by Shain Carter
“Jones, you need to get us some weapons. See if you can find some in the soldiers’ building. Go over there about 7:30. You’ll know when to go, something will happen to get the guards to leave the site.”
“What’s that?” Dawson asked.
“A U. S. fighter jet is going to crash into the hills a few miles east of here. It’s a drone, there won’t be anyone on board, but George’s men don’t know that and it will definitely require some investigation. They’re the only soldiers in the area, so it should clear the site of most of them.
“When you hear the excitement, sneak out of Building 12 through the door at the bottom of your stairwell. Your absence will be less noticeable than Ted’s, since George may be downstairs with us. Go to the soldiers’ building and bring back any guns you can find, but we especially need automatic rifles. After you get them, meet me behind Building 12.”
“What about some of my chemicals? They’re like little bombs - they could come in useful.”
“Possibly. If you get a chance, box them up and put them just outside the stairwell doorway. But only if you can do it without being seen.”
“What about me?” asked Ted.
“Just act normal. Keep up with your work. At about twenty-five to eight, a few minutes after the excitement dies down, you and Alec leave for the dormitory. There won’t be a car for Alec, and you’ll need him moving fast. We won’t have a lot of time. Dawson and I will pick all of you up at the dormitory just before eight.”
Dawson had thought the morning passed slowly, but the afternoon absolutely crawled. He tried to nap, but he couldn’t. He tried to distract himself by working on a paper he had been writing, but the thought of his program only worsened his mood. He carefully gathered together his green flame compounds - all sealed in air-tight flasks - and several bottles of alcohol.
Dinner was a quiet affair, with hardly any words exchanged. Even Andy and Cindy seemed to sense the tension in the air and were subdued. Much to everyone’s relief, George wasn’t there. Immediately after the meal the scientists returned to Building 12. When they were nearly there, George emerged from the soldiers’ building. He was only fifty yards ahead of them, but they made no effort to catch up with him. Once inside the building, the group dispersed to their work areas wordless.
Dawson waited, each minute passing as if an hour. Finally, a little before seven thirty, Dawson heard sounds of commotion from the floor below. One of George’s men was shouting excitedly. Dawson couldn’t understand what he said, but after a short time it was quiet again. George had left the building, Dawson reckoned.
Dawson quickly emptied the beaker he was drinking from, picked up his box of chemicals, and quietly left the lab. The door at the bottom of the stairs was unlocked, and he went through it. To his right he could see heavy black smoke rising from the hills. Dawson put his box down and peered carefully around the corner. Shielding his eyes against the low sun, Dawson could see fifty yards of clear, open ground, then the soldiers’ building.
There was a flurry of activity in front of the building. Men were hurriedly loading equipment and themselves into the bed of a pick-up truck. After a few moments, the truck roared to life and pulled out so abruptly that one man nearly fell out the back. Meredith was already on the road back to the dorm, and the soldiers nearly drove over her in their haste. Dawson watched the truck disappear from sight, then turned his attention back to the soldiers’ building.
It looked quiet. The front was now deserted, the only sign of the soldiers’ activity being the cloud of dust that was slowly settling on the rough ground. Dawson considered for a moment whether he should walk over to the other building or run there. He decided that running made more sense - even though it looked more suspicious, it would take less time and so decrease his chance of being spotted. Besides, he reasoned, whether he ran or walked, just his presence outside the building would arouse the suspicion of any soldier who happened to see him.
The decision made, Dawson took a deep breath and sprinted for the back of the other building. Once there, he plastered himself against the back wall, next to the first window. He checked it and found that it was closed and locked. After listening for a minute and hearing nothing, he took a few steps away from the wall and surveyed the other windows along the back. There were an even dozen. The next one down was propped open with a stick, and Dawson ducked down and hurried to it. Again he waited, listening for any noises from within, and again he heard nothing. Cautiously, he raised his head and peered over the sill into what appeared to be a storage room. Empty shelves filled one wall, and some boxes were thrown against another. The door, which was directly across from the window, was closed.
Taking care not to knock the stick loose, Dawson crawled head first through the window. He landed in the room with a loud thud and froze, certain that anyone in the building would have heard the noise and would investigate. To his relief, though, the building remained quiet and no one came into the room.
Dawson rummaged quickly through the boxes, but didn't find anything of use, least of all weapons. Stepping gingerly around the clutter, he crossed to the far side of the room and put his ear to the door. Immediately he heard a faint tapping. It sounded quite distant - an echo from another part of the building. After a moment the sound stopped. With the building now silent, Dawson cautiously swung the door open and peered into the hallway. To his relief, it was empty.
Dawson scanned both sides of the hall. It extended about ten feet to the right. Here there were two closed doors, one on each side of the hall. Directly across the hall from Dawson was a third closed door. To the left were more doors, then the hallway opened up into a large, open lobby. The hall continued on the other side of the lobby, though it was too dark there for Dawson to make out anything.
