“Look at that display,” Logan said. “Is that blood it’s showing on the walls?”
A caption on the display indicated the “Hall of Mazes.” Valerie readied her weapon as they walked over to the door marked “Maze Room.”
Logan tried the knob, but it wouldn’t turn. “Looks like we need some sort of access card.”
Valerie pulled a card from her pocket. “Took it off the doctor. It says his name was Serge Malikei,” she said, as she slid the card through the reader and opened the door, revealing two identical narrow hallways that turned at forty-five-degree angles every four meters or so. The white walls and closed doors in the hallways were marred by reddish-brown stains.
“What is this place?” Logan asked, as he walked a little ways into one passageway and then the other, feeling disturbed by the blood-smeared walls and the hallways’ odd angles. “It reminds me of the corn mazes our parents used to take us to when we were kids.”
“I remember those,” Valerie said. “But those mazes always had a way out. I’ve tried to open about five of these doors, and they’re all locked. And judging by the blood here, no one escapes unless the doctor wants you to. As much as I want to, I don’t think we should go any farther. Let’s go see what’s behind doors number two and three.”
Logan followed Valerie back into the hexagon-shaped room, where they walked over to the door marked “Testing Suites.” Valerie once again used the doctor’s card to gain access, and they entered a medium-sized, immaculate white room with a padded armchair similar to the ones found in dentists’ offices. A hydraulic foot pedal could be used to raise and lower it. On a table nearby was a set of computer monitors whose wires were connected to hundreds of small bio-sensors embedded in the chair. A tray of syringes and vials of green liquid lay next to a sink in the corner. Directly in front of the chair was a holographic projection device. Logan set his backpack down and sat in the chair, which he found surprisingly comfortable. Suddenly, the holographic projector fired up, and the computer monitors began to display a multitude of information.
“What are you doing?” Valerie set down a vial of green liquid and turned her attention to the now-active displays. “Looks like the chair tracks all of your biometric readings. Heart rate, blood pressure, even your brain activities.” She pressed a button labeled “Image Cycle.” Immediately, the holographic device began to project a reel of images in front of Logan. “It looks as if this device records your biometric reaction to what you’re looking at.” Logan’s metrics suddenly spiked. “It appears you like blondes,” she added with a grin.
Embarrassed, Logan hopped out of the chair, and all of the displays went dark.
“Come on, sit back down,” Valerie said. “Let’s see if we can figure this thing out.”
“How about we see what’s over here instead?” Logan walked over to a door marked “Storage.” Valerie was still fiddling with the biometric machine. He pushed open the door. “You’d better come over here!” he called, moving back from the door as soon as he saw what was behind it.
Valerie drew her gun and quickly joined him in the storage room. The two of them were surrounded by twelve vertical-standing containment devices, each housing a naked body in some kind of yellow gelatinous liquid, six males and six females.
“These are some kind of advanced bio-coffins, similar to the ones we use at the WCF lab,” Valerie said, analyzing the information displayed on the biometric screens attached to the containment devices. They showed temperature and viscosity readings. “This is insane,” she said, visibly disturbed by the sight. “This is evil. Who do they think they are? How can they run hideous experiments on people?”
“History is filled with crimes that were committed in the name of science,” Logan answered. He was also deeply disturbed by what he was seeing. He studied the placards at the top of the containment shells. “Look at this. They have a male and a female from each of the different races of humanity. Mongoloid, Caucasoid, Australoid, Negroid, Capoid, and T-noid,” he read aloud. “I never heard of this last one, T-noid.”
“What do you mean, the races of humanity?” Valerie asked.
“Some anthropologists theorize that you can divide the people in the world into five races based on their physical characteristics,” he explained. “The theory was very controversial. It’s been argued back and forth for years. Since ninety-nine point nine percent of all humans are made up of the same genetic material, there’s very little that differentiates all of us. I had to study it for an art class.”
Valerie gave him a skeptical look.
“My instructor said it would help when drawing the human face. He was pretty out there . . .”
Valerie nodded. “And you said you don’t recognize the last one?”
He shook his head.
Valerie heard the elevator doors closing and the car ascending to the first floor. “Come on,” she said. “That’s Luke.”
Logan followed her back out to the main lab. When the elevator descended and the doors opened, Luke and one of his team members stepped out, lowering their weapons.
“Damn, check this place out,” Luke said, an amazed expression on his face. Valerie led him to a corner of the hexagonal room.
The elevator made several trips, bringing more agents to G-LAB. Among them were local WCF lab technicians, who began gathering evidence from the maze and the testing rooms. There was still one door that Logan and Valerie had not opened. While Valerie spoke to the team, Logan took the doctor’s ID badge from her coat pocket and went over to the door marked “Library.”
38
The child wishes to be older, and the old man wishes again to be a child. But wise is the one who allows himself to be both.
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
BANARAS, INDIA, 7:30 P.M. LOCAL TIME, 2 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY
Mr. Perrot and Jogi followed Babu to an old storage shed at the other end of the yard. Even though evening was approaching, the sun was still strong, and the heat was sweltering. Babu stared at the shed blankly.
