Whoa. Why is the ground tilting like that?
Dan leaned against the wall and gave himself a minute to find his balance.
Now where am I?
The soft drone of air came from a grille in the ceiling, only four or five inches square. Beside it was a short halogen tube, providing the cold, clear white light. They’d put him in a pair of white pants and a tunic tied at the back. He was barefoot and bare-armed. The arms bore a row of Band-Aids, three on each forearm. That’s where the truth serum had gone in.
Escape. Escape. Escape.
What else was in this room?
A pile of bedding. A thin mattress and an even thinner blanket.
He turned the handle; it was locked. But locked how? Bolt or key?
Worse. An electromagnetic lock. There would be a keypad on the other side of the door. Dan rested his ear against it. So that was where the strange humming was coming from.
The deadbolt was tempered steel and set into a steel frame; he’d need a Tomas or two to break it down. He tapped the walls. Concrete. That would be a couple of hours’ work with a sledgehammer even if he had full strength.
He spotted an air gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. Dan dropped to his knees and peered through. It was only an inch high but gave him a glimpse of the corridor.
Nothing special. This was just a service corridor lined with storerooms and minor offices. Bare concrete walls given a quick lick of paint. A rush job and unfinished.
Escape. Escape. Escape.
Dan put a foot on the door handle, and fingertips hooked on the doorframe, lifted himself up toward the air grille. It was plastic and easy to knock out. He searched the space above. There was a void of five or six inches, so even if he’d been able to get up there, it was too narrow to crawl along. Fixed to the underside were cable trays, and tied to the trays were bundles of power cables, communications wiring, and the red-cased alarm cables.
Escape. Escape. Escape.
He dropped to the floor before his arms gave out.
That humming was getting on his nerves. He’d played around with enough kits to know there was a power current running through the lock, holding the bolt in place.
Wait a minute …
The current had to be on to make the lock work. If the current was disrupted or went off …
It would open.
He looked up through the ventilation hole. Three cables spiraled off the tray that served this room. One was lighting, the second was the alarm, and the third had to be security.
Break the security cable and the door lock would fail.
Heart pumping now and all pain forgotten, Dan hopped back up onto the door handle and hooked his fingers around the edge of the hole above him. He swung off and hung there, looking for the cable. His arms and shoulders ached already, and the rough edge cut into his fingers. He snatched the cable, the blue one, and pulled. It held.
He tightened his grip and let go of the ceiling.
His whole body weight behind him, the cable ripped free and he landed clumsily.
The humming died, and the door bolt clicked.
Dan got up, approached the door, and took hold of the handle.
Escape. Escape. Escape.
He turned it and swung the door open.
The corridor smelled of fresh paint and wasn’t quite finished. There were spools of cables and pipes neatly piled along the wall for when the workmen returned to finish. Dan grabbed a length of pipe, a foot long and made of steel. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but he felt better holding it.
Dan raced along the corridor, all senses alert. Barefoot, he made no noise at all.
He needed supplies. Clothing. Food. Boots.
He came up to a changing room. He listened before entering.
Steam filled the room from the running showers. He could hear the voices of a couple of guys chatting over the rush of the water. Lockers lined one side of the wall and there was a bench with clothes lying on it. Dan threw on a pair of jeans, measured his feet against a pair of sneakers, and found them a close enough fit. Then he threw a hoodie on, pulling the hood over his head. He was about to leave when he spotted a security tag hanging from the clothes hook. He grabbed it and strung it around his neck. Never mind that he looked nothing like Dr. Justin Klingerhoff.
Escape. Escape. Escape.
Which way next? He needed to find food, even if it was only a packet of breakfast cereal. His belly rumbled, reminding him it had been a long time since it had been filled.
Dan reached a door marked RESTRICTED ACCESS and tried his security tag. The door lock clicked and he went through. He was in business.
Dan stopped dead in his tracks. He gazed up and up and up.
Now he knew why it was called the Hive.
Attleboro, Massachusetts
Vikram Kabra downed his fourth (or was it fifth?) glass of champagne. It tasted … bitter.
That’s the flavor of your life, Kabra.
All around him was the mewling of cats. That’s what the other guests sounded like. All fake joviality and pasted-on charm.
They were celebrating a bitter harvest.
What had any of them done? What had he done?
Joined forces with a traitor to claim what they thought they deserved.
He looked sourly at the gathered survivors of Nathaniel’s purge of the Cahill family. Were they the beginnings of a new, golden era, or were they the few refugees, bobbing in a leaky life raft, watching their world disappear below the waves forever?
He could see the tension, the stiffness, and the wariness. They might be mewling like cats, but that didn’t fool him. They were wolves.
He felt nothing but disgust, at them, at himself. For he knew he was no better. Just like them, he was waiting.
Nathaniel’s done us a favor. Destroyed our rivals for us. All we need to do is wait him out. He’s an old, old man, after all. Then, which of us will rule?
