three cameras conveyed images of large corroding oil-storage tanks, oil burners, and water heaters.

  A half-hour later, the entire search team congregated on the first floor.

  “Alpha Dog,” Luke said, using Valerie’s code name, “we’ve uncovered no signs of recent work or visitation on any of the structure’s three levels. If anyone was in here recently, and I doubt anyone was, they have left the building.”

  “Dammit! You have to be kidding me!” Valerie kicked a small table that had been set up in the command center. “Fine. Clear out of there. This is a dead end.” She turned to Logan; he could see the frustration and disappointment in her eyes.

  “We must have gotten it wrong,” he said. “The map in the van must have been referring to another place. Or maybe the explosion damaged the GPS and corrupted the location data.”

  “I thought for sure we had it,” she said. “These people are like ghosts. You think you have them, and all of a sudden, they’re gone.”

  Luke had come back to the command post. “Sorry, Val,” he said. “We didn’t see anything out of place.” In a softer voice, he added, “And sorry to hear about Charlie. He was a good guy.” It was clear he was not used to having to console his tough boss. She barely raised her head to thank him. He walked away, joining the other members of the unit.

  Valerie and Logan stood and watched as the WCF assault and sniper teams packed up and drove away from the old Army research building. When dawn began to lighten the sky and only the unmarked WCF car Valerie had driven to the site was left among the corroding Army vehicles in the parking lot, she put her hands on her hips and said, “I’m not accepting this! I’m taking a look myself.” She didn’t invite Logan, but he followed her anyway.

  They walked through the trees and across the parking lot and entered the building through the back door. Once inside, Valerie and Logan turned their PCDs into flashlights. They started on the second floor, walking carefully between the rickety lab tables and checking all of the offices and closets. The basement didn’t yield anything of interest, either. When they returned to the main floor, they went their separate ways, frustrated that they weren’t uncovering anything the WCF team had missed. There was nothing to indicate that this building had anything to do with the place called G-LAB.

  Logan wandered around with his backpack on his shoulder, scavenging through the toppled furniture, kicking papers to and fro. Valerie, meanwhile, retraced the path of the assault team to the office where they had found the mother cat and her kittens. Logan was checking the drawers of a desk when Valerie ran over to him, grabbed him by the arm, and pushed him into a coat closet near the front entrance.

  “Turn off your PCD,” she ordered in a whisper. She pressed her finger to her lips. “I just saw a black SUV pull up in front of the building.”

  She left the double doors of the coat closet slightly ajar so that she could look out into the office. They heard a rattling sound as the glass entrance doors were unlocked and opened. Then a deep voice.

  “Hurry up, Doctor. Go downstairs and get what you need, and don’t forget to set the timer. We need to do this fast. They might come back.”

  “But how am I to bring all of my records? There is too much to gather. Perhaps they won’t return.”

  “We can’t take that risk. Just get down there and take what you need.”

  Logan and Valerie continued to listen from the closet. The larger of the two men looked like one of the thugs they’d seen at the plantation. He was dressed in black pants and a fitted white shirt, and he had a handgun strapped to his belt. The smaller man wore glasses and spoke in a thick German accent.

  “That sounds like the doctor Andrea was referring to,” Logan whispered.

  Valerie readied her firearm. “And it also sounds like they intend to blow this place up, just like they did with the plantation.”

  Logan and Valerie watched as the doctor walked over to one of the large filing cabinets that lined the wall opposite the coat closet and slid open the middle drawer. He reached in and started to fiddle with something.

  “Let’s call the team back,” Logan whispered.

  “No time.” Valerie had to act now. “Freeze! Don’t move!” she yelled, as she crashed through the closet doors. Logan followed her, moving off to the side. “WCF. You two are under arrest.”

  The doctor froze, but the mercenary instantly drew his weapon and pointed it at Valerie, activating a red targeting laser that beamed onto her forehead. “For what?” he said. “Trespassing?”

  “For killing my partner,” she answered. “Put your weapon down. No need for anyone to get hurt.”

  “You’re right,” the gunman countered. “But you’ll be the one putting the gun down.”

  Valerie shook her head. “This place is going to be crawling with agents in two minutes.”

  Logan knew that was a bluff. He was standing only a few steps to Valerie’s left, and the doctor was still standing near the open file cabinet. With her weapon in her right hand, Valerie displayed her WCF credentials with her left. “My name is Valerie Perrot—”

  “We know who you are,” the mercenary interrupted. “We know all about you and Logan over there.”

  “Then you probably also know that I’m not interested in you,” she said. “I want the doctor. We have a few questions about G-LAB.”

  “They know,” the doctor said, now looking even more agitated. “Andrea—”

  “Quiet, Doctor,” the mercenary interrupted, suddenly pointing his gun at him. “There’s no way you’re taking him in.” The red laser that had been fixed on Valerie was now pointing at the doctor’s chest.

  “Then it looks like we have a real problem,” she said. “Logan, get behind me, and crouch down.”

  He quickly moved as instructed.

  “Yes, we do,” the mercenary said. Then he whipped out a second gun with his left hand, pointing it at Valerie. “I got no problem taking out the doc and you.”

