When she first started out, there were doors every ten meters on both walls. They were offset so that five meters after one on the right, there’d be a door on the left, and five meters after that, another on the right. She’d randomly tried a few. Some of the doors were locked, while others opened into dark, dusty-smelling empty rooms.
Every hundred and fifty meters, she would place another signal relay and check in with the others to make sure it worked. Each time it was Orlando who responded.
Nate, apparently, was too mad to talk to her. Was he sulking? This was not an emotion she understood well. He had every right to be angry because she’d contradicted his directions, so he should be angry and move on. Sulking about it seemed like a waste of time and energy.
“Six hundred meters,” she reported as she placed a new relay, marking the distance from the air shaft.
“Copy,” Orlando said. “How many more relays do you have?”
Jar checked her supply. “Nine.”
“Copy.”
Unless the hall took some out-of-the-way turns, Jar thought nine should be enough to get her wherever she needed to go.
She moved onward, placing another relay at seven hundred and fifty meters.
She was nearing eight hundred when the view changed. She couldn’t tell exactly where it started, but at a point ahead, probably around the nine hundred meter-mark, all the overhead lighting was on.
She reported what she saw.
“Chances are you’ll start seeing some of the base personnel,” Orlando said. “Do whatever you can to avoid them.”
More unnecessary words, but to Jar’s own surprise, she actually appreciated these. “I will be cautious.”
“If you find yourself in a position you can’t talk, utilize click protocol.”
“Copy.”
Jar eased forward, moving from a stack of crates to some old electronic equipment to a pile of dingy metal bookcases and, finally, to a mishmash assortment of boxes and carts and racks, at the edge of where the lighting changed.
She looked for movement in the corridor ahead and detected none. Taking a deep breath, she sneaked down to the next pile.
So far, so good.
She peeked around again, and was about to swing out into the open when she spotted something that made her stop in her tracks. Mounted high on the opposite wall, about thirty-five meters away, was a security camera. It appeared to be on a swivel head, but was pointing in her direction, unmoving.
Had she been spotted?
“Orlando,” she whispered.
“I’m here.”
“I see a security camera.”
“You haven’t seen any others before this?” Orlando asked.
“No.”
“How far have you gone?”
“Approximately nine hundred and twenty meters from the vent.”
“Hold on.”
During the silence that followed, Jar found a gap in the junk pile through which the camera couldn’t see her. She trained her binoculars down the corridor and watched for anyone heading in her direction. In the process, she noted more cameras, approximately one every twenty-five meters. The ones on the wall she was closest to were all pointing in the direction she was headed, while those on the opposite wall were aimed down the way she’d come.
She relaxed a little. The uniform angles meant the first one she saw hadn’t been pointing at her specifically. That did not eliminate the possibility she’d been seen, however, so she kept alert for movement.
“I’m in the camera system,” Orlando said. “It looks like the camera near you isn’t active right now. But you’re only going to make it another fifty meters before you get into view of one that is. I think I can deactivate them one at a time, but the system’s a little archaic. I’m going to need a few minutes to figure this out. Proceed forward for no more than forty meters, then wait for—”
Jar heard another voice. It didn’t speak directly into the comm and was a bit garbled. She had a hard time understanding what was said.
“Orlando, are you there?” Jar asked.
Dead air for three seconds, then, “Sorry about that. I’m still here. Move up like we talked about. I’ll be right back.” Orlando’s mic went silent again.
Jar could do nothing about whatever was going on with the team so she focused on the task at hand. After confirming there was still no movement at the far end of the corridor, she moved forward.
“I think I can deactivate them one at a time, but the system’s a little archaic,” Orlando said. Boy, was that an understatement. Best guess, the camera setup was a Soviet-era system that had been updated in the early 1980s and barely touched since. It was a wonder Orlando could get into it at all. Turning cameras on and off to aid Jar’s infiltration would take a Herculean effort. “I’m going to need a few minutes to figure this out. Proceed forward for no more than forty meters, then wait for—”
“I’ll take care of the cameras.”
Orlando jumped at the sound of Danara’s voice coming out of the speaker on her computer.
“Orlando, are you there?” Jar asked.
Orlando shared a glance with Quinn. He looked as unsettled by Danara’s reappearance as Orlando felt. “I’m still here,” she said into her mic. “Sorry about that. Move up like we talked about. I’ll be right back.”
She shut off her mic. “Danara?”
“Yes, Orlando.”
“You are interfering with our mission and jeopardizing Dr. Brunner’s life.” This was a much tamer version of the riot act Orlando wanted to hit her with, but she forced herself to be if not friendly then at least less harsh. Danara was clearly capable of wreaking havoc when she wanted to.
“You are having problems with the cameras inside the Lonely Rock facility,” Danara said. “I have already taken care of it. Jar may proceed unseen.”
That answered that question. Danara had indeed continued to monitor them, and now knew about Lonely Rock.