Dawson stepped across the hall and tried the door. It opened, revealing a small bathroom. Dawson pulled the door closed again and tried the two doors at the end of the hall. One opened into a large empty room; the other was locked. Dawson debated whether to move on or to force the locked door. It seemed logical that something of value would be behind it, quite possibly weapons, but breaking down the door would undoubtedly create a great deal of noise. Before he could decide what to do, though, the tapping sounds abruptly resumed. They drifted to him from the direction of the lobby. The noise still seemed far away, but it was louder and more distinct in the hall than it had been in the storage room. It now sounded more like a quick succession of thuds rather than a true tapping. Intermixed with the thuds was a new, softer sound that Dawson could not identify.
Deciding not to risk forcing the locked door, Dawson moved towards the doors near the lobby, then abruptly froze mid-step. The new sound - the sound he heard between the thuds - was clearer here, and Dawson realized that it was the sound of a man moaning.
As suddenly as they had started, the noises stopped, replaced after a few seconds by a third sound - a man’s voice. The man was speaking slowly and, Dawson thought, in English, but the voice was too muffled for Dawson to make out any of the words. Dawson followed the voice into the lobby.
The lobby was bright and spacious, an open atrium that rose the full height of the building, up to a glass roof three stories overhead. The back wall was covered with a huge mural devoted to Avi Mustafi. His portrait filled the center, an image at least twenty feet high. Around it were arranged smaller pictures of him in action: Mustafi lecturing soldiers, Mustafi addressing the Iraqi parliament, Mustafi burning a U. S. flag before a crowd, Mustafi holding a child in the rubble of a burned out building, Mustafi presiding over a hanging, the hooded corpse dangling from a construction crane. Dawson stared at the images. No wonder the building was off limits to the scientists.
Sunlight filtered through the dirty glass ceiling, giving the entire area a surreal glow. The lobby itself was clean and sparsely furnished. The floor was carpeted, and there were a few chairs here and there; a desk and a small couch were arranged near the front door. An open, winding staircase rose along
the wall immediately to Dawson’s left as he entered the lobby.
The man’s voice was coming from somewhere above. Dawson silently flew up the stairs, two at a time, emerging onto an open walkway on the second floor. The walkway crossed the front of the building, then followed the sides of the atrium halfway to the back, where it joined up with hallways that ran directly over those on the ground floor. Dawson paused on the walkway, listening intently to the voice. After a few seconds he decided it was not coming from that level of the building and climbed the stairs to the top floor.
The voice was definitely originating from this level, from the far side of the building. Dawson was close enough now that he could identify the voice as George’s, but he still could not make out what he was saying. He followed the voice across the walkway and down the dark hallway, past several closed doors. Finally, almost at the end of the hall, he came to a nearly closed door on the left. Dawson approached it cautiously, then knelt and peered through the slit between the door and the jamb.
From this vantage point Dawson could see only a small portion of the room. To his surprise the first thing he saw, squarely in the center of his field of view, was Derek, sitting in a wooden, high backed chair. His ankles were lashed to the chair legs, and his arms were tied behind the seat back.
Derek’s face was a study in red. It was covered in blood, his nose twisted grotesquely to the side. His left eye was swollen completely shut. With his right eye he stared straight ahead, listening intently to George’s words. George must have been in front of Derek, but from where Dawson knelt, the door prevented him from actually seeing him.
George’s voice, the words now completely clear, was tired, impatient and menacing. “Let us try again, Mr. Becker. One last time. And this time you will tell me the truth.” George paused, taking a deep breath. “Who told you the fossil was fake?”
Derek’s reply was so weak that Dawson had to strain to understand him. As Derek spoke he winced, twisting his head towards the door. “I already told you. It was a microscopist in the States. He scraped a bit of the collar off before we left. He emailed me his results yesterday.”
George’s response was immediate. There was a flash of brown and a sickening thud. Derek’s head flew violently back against the chair. A second, then third thud followed in quick succession.
“Mr. Becker, why do you test my patience. I know that this cannot be true. We control the email messages that go in and out of this complex, and we know that there was no such message from the States. Not yesterday, not last week, not ever. Make no mistake, Mr. Becker, in the end you will tell me what I want to know. I suggest you do so now. You will not like me so much when I am angry.”
Derek again twisted his head to the side in a futile attempt to avoid the coming blow. As he did, he focused on the door. For an instant he and Dawson locked eyes. Derek grimaced and his one good eye opened wide. He opened his mouth to speak, but, before he could say anything, he was struck again.
Dawson knelt motionlessly, stunned by the savagery of the attack. George struck again, and the sharp crack of Derek’s head striking back against the chair jolted Dawson to action. He rose and placed his hands on the door, then hesitated. He knew he stood a good chance of overcoming George; he was a little bigger than George and would have surprise on his side. But Dawson had no way of knowing if George was alone. He hadn’t seen or heard anyone else in the room, but Dawson knew that George was careful and thorough, and a guard in the room with him was certainly a possibility.
George struck again and Derek let out a sickening moan. With fresh resolve, Dawson shoved the door with both hands. It flew open, smashing against the wall. To Dawson’s relief, George stood there alone. He was a few feet in front of Derek, his white shirt splattered with small drops of red, the corners of his mouth turned up in a sadistic smile. He held a short brown truncheon in his right hand, drawn behind his head to strike again.