Vikram liked his chances. Plans were already in place. Gifts (okay, bribes) had been handed out to a few here, to guarantee support when the time came, though in a company led by a traitor he expected a few would double-cross him at some point. Which is where the blackmail came in. Everyone had dirty secrets and Vikram, using his Lucian cunning, had worked hard to uncover those secrets. He had interesting files on most in this greenhouse. A call to Interpol would remove three, and an e-mail would have the FBI paying an unexpected visit to two others.
All in good time, Kabra.
He glanced up at the mansion, where his son was now imprisoned.
His son—what a joke!
Vikram had tried. He’d been hard and pointed out where Ian had failed, all to make him better. Compassion, fairness, and loyalty were tools—no, were crutches—for the weak, and no Kabra should have such … failings. The ability to inspire fear, the hunger for power, and a taste for ruthlessness—these were the qualities a true leader should have, and Ian lacked each and every one of them.
Vikram laughed as he remembered the look his son had given that girl Cara. He loved her! How pathetic!
I love no one. That’s what makes me strong. That’s what makes me better.
But Vikram caught himself, bleary-eyed, reflected in the greenhouse glass. Even in this crowd, he felt alone. Totally alone.
Look at yourself. Look how pitiful you really are. You haven’t built a single thing, only destroyed. What is your legacy, Kabra?
“No!” Vikram hurled his champagne flute at the reflection. The glass shattered.
“Are you all right, Kabra?” Magnus looked down at him, with just a hint of a sneer. “The celebration getting the better of you?”
“It’s too hot in here.” Vikram pressed the button controlling the ventilation panels. “Why won’t they open?” He punched them. Nothing.
Magnus raised his hand as he looked around. “Shh. Something’s happening.”
The doors to the greenhouse closed. Their locks hummed shut. The laughter and the mewling stopped.
One entire wall of the greenhouse buzzed. It turned opaque and then began to glow.
“It’s a video screen. Very neat,” said one of the Ekats. He wiped his glasses for a better view.
It was hot in here. Hot and sticky. Bees buzzed through the air.
The wall screen brightened and Nathaniel came into view. He looked down at the gathering like some Olympian god. “Ah, my friends, all gathered together. Perfect. I am sorry I cannot be here personally to greet you.” The smile widened. “And to say good-bye … ”
The Hive, Alaska
Great towering columns of amber rose in elegant, regimented rows, spreading in all directions. Bees drowsily drifted from large ceramic ponds, all precision-made with exact dimensions and being steadily pumped with syrupy fluid. It was cold in here, making the few still-active bees slow and drowsy.
And what bees. Nothing like Dan had ever seen.
Some were the size of his fist, with wings shimmering with radiant color.
It was truly a vast hive. The columns were artificial homes and the ponds filled with some sort of nectar substitute, keeping the bees fat and healthy.
Dan walked slowly between the columns, peering in. Each was packed with slumbering bees. Most lay asleep; a few clambered over the stacks, making their way into hexagonal apartments of Plexiglas and honeycomb.
The columns had to be thirty feet high at least, and this was just on the ground level. The Hive itself was over a hundred feet tall, and there were additional platforms, likewise crowded with more artificial hives, some tall and narrow, others cuboids or suspended and polyhedral with twenty faces or more, allowing bees access from all directions.
How many bees were in here? A billion? More? And this was just one of the three geo-domes.
A bee settled down on the edge of a feeding platform. Dan leaned closer to look.
It wasn’t the traditional yellow-and-black. Instead, the colors were more vividly golden, and the black the mark of a … skull. The wings settled, and they too were unlike any Dan had ever seen. The stinger would have terrified a scorpion.
These insects were lab-made. Genetically modified.
Of all the things he’d expected of the Outcast, beekeeper was way, way down on the list.
But was there a way out of here? Freedom was just on the other side of the Hive’s glass wall. Snow was piled up against it a foot or two high. The trees beyond swayed and there were mountains. A million places to hide.
There were large vents at the top of the wall. With manual controls to open them. If he could climb up, then he could crawl through the vents and be out.
No good. The walls are too smooth. I need to find another way—
Dan heard voices. He hid.
Two scientists were adjusting the flow to one of the feeding platforms, and a small pond filled with a viscous amber fluid. One carried a Plexiglas box with more sleeping bees.
“I felt sorry for the kid,” said scientist number one, a guy with a bright ginger beard. “Hartford pushed too hard. I’m surprised the kid made it.”
“Those Cahills have a reputation,” said the second, the one with the bees. “You won’t believe some of the stories I’ve heard. Dan Cahill jumped from the edge of space. He’s a tough one. Anyway, we got what we wanted, didn’t we?”
Ginger nodded. “Still, I don’t like it. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, too. What are we doing?”
“Following Hartford’s orders, that’s what.”
Ginger scowled and looked uneasily at the box. “You think you should let them out now? What if one of them stings me?”
“You related to any Cahills?”
Ginger shook his head.
“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about, do you?” He reached for the box and slid the side panel open. “Wake up, you beauties.”
The bees stirred as the man shook the box. They rose into the air and settled onto the pond to feed.
The two scientists gazed at the bees. Ginger shook his head. “Say what you like, but Nathaniel Hartford is a genius. Give it a few years and these bees will be all over the world.”