“You can’t just turn them off,” Orlando said. “If someone is watching them, they’ll know something is wrong and raise the alarm.”
“No alarm will be raised. The monitoring station is receiving signals from all the cameras. When Jar passes through one of the camera’s field of view, the feed will automatically switch to a shot of an empty hallway.”
“Automatically? Their system isn’t set up to—”
“You were correct. It was not. But I have made adjustments. I am also replacing any footage she might be recorded on.”
Orlando checked the system on her computer. Immediately, she noticed the addition to the interface she was using.
“What the hell is this? There’s a button here with Jar’s name on it.”
“What?” Nate said as he leaned forward between the front seats.
Quinn stopped the Land Cruiser and turned to Orlando, concerned.
“Press it,” Danara said.
“I’m not going to press it and risk getting her into trouble.”
“You will not get her into trouble. Press it.”
Orlando lifted her fingers from the keyboard and leaned back.
“All right. Then I will do it for you,” Danara said.
The onscreen button was suddenly highlighted, then the entire interface disappeared, replaced by a camera feed showing a long, deserted corridor.
“Only you can see this feed,” Danara said. “Tell Jar to step out from where she is waiting.”
Orlando looked at Quinn and Nate. Quinn looked dubious and Nate looked like he was ready to go through the computer and tear Danara apart.
Orlando considered the options and then turned on her mic, figuring that for the moment, there was little reason for the hacker to double-cross them. “Jar?”
“Go for Jar,” Jar answered.
“Don’t,” Nate whispered, low so Jar couldn’t hear.
Orlando stared at him, silently telling him to back off. He did so, reluctantly.
“I need to test the camera system,” she said in
to the comm. “Very slowly, I want you to slip your fingers around the edge of the box you’re hiding behind.”
“Copy.”
Orlando stared at the stack of boxes on the opposite side of the corridor. At first, she wondered if she was looking at the wrong hiding spot, but then four fingers curled around the box.
“Thank you. You can pull them back now.”
The fingers disappeared.
“Hold there,” Orlando said, then clicked off her mic again.
Nate caught her eye. “I think we should talk. Privately.”
If he hadn’t suggested it, Orlando would have. Leaving her laptop and cell phone on the seat, she climbed out of the car. The others shed their phones and followed.
They walked halfway to the rock-strewn ridge before Orlando said, “This should be far enough.”
“The fact that Danara set it up so that we could see Jar doesn’t prove Jar can’t still be seen by the others,” Nate said, his words coming out in a rush. “I don’t think we can trust her.”
“You’re right,” Orlando said. “We shouldn’t. But let’s not kid ourselves. She’s going to do what she wants. Better to keep her close than let her go rogue.”
“She has helped us so far,” Daeng said.
Nate whirled on him. “Was she helping when she destroyed Jar’s computer?”
“That was before she knew we were on the same side,” Orlando replied.
“We don’t even know who she is! We shouldn’t automatically be believing she has the same goal as we do.”
“Trust me,” Orlando said. “I’m not happy about her meddling with the mission. But we’re the ones who let her in with that key you found in Brunner’s apartment. She is connected to him.”
“Could be the kidnapping was an inside job and she was the inside source,” Nate suggested.
“Do you really believe that?”
“I don’t know what to believe. The only thing I do know is that we can’t leave Jar in there alone. We need to pull her out.”
Orlando sensed Quinn was about to say something, but she knew that would be a huge mistake. His and Nate’s relationship had taken a serious blow earlier in the year, and only now was getting back to something approaching normal. Quinn hadn’t figured out yet how much of a hot-button topic Jar was for Nate—hell, she’d barely figured it out. So, before Quinn could speak, she jumped in. “If you were the one in there, would you expect us to pull you out now?”
Anger flared in Nate’s eyes. “I’m not the one in there.”
“Jar is a full member of the team. She’s experienced and knows what she’s doing. And whether you realize it or not, she is good at this.” Orlando softened her voice. “We need her where she is right now.”
Nate looked like he either wanted to scream in frustration or sigh in resignation.
In the end, he took a deep breath and said, “I know. I know. You’re right, but I still don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Just promise me, at the first sign of trouble, we’ll pull her out.”
“Nate,” she said, frowning.
“Fine. Just…nothing had better happen to her.” With that, he turned and walked back to the car.
After he was out of earshot, Quinn said, “Is there something going on between them I should know about?”
Orlando shook her head. “He’s just protective.”
“Hmm,” Quinn said.
“I agree with him about not trusting Danara,” Kincaid said.
Orlando shot him a look. “I believe I already said that I did, too.”
“Just adding my vote.”
She glanced at Daeng, waiting for him to weigh in.
He held up his hands and shrugged. “I’m neutral.”
“Of course you are.” She looked around at all three of them. “Does anyone else have something to add? Or can we get back to it?”
No one said a word.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Grigory sat on his bed wearing a pair of khaki fatigue pants and a white T-shirt, his normal off-duty attire.