“You were going to show us your iron work, Babu,” Mr. Perrot reminded him, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. “The stamps you made for Deya.”
“Yes,” Babu replied, “that is why we have come here.” He walked into the shed and started to move the pieces of wood and unused building materials. “They are here somewhere.” As Mr. Perrot and Jogi helped him move some of the heavier items, he looked concerned. “Where is my hammer? Where are my chisels? Some of my tools are missing.”
Mr. Perrot smiled, wondering how his old friend could find anything in this crowded shed. But eventually, Jogi lifted a greasy bed sheet from the floor and discovered seven iron templates, each attached to a two-foot-long broomlike handle.
“Yes, yes, you have found them. Those are Deya’s words,” Babu said.
Jogi carried out the iron stencils and laid them on the ground. Then he and Mr. Perrot inspected each one, trying to read the words. They were stenciled in reverse, and some of the letters had broken off, making the phrases difficult to read. “We need a mirror of some kind,” Jogi suggested.
“Stamp them!” Babu instructed. Mr. Perrot and Jogi didn’t quite understand what he was saying. “Stamp them!” he said again, as he walked over to the side of the shed and turned on a garden hose. Mr. Perrot and Jogi could only watch, wondering what the old man was up to. He walked back and dampened the ground in front of the iron stencils. The ground soon turned to mud. “Stamp them!” he said one more time, motioning for them to pick up the templates.
Jogi picked up the handle of each template and pressed its iron lettering into the wet ground. Babu put back the garden hose and sat in the shade of a large banyan tree. It did not take long for the hot sun to dry the mud. Jogi carefully removed each iron stamp to ensure that the impression it had left in the ground remained intact, and before long, all seven were imprinted on the ground.
“Six of these messages are the same as the ones on the pillars,” Mr. Pe
rrot said. “They are all from the Chronicles. But this one is not.” He pointed to the fifth message from the left. “This must be the one that was in the pond.”
In the once Great House
Where fire is and ashes rise
Where the ear stone fell
Will hold your prize
“What does that mean?” Jogi asked, looking quizzically at the message. “I suppose that we should assume ‘prize’ refers to the books. The first part, then, must refer to the location.” Mr. Perrot nodded in agreement. “Could ‘fire’ and ‘ash’ refer to a fire pit here on the property?”
“I would doubt that,” Mr. Perrot said. “If Deya feared for the safety of the books, I doubt she would have hidden them here. She would have certainly picked a more obscure place.” He continued to stare at the words. “Why did she capitalize ‘Great’ and ‘House’? That must be a proper noun, the name of a specific place.”
“A once Great House,” Jogi emphasized. “Which means that it is no longer great or no longer used.”
“Yes,” Mr. Perrot said. “A once Great House of fire and ash.”
Mr. Perrot and Jogi stood in the hot sun trying to solve the riddle in the ground in front of them, but their efforts stalled. They went to join Babu under the shade of the tree. While they kept repeating lines of the riddle, Babu’s attention wandered to a group of people walking past the house. He went over to the stone wall at the front of the property and observed a colorfully adorned body being carried ceremoniously down the street.
“What is it?” Mr. Perrot asked.
“A funeral procession,” Jogi said. “They are taking the body to the Ganges, where it will be cremated.”
“It seems to have caught Babu’s attention,” Mr. Perrot said, taking a drink of water. “It is certainly a very elaborate procession.”
“Wait,” Jogi suddenly burst out. “What about Manikarnika?”
“What is Mani—?”
“The Manikarnika Ghat. It used to be considered the most auspicious place to be cremated. It is just over there along the Ganges.” Jogi pointed to the east. “Very close to where Deya found the original set of the books.”
“What do you mean, it used to be?” Mr. Perrot asked. “Is it abandoned now?”
“No, not at all,” Jogi explained. “It still remains in use. After the Great Disruption, new, more modern cremation sites were built to handle the large influx of bodies. But the faithful still use Manikarnika Ghat.”
“I see. So this place was once a ‘Great House’?” Mr. Perrot said with a smile.
“And it is still a place of fire and ash,” Jogi added with a nod.
“That is certainly a plausible answer to Deya’s riddle,” Mr. Perrot said, rising to his feet. “And there is only one way to find out if it is the right answer.”
39
Everyone is an actor in his own drama. And, like all great thespians, you may forget your lines from time to time. But it is at that moment that you can improvise and advance your life’s epic tale in unexpected ways.
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
WASHINGTON, D.C., NEAR DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
10:00 A.M. LOCAL TIME, 2 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY
“What’s taking them so long?” Lucius looked through the dark-tinted windshield of their vehicle.
On being notified by one of the mercenaries who’d escaped about the WCF’s assault on the plantation, Andrea had placed a call to a number that Simon told her was only to be used in an emergency. Now the targets of a WCF manhunt, she, Lucius, and Monique waited in an abandoned parking garage in a forgotten suburb of Washington, D.C., one that had sustained such extensive damage during the Great Disruption that it had never been restored. The top three floors of the garage had collapsed. Rebar and other binding material protruded from massive pieces of crumbled concrete, which lay on top of crushed vehicles. The back doors of a nearby van were open, revealing a cot and some blankets. It appeared to be a makeshift shelter that someone had used after the Disruption.