  Logan watched anxiously. He knew that he and Valerie could die.

  “Just me and you,” Valerie said.

  In a flash of movement, the mercenary pointed the laser of the gun in his right hand toward Valerie’s eye, attempting to blind her. The moment the laser struck her in the eye, she dropped to the ground and fired off a round. Another was fired in the same instant. The sound was deafening.

  Logan saw the mercenary spin around and fall to the floor. He couldn’t see the doctor. He lunged toward Valerie. “Are you all right? I heard two shots!”

  “I’m fine,” she said. Her adrenaline was at full speed as she jumped to her feet. “But the doctor’s not.”

  Logan rose, too. He saw the doctor lying still on the floor.

  Valerie walked over to confirm that the mercenary was dead, and then she went to the doctor. She took his pulse, then shook her head. “He’s dead. I guess the mercenary cared more about killing the doctor than killing us or saving himself. Interesting set of priorities.”

  Logan was still stunned by the shooting. He went over to the open file cabinet drawer where the doctor ha
d been standing. “There’s some kind of electronic pad in here. It looks like the doctor was typing in a code.” He looked into the open drawer and saw an eight-digit numeric display with the numbers 0721206 shown in red. “Looks like we just need the last digit.”

  Valerie put her hand out. “Don’t touch anything. How can we be sure it’s not a detonation device?” She paused and thought for a moment. “Didn’t he tell the doctor to go downstairs?”

  Logan nodded. “He told him to go downstairs, gather his things, and set the timer.”

  “That number looks like a date. Nine. I bet the last digit is a nine. It’s the date of Freedom Day.”

  “That seems too easy,” Logan said. Apprehensively, he placed his finger just above the button.

  “Do you have a better guess?”

  He didn’t. He pressed the number nine on the keypad, and the cabinet slid to the right, revealing something they did not expect to find. An elevator. Valerie pressed the call button.

  36

  A master speaks of his past in terms of the wisdom it has provided to him. He does not speak of it in terms of how he might have changed it.

  —THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

  BANARAS, INDIA, 6:00 P.M. LOCAL TIME, 2 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

  Mr. Perrot found Jogi to be of great assistance in tracking down Deya Sarin’s home in Banaras. He was Indian, so the locals trusted him, and Jogi was able to navigate the many idiosyncrasies of their culture to get directions and the latest information on Deya’s husband’s doings.

  Two hours after their flight had landed, a state-of-the-art electric rickshaw dropped them off in front of a modest two-story cement house. It was separated from the street by a stone wall with a wrought-iron gate. Similar houses lined both sides of the street in the quiet residential neighborhood only a half-mile away from the densely populated, bustling area by the Ganges River.

  Mr. Perrot pushed a call button at the entrance gate. He and Jogi could hear the faint sound of its ringing inside the house. When no one answered, he rang the bell again.

  “The neighbors say that Babu Sarin rarely leaves the house,” Jogi said. “Ever since his wife died, he has become a recluse. His son’s recent disappearance has only added to his misfortune.”

  They waited patiently, ringing the bell a few more times. Finally, the front door swung open, and a rickety old man emerged. With the assistance of his cane, he slowly walked down the dirt pathway toward the gate, his long white tunic flapping in the wind. Mr. Perrot observed the sadness on the wrinkled face of this feeble gentleman. His heart sank as he recognized his former comrade and fellow Council member.

  “Hello, Babu, my old friend,” he said in the gentlest of voices, as Deya’s husband finished his trek to the gate. There was no sign of recognition on his face.

  “How may I help you?” Babu asked, his voice strained.

  “They say that he has forgotten a great deal,” Jogi whispered to Mr. Perrot. “The neighbors say that he has a hard time remembering people and past events.”

  Mr. Perrot did not give up. “You might remember me as your old friend Robert Tilbo,” he said. The man just stared at him blankly. “I was a dear friend of your wife, Deya.”

  “Deya,” Babu said. “Do you know where she is? She has not returned from her trip. Nor has my son returned from his.”

  “Unfortunately, my friend, we do not know,” Mr. Perrot said, understanding that Babu’s mind had indeed declined into the forgetfulness of old age. “However, we would very much like to see her garden, if you would permit.”

  “You seem somewhat familiar to me,” Babu said, as he struggled to open the gate. His hands showed signs of advanced arthritis. Jogi provided assistance. “Come, come, the garden is over there. Go see, follow the path—you cannot miss it.” He pointed to the side of the house, barely able to lift his arm. “I will bring some water to drink,” he said. Then he turned and slowly walked back toward the house.

  Mr. Perrot and Jogi continued down the weed-ridden pathway, which took them under a vine-covered stone pergola. Instead of a garden, they found themselves standing in a ten-by-ten-meter space enclosed by a two-meter-high wall that could only be described as a conservatory of weeds. Massive urns containing the ruins of once-lush trees crowded the corners of the space, while six free-standing square pillars stood in a circular formation in the middle. An elaborate cistern system had been built there, but the cement tank was cracked, and the irrigation system was falling apart.