He should be sleeping. While he’d dozed for a bit prior to the meeting with the general, his eyes still felt like they were being ground down by sandpaper, and a low-level headache was building at the base of his skull.
But his mind wouldn’t allow him to lie down.
Nesterov.
Just the name was enough for Grigory’s jaw to tense.
The asshole had offered not a single word of praise for the successful delivery of the scientist. Instead, he’d been unhappy about a few dead mercenaries who hadn’t even been members of the organization. They, like the men deployed to deal with the Ferber family in Zurich, had been hired specifically because they were expendable.
Nesterov had made it seem like it was Grigory and Tiana’s fault the men had died. And of course Tiana had accepted the blame like the good teacher’s pet she’d become. Grigory had a feeling the general had asked her to stay behind so he could lavish praise on her alone, while sending Grigory off to do the mindless task of letting Brunner out of the box.
To hell with Nesterov. To hell with his whole Future Planning organization.
Grigory was tired of both.
He had never cared, one way or another, about improving the Kazakhstan of today, let alone tomorrow. The “golden future” of the nation had been Nesterov’s dream, and, Grigory supposed, that of whoever in the government the general had convinced to fund his operation. Grigory had been drawn in by Tiana’s promise to do interesting things. Well, and the money, of course.
Most of the missions, however, had been disappointing at best. The Brunner case was an exception, but during it, like with all the others, Grigory had felt as if he was wearing a collar that kept getting yanked this way and that.
He was a leader. But he knew now he would never get that chance here. It was time to start thinking about a change of scenery.
“Grigory, are you there?” Tiana’s voice came from the antiquated intercom next to the door.
He pushed off his bed and pressed the talk button. “Yes. What is it?”
“I need to discuss something with you. Can you meet me in Planning Room 13-147?”
“Of course. I’m on my way.”
He smiled. Despite Tiana’s cozying up to Nesterov, Grigory still felt some loyalty to her, enough to let her know about his plans first.
This would be the perfect opportunity.
As she headed back to her room to freshen up after giving Brunner his shot, Tiana had grudgingly turned her thoughts to fulfilling Nesterov’s orders regarding Grigory.
She did have options. She could order someone else to do it, but the honorable thing would be to carry it out herself. Plus, the general would appreciate that more.
Either way, this was Grigory’s life she was talking about.
Over the years, she had been in several tight situations with him. Not only did they always have each other’s back, they had saved each other’s lives more times than she could remember.
An old directional sign ahead pointed down a rarely used corridor she hadn’t been in since her first week at Lonely Rock, on a tour given personally by Nesterov. She must have walked through the intersection hundreds of times since then without even thinking about the room she had seen there.
This time, however, she slowed as she went by, glancing down the dimly lit passageway.
There was a third option, she realized. One that would be dangerous for both of them, and ridiculous to even consider. Still, the idea played through her mind as she continued walking, and soon the ridiculous idea leveled down to crazy, then not great, then maybe, before she finally convinced herself it was actually doable.
It would be tricky, but mainly because she had very little time. So, if she was going to go through with it, she needed to act now.
She stared at a distant nothing, not breathing, not moving. It would mean lying to the general.
Could she do that?
&n
bsp; Yes, she decided. She’d have to. It was the only way she’d be able to maintain self-respect.
She checked the time. She’d give herself fifteen minutes to pull everything together, and then she’d call Grigory in for a meeting.
Planning Room 13-147 was down a spur hallway, not far from the administration section of the base. Grigory knew this only because he’d checked the directory prior to leaving his room. He’d never been down this corridor before, let alone room 13-147.
It seemed an odd place to meet. The area was obviously one Future Planning wasn’t using. The overhead lights were running on safety mode, only every fourth one on.
When he reached the room, he tried the door but it was locked. “Tiana?”
“Just a moment,” she said from the other side.
When the door finally opened, the musty smell of disuse smacked him in the face.
“Come in,” Tiana said, stepping to the side.
The room was lined with wood paneling, and a conference table that had seen better days filled the center. There was enough room around the table for eight chairs, but only two were present, both down at the other end.
Tiana motioned to one of them and took the other.
“Is it just you and me?” he asked as he sat.
“Yes. Just us.”
The base of his skull tingled with suspicion.
“So, what did you want to talk about? We got a new mission?” He kept his voice light.
“No, not a new mission.”
“All right. What, then?”
She locked her eyes on to his. “I need you to not react to what I’m about to say.”
“Excuse me?”
“Can you do that?”
“Um, I guess. Can you tell me why?
“Grigory.”
“All right. Sure. I won’t react.”
She blew out a stream of air, as if she’d been worried he wouldn’t agree to her request. “You’re being let go.”
He couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, but he cut it off quickly. “Are you serious?”
“Quite serious. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, don’t be. I was going to tell you that I quit. This makes it easier.”
The Unknown Page 26