“They said they would be here, didn’t they?” Lucius persisted.
“Yes, Lucius. I’m sure they are on their way.” Andrea’s voice was tense, though. “Don’t you think that if the plan had changed, we would have been informed?” She looked at remnants of a sports car under a large piece of fallen concrete. The door to the car was missing, and a woman’s shoulder bag and a jacket were on the seat, covered in forty years of dust and debris. She wondered if the owner had made it out of the garage alive or if she’d find a pile of bones inside the car if she looked more closely. She returned her attention to her own perilous situation and picked up her PCD.
“What are you doing?” Lucius grabbed the PCD and quickly turned it off. “You make a call, and we’ll have the WCF all over us.”
“I need to know if G-LAB has been compromised. I’ve been unable to reach Dr. Malikei or his handler in the last few hours.”
“How could they have found out about G-LAB? I’m telling you, G-LAB is safe—and so is the doctor.”
“The plantation was also supposed to be safe,” she said. She gave her son a skewering look. “All we needed to do was deliver those two insolent people to the doctor, and we couldn’t even do that right. Where did you find such incompetent help?”
“You’re blaming me?” Lucius said incredulously. “They came highly recommended. If you have a problem, you need to take it up with Mr.—” He was cut off by another displeased look from his mother.
Monique was seated behind them, listening intently to their conversation. “Where are we going?” she asked. “What are we going to do?” She leaned forward, hoping to get a response. But they didn’t seem interested in providing her with any assurances.
Lucius gestured for her to sit back. “Here they are,” he said, unlocking the doors as a blue van came down the ramp and pulled up alongside them. A well-dressed middle-aged man with a small briefcase emerged from the van and got into the backseat with Monique.
“I was told there were only two of you,” he said in a monotone, looking at Monique.
“No, there are three of us,” Andrea responded. “Is that going to be an issue?”
The man remained silent and continued to stare at Monique.
Monique’s heart started to race. If it was a problem, she knew what it would mean.
“It shouldn’t be,” he replied, as he opened the silver-colored briefcase he was carrying. “Hand me your identification glasses.” As he placed the glass cards on a device in his briefcase, a monitor displayed each person’s name, birth date, eye color, address, PCD number, and employment, credit, and medical histories. “First, we need to reprogram your glasses with new identities.” One by one, each ID card was programmed with new information. “Review your cards, and memorize your new names and addresses.”
“Howard? That’s the best name you could come up with for me?” Lucius looked irked. He grabbed his mother’s card. “Sarah—yeah, that’s even worse. Now I don’t feel so bad.”
Monique looked at her card. “I’m Ming-Lee?”
“See, now that name makes sense,” Lucius commented.
The man didn’t appear to be in any mood to banter, however. “Hand me your PCDs,” he said. “I need to program new identifier codes. The WCF won’t know to track these new numbers.” The flat-panel display lit up each time a PCD was connected. “Except for you,” he said coldly, looking at Monique again. “I only have two new codes to allocate.”
“Surely you can secure an additional number,” Monique said in a pleading voice. “Surely you can.” All she got was a disgusted look before the man turned back to the device in the briefcase. He worked on it a little while longer.
“I can program the PCD with a new number, but I won’t be able to initiate the switch until I return to the office. Until then, don’t turn this PCD on. It’s still programmed with the old identifier.” He raised his eyes at her, his look cold and threatening. “I’ll notify you when the new ID is active.”
“That will be just fine.” Andrea smiled at Monique, who was still shaking. “See, dear, we wouldn’t let any harm come to you.”
Monique swallowed, forcing herself to nod.
Now another similarly dressed man exited the blue van and walked over to the vehicle. Lucius placed a hand on his gun, which was sitting on his lap.
“Relax, Howard,” the man in the backseat said calmly, using Lucius’s new name. “He’s going to reprogram the transponder signal from your car. They may try to track that, too.”
Lucius relaxed his grip on the gun and gestured to the small device inside the silver briefcase. “That’s an interesting toy you have there. Any chance you have an extra one lying around?”
The man didn’t respond. Working methodically, he finally finished and handed the PCDs back to them. “Remember,” he said to Monique, “yours is not to be turned on until you hear from us.”
Monique nodded.
The second man completed his task under the hood and returned to the blue van.
“What now?” Andrea asked, as the man shut his briefcase and stepped out of their vehicle.
He ignored her. “They have their new identification glasses, and their identifiers have been changed,” he said into his PCD. He then walked back to the blue van, climbed into the front passenger seat, and sped away in the van.
“Friendly guy,” Lucius said.
As soon as it was connected, Andrea’s PCD rang, and Simon’s image was projected. “It seems that we have underestimated Camden’s son. Or that I have overestimated your ability to deal with him. Which one of these statements is true?”
“The loss of the plantation is unfortunate,” Andrea admitted.
“And what of G-LAB and the good doctor?” Simon continued. “The loss of them would be even more unfortunate.”
Journey Into the Flame: Book One of the Rising World Trilogy Page 25