George turned to Dawson with a start, a grotesque smile frozen on his face. Dawson leaned forward and charged into the room. He pushed off each step with all the strength he could muster, propelling himself full speed at George. The attack caught George completely by surprise, and he stood motionless for the split second it took Dawson to cross the ten feet that separated them. With his final step, Dawson lowered his head and heaved himself into the air.
The top of Dawson’s head smash into George’s jaw, carrying the full force of the impact with it. An instant later their bodies collided. Dawson threw his arms around George and pulled him to the floor. They slammed into the ground hard, and Dawson saw a bright flash of light and felt numbness in his legs and arms.
Dawson found himself lying on his back, his face turned towards the wall. His head throbbed, and he could taste blood in his mouth. He pulled himself to a sitting position and looked around. George lay about three feet away, face down and motionless. A pool of blood was rapidly forming under his head. With some effort, Dawson stood and turned to Derek.
Derek looked even worse up close than from a distance. A gash on his forehead bled profusely. The flesh around his swollen eye was raw and angry, and he had to blink his other eye rapidly to clear it of the blood that dripped into it from his forehead. His jaw was so swollen that it barely moved when he spoke.
“Dawson,” Derek croaked, “the fossil is a hoax, just like you thought. I don’t know what George is really after. I didn’t tell him anything.”
“You did good, Derek. But we need to get out of here, now. Do you think you can walk?”
Dawson untied Derek’s arms as he spoke. Derek pulled them in front of him and began rubbing his wrists while Dawson untied his legs.
“Maybe. Give me a minute to catch my breath.”
Dawson nodded. Then, remembering his original mission, he stepped over to George and checked him for a gun. The only weapon he had, though, was the club he had been using to beat Derek. Dawson threw it aside, then returned to Derek and pulled him to a standing position.
“We’re getting out of here,” Dawson said, “in about fifteen minutes. I’ve got to get you to Building 12. Can you walk?”
“I think so.”
Dawson slipped his arm under Derek’s shoulder and struggled to get the heavyset man to his feet. Together they staggered into the hall and to the stairs. The descent to the ground floor proved exhausting for both men, and by the time they reached the lobby Derek could scarcely stand even with Dawson’s help. His one good eye was glazed over, and his skin felt cold and clammy. Dawson tried talking to him, but got only grunts in response.
Chapter Twenty-three
Leaving through the window by which Dawson had entered was out of the question. Their only option was to go through the main entrance and hope that none of the soldiers were nearby. Dawson dragged Derek out the door, then hoisted his limp body onto his shoulders. He reeled under the weight of the large man, but the fear of being caught - and having just seen firsthand what George was capable of - kept him going. Without stopping, he carried Derek past the end of the building and stumbled across the open field to Building 12. Only when they had come around the end of Building 12, out of sight from the road, did Dawson dare put Derek down and rest.
Dawson stood doubled over, with his hands on his knees, heaving in deep breaths. The door to the stairwell was in front of him, and the box of chemicals that he had laid there was now gone. After a moment he had recovered enough to stand straight. He saw now that a pick-up truck had been parked about two thirds of way down the back of the building. The truck faced away from Dawson, towards the far end of the building, and Burt was kneeling in the bed, his back to them. He was busily working on something, but at that distance Dawson couldn’t tell what.
Dawson turned his attention to the problem of getting Derek to the truck. Dawson’s legs burned and his back and arms ached. He twice tried lifting Derek onto his shoulders again, but each time his legs buckled under the weight. Finally, he got Derek to a sitting position. Standing behind him, Dawson wrapped his ar
ms under Derek’s and, walking backwards, dragged Derek towards the truck.
Dawson kept looking over his shoulder, monitoring their progress and hoping to catch Burt’s attention. Burt, though, was too intent on his work to notice. As they got closer Dawson saw that he stringing out wires and attaching them to small black boxes that had been placed in the corners of the truck bed.
Finally, when Dawson was about twenty feet from the truck, Burt looked over and saw him. “Any luck with some guns?” he asked.
“I found Derek!” Dawson told him. “George had him tied up and was trying to find out how he knew about the fossil. Derek didn’t tell him anything, though.”
“What about the guns, Jones?”
Burt turned his attention back to the wires, making no attempt to help Dawson with Derek.
Dawson stopped and turned as best he could to face Burt. “I don’t think you understand. George had Derek tied up in a chair and was hitting him with a club. Derek had the living crap beat out of him.”
Burt put down the screw driver he was holding and glowered at Dawson. “No, Jones, I think you’re the one that doesn’t understand. Without more weapons we’re all going to end up being tied to chairs and having the living crap beat out of us. You screwed up again.” Burt motioned to angrily at Derek. “Load him up in the truck and wait for me in the cab. We’re running late, and you tipped our hand.”
Dawson was too surprised to respond. He dragged Derek to the back of the truck and laid his torso on the open tailgate. Dawson then climbed into the bed and pulled Derek up with him. He dragged Derek to the front of the bed and propped him up against the cab.
Dawson hopped to the ground and pointed towards Derek. “He’s in shock. He needs medical attention.”