“Building a better bee.” The second man watched a bee buzzing around him. “And a perfect army.”
The pair turned and left.
Dan stared at the bees.
A chill dread fell over him as one buzzed near him.
You related to any Cahills?
Dan backed away from the hovering insect.
Bees pollinated the vast majority of the world’s crops. He’d read that many were dying out, thanks to pesticides and chemical treatments in the foliage.
That had to be what the scientist had meant. These bees were resistant to the contaminants.
So they would survive when the other bees couldn’t, and they would spread.
He searched his memory, forcing it to replay that last meeting with Nathaniel.
What had the Outcast told him?
That he wanted the formula from Dan, not to make his own but to …
Corrupt it. To turn it into a poison.
One that would wipe out the Cahills forever.
Dan gazed about him, appalled at the scale of the plan, of the Outcast’s obsession. So that was what Nathaniel meant by his army. He’d bred the biggest army in the world. It wasn’t made up of hundreds of thousands, but millions.
The bee settled on a flower and began probing for nectar.
Nathaniel had created his poison and he’d somehow bound it to the bees.
Bees whose sting would kill Cahills.
Doors at one end of the chamber hissed open.
Whoever it was moved cautiously. Guards? Maybe they’d seen his cell was empty and were searching for him.
He shouldn’t hang around. Let this guy go past and sneak out.
Just sit quietly and do nothing. He won’t see me here.
Then Dan saw who it was.
Alek Spasky.
He carried a submachine gun and was scanning left and right.
Dan trembled. The rage beat hard in his chest. This guy had murdered Amy.
All that he’d been through, he’d never felt such pure, consuming hate. He wanted to roar, scream out the anger seething through him.
But that would give Alek the shot.
Dan tightened his grip on the length of pipe.
There was someone else exploring, just as quietly and just as cautiously, but Dan didn’t see or care.
He slid a few inches forward. The bush rustled, but the Russian didn’t notice.
They were level, Dan hidden, Alek’s grip firmly on his weapon.
I’ll have one chance. One chance to take him out.
Wait. Wait.
His hands sweated badly, and he was gripping the steel pipe so hard his fingers ached.
Alek took a step past him and Dan moved. He moved slowly, one step carefully down before the next.
Tears threatened to blind him. He couldn’t help thinking about Amy. She’d died at the hands of this psychopath, alone and without her brother. After all the dangers they’d faced together, it had ended like this.
Dan gritted his teeth.
Nothing would bring her back, but Alek would never hurt anyone ever again.
He raised his pipe.
It must have been his breath, or the rustle of his clothing, but Alek stiffened. He turned.
Their eyes met and Dan swung.
Alek tried to block the attack, but Dan’s blow was filled with fury and caught Alek across the jaw. He fell and Dan hit him again, just to be sure.
The ex-assassin lay stunned, bleeding, on the floor.
Dan picked up Alek’s submachine gun.
Alek groaned, his eyelids fluttering as he fought off unconsciousness. “Boy, you don’t understand—”
Dan pushed the barrel into Alek’s forehead. “Shut your mouth.”
Dan rested his finger against the trigger. All it needed was a gentle squeeze.
Amy had been so scared, staring at him. She’d wanted to tell him
something, he’d sensed it, but he had no time, no choice. She was gone now, and there’d been so much to say. He’d thought he’d have a lifetime to tell her.
Just a squeeze.
But his finger wouldn’t move that fateful distance. Enough to activate the hammer that would strike the cartridge that would spark an explosion that would generate a sudden expansion of gas that, constrained within the narrow steel barrel, would force a projectile at high velocity the foot and a half through and end a person’s life, extinguishing all he was, and would be.
All that, from just a mere squeeze.
What sort of man would he become if he pulled this trigger?
Would it be one Amy would have wanted him to be?
“Dan!”
He shook his head. He could hear her. It was as if she were right beside him.
“Dan!”
Dan bit his lip. She sounded so real.…
It was as if she was trying to tell him something.
“Please don’t kill Alek. We need him.”
Dan turned around, sure he was going insane.
Amy stood behind him, smiling. “Missed you, dweeb.”
Dan dropped the gun and rushed into his sister’s arms.
The alarm went off before Amy could explain anything to Dan. That would have to wait. “Time to move,” she said, taking her brother’s hand.
They went to the door and hit the OPEN button.
Nothing happened.
She hit it again.
Nothing.
“I’m getting a really bad feeling about this.” Dan peered around. “The bees are out.”
“The bees?” asked Amy. “What about them?”
Dan tore off a large leaf frond and handed it to her to wave the bees away. “Nathaniel’s dosed them with a poison. Their sting will kill us. Anyone with Cahill DNA.”
“But there are millions in here.… ”
The temperature within the Hive was going up. The bees were waking.
Clouds swarmed over the nectar pools. More and more buzzed around the artificial hives.
“You sure about this?” asked Amy.
“No one’s that fond of honey,” said Dan. “Their sting is fatal to anyone with Cahill DNA. That was his plan all along.”
Amy flicked out her cell. She had the whole team on group text. She knocked out a warning.
Mission Atomic Page 14