  “Are you sure this is a garden?” Jogi asked as they looked around.

  “Deya has been gone for quite some time now,” Mr. Perrot said. “It seems that no one has tended the garden in her absence. It is a shame—you should have heard how lovingly she spoke of the flowers and trees that grew here . . .” His voice trailed off into a sigh.

  “What are we looking for?” Jogi asked.

  “We have only the clue Deya left for Camden.” Mr. Perrot took the note from his pocket and read it out loud: “ ‘My garden pond will point the way should I pass.’ ”

  Jogi looked around again. “I don’t see anything that looks like a pond here.”

  “Pond!” another voice cried. Babu had returned, his cane in one hand and a small jug of water in the other. Mr. Perrot moved to take the jug and helped him sit on a stone bench. “The other man wanted to see the pond, too. When Deya returns, she will restore the garden. My son will also help.”

  “Someone else was looking for the pond?” Mr. Perrot asked. “When was that?”

  “Yes, another man came looking for Deya’s pond. Just yesterday, it was,” Babu continued. “Would you like some water? When Deya returns, she will restore the garden.” His mind was jumping from thought to thought.

  “What did this man look like?” Mr. Perrot asked.

  Babu did not answer right away. Instead, he moved the jug of water closer to him on the bench. “They were taller than you,” Babu said. “Would you like some water?”

  “No, thank you.” Mr. Perrot understood that he could not push too hard. “Could you just show us where the pond is?”

  “There, behind those pillars.” Babu pointed with his cane. “When she comes back, she can tell you all about it.”

  Jogi and Mr. Perrot walked over to the dry dirt area encircled by the six pillars. “He’s right. Looks like someone was here already,” Jogi observed. “All of the weeds and dirt have been removed from this shallow area, which must have been the pond.”

  “She wrote that the secret was in her pond,” Mr. Perrot said, as he walked to the center of the cracked basin. “There was definitely something written here.”

  “Whatever it was, it looks like it was chiseled away.” Jogi bent down and grabbed a handful of broken-up cement. “And recently, too.”

  “You found Deya’s message,” Babu said, his cane still in hand, as he joined them by the ravaged pond.

  “We did, sir,” Jogi acknowledged. “But it has been destroyed—perhaps by those men who came yesterday. Do you recall what it said?”

  “Yes, yes—yes,” Babu said, but he hesitated. Mr. Perrot and Jogi waited patiently for Babu to explain. But all he said was, “Perhaps Deya will tell you when she returns.”

  “It is really important, sir,” Jogi said gently, trying to coax the words from the old man’s fading memory.

  “She will tell you when she returns,” Babu insisted. Jogi looked at Mr. Perrot in disappointment. “She can fix the rubble there,” Babu continued. “She will restamp as she did once before.”

  “Restamp?” Mr. Perrot said. “Was the message stamped into the concrete?”

  “Yes. She did all these words that way.” Babu pointed to one of the six concrete pillars surrounding the empty basin. “I was an iron smith, you know. I made the stamps for her.”

  Mr. Perrot saw that words had been stamped into the pillars. “Perfection is an illusion theorized by your personality,” one of them read. Mr. Perrot knew the line well. “These are all quotes from the Chronicles
,” he told Jogi. “Babu, do you know where those stamps are at the moment?”

  Babu nodded. Then, without a word, he turned and walked toward the house, using his cane to assist his wobbly legs. Mr. Perrot and Jogi followed.

  37

  You must learn to separate your emotions from your cause. Only then will you allow the greatest possibilities to occur in your life.

  —THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

  G-LAB, 8:00 A.M. LOCAL TIME, 2 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

  As the elevator arrived, the sound of its hydraulics could be heard. The doors opened, revealing a tiny, one-meter-square car. It seemed to be new, clean, unlike the rest of the building. Logan and Valerie squeezed themselves in, letting the doors close again behind them. The elevator started to descend slowly.

  “How did they build this without anyone knowing?” Logan wondered out loud, standing behind Valerie. The elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened back up.

  “I think we found G-LAB,” she said.

  Logan followed her, amazed by what he saw. They were in a hexagon-shaped room with antiseptic white walls on which video display monitors had been installed. A long stainless-steel table with twelve chairs around it occupied the center of the room. A large holographic projection pad sat in the middle of the table. The room was quiet except for a low humming noise whose origin was unclear.

  “Again, I have to ask how they built this place without anyone knowing,” Logan said. “And how did they get all that equipment down here?”

  Valerie didn’t answer. She had activated her PCD and was speaking into it. “Luke, I think you and your team missed a little something at the Army research building. Logan and I found a sparkling new elevator behind the file cabinet on the south-facing wall of the main floor. It goes way down to what appears to be a high-tech laboratory. Get back here as soon as you can.” Logan heard Luke cursing as the device clicked off.

  Logan and Valerie walked over to the stainless-steel table and gazed around the room. The elevator in which they had arrived occupied one of the room’s six walls. Three of the other walls had fortified doors—one was marked “Library,” another “Maze Room,” and the third “Testing Suites.” More than a dozen monitors were mounted on the two remaining walls, and all but one of them was dark.