I cannot think about Reed, it will drive me insane. I can’t comprehend that he is gone, I will not survive it. It’s my fault that he’s dead. I was foolish enough to let Stefan live, to bring him with us. If I had just listened, if I had killed him when I had the chance, Marcus and Reed would still be alive. This is my cross to bear, mine alone. But I will deal with my guilt later, first I have to complete my mission. Getting to my feet I summon every ounce of willpower and shut off the part of me that wants to scream and collapse in a heap and never get up again.
“It’ll be enough,” I answer David’s question. “It has to be.”
“I have some good news,” he murmurs, and I jerk my head in his direction.
“Well, that would make for a nice change, what is it?”
“I’ve been studying the old blueprints for so long trying to navigate the tunnels, that I overlooked the newer editions, the post-war reprints.”
“And?”
“And it seems Eric Dane did some major reconstruction four years ago when he became President.”
“What reconstruction?”
“He extended the Pedway system to include the Dane Corp Plaza.”
“What?” I can’t conceal my excitement and David smiles for the first time since we entered the tunnels.
“The section is not available to the public, but it’s there, trust me. He obviously wanted an escape route, just in case.”
“Show me.” I pull the maps towards me.
We wait until nightfall. It’s our best chance of getting into the Plaza undetected. Jethro has made a full recovery and Brett is raring to go; there is a vengeful atmosphere in the air and I feed off the angry energy. David spends all afternoon going through the route with me until I am fairly certain I could make the journey in my sleep. Gabe will remain in the tunnels. He has not said a word since Marcus’s death and he refuses to eat or drink anything. He just sits on his own in a quiet corner of our hideout, tracing random circles in the dust and staring hollowly into nothing. David will come with us as far as the sub-basement, his strength may come in handy if the barricading of the tunnel entrance is reinforced.
“Time to change,” I call, unpacking the rucksack holding our clothing. Donning clean denims, a grey vest and a white fleece, I pull my dark hair down and fluff it around my shoulders. I pull a white cap over my head and drop the peak as low as possible. My face is the most recognisable of our group because I had been in the NUSA limelight for such a long time. The others are already dressed and look casually inconspicuous in sweat pants and hoodies.
Jethro, Brett and I each shoulder a rucksack.
“Be careful not to jostle the packs too much,” David warns unnecessarily. We are all too acutely aware of the danger we are carrying. We creep forward in the darkness down the final tunnel that leads to the Macy’s sub-basement, David and I each carrying a torch to light our way.
“This is it,” David whispers, as we take a sharp turn to the right and encounter a sealed fire-door. He unlocks the sealing mechanism and between the two of us we pull on the door, which releases an ominous creak as it starts to open. A gust of warm air reaches us, and I peer into the basement, which is pitch black.
“That’s it?” I ask, incredulously. “No barricade?”
“Not necessary,” David explains, sounding unsurprised. “These doors were sealed electronically from a central terminal, and the only way to open them manually is from the tunnel side, which is supposedly inaccessible. We would have been hard-pressed to get through without our strength,” he adds. I shine the torchlight around the basement, but it is empty. A vast, cavernous, unused warehouse.
“You remember where to go?” David asks and I nod. This is where we part ways. David will go back and he and Gabe will stay in the tunnels, awaiting our return.
“If we’re not back by morning, you take Gabe and go home,” I remind him.
“Good luck.”
We climb an old emergency exit and, with one shoulder against the door at the top, we enter Macy’s lower level. A few nearby diners eye us curiously as we exit the door, but we are soon lost in the crowd and moving towards the State Street exit. We are fully exposed on the street for only a moment, and then we descend into the Pedway, our heads down, not making eye contact with any passers-by. We split up, walking a few yards away from each other, with me in the lead because I know the way. Just as I am starting to feel comfortable, I catch a glimpse of the dark blue uniform that is synonymous with NUSA soldiers about 30 yards ahead, and coming in our direction. I glance across at Jethro, but he has seen them, and has turned to examine the magazine rack at a nearby vendor.
I slow my pace waiting for Brett to catch me up and as he does I link arms with him and laugh gaily, smiling at him and pointing at a child playing nearby. Brett plays along instantly, and a moment later the two uniformed guards pass by, giving us only a cursory glance. Heaving a sigh of relief, I continue walking arm in arm with Brett, thinking that it’s probably as good a cover as any.
The Pedway covers over forty blocks beneath Chicago’s loop area, but as we near Streeterville I keep my eyes peeled for the new access way, the one that is not on the grid. Eventually I see the No Entry sign on what appears to be a maintenance door, and I surreptitiously incline my head in its direction. Jethro nods in acknowledgement and browses idly through a rack of sunglasses. Brett grabs my waist, presses me back against the wall only a few feet from the door, and smiles down at me.
“What’s the plan?” he murmurs.
“We wait for a lull in the traffic and then we get in,” I answer, swatting his shoulder playfully. An elderly woman walking by smiles fondly at us, no doubt we look like an ordinary young couple in love.
“You ready?” I mouth at Jethro, who nods once as he readjusts his cap and glances back down the Pedway corridor.
Luckily, the door is just past a sharp bend, and there is very little beyond it, only a few small stores before the Pedway heads back up to the street. Jethro is positioned right in the curve of the walkway and he is acting as a scout to let us know when the coast is clear. I slide my back slowly along the wall until we are only a few feet from the door, and then I hug Brett, keeping my eyes firmly on Jethro. He holds up three fingers against his brown leather jacket and I focus on the signal. A minute or two pass and a few people walk past us on their way back up to street level and then Jethro suddenly drops one finger and my back stiffens. The second finger drops and my adrenalin kicks in, I am on full alert, although outwardly I appear relaxed and happy. Brett, with his back to the crowds, cannot see Jethro, but he can sense my sudden focus and I feel him tensing too.
Jethro’s hand suddenly balls into a fist. The countdown is over and I do not hesitate. Turning and praying that no one is approaching from the street side, I raise my leg and with one swift, well-placed kick, the door flies open, ricocheting off the inside wall. Before it can close again, we are through it, pushing it almost shut so that unless anyone is really paying attention, it appears closed from the outside. I leave Brett to wait for Jethro, who will join us as soon as the coast is clear again, and immediately check the corridor we are standing in, on high alert for any danger. It’s strikingly obvious that this section of the Pedway is new. The grey epoxy floors and white concrete walls are pristine, and there are ‘authorised personnel only’ signs mounted on the walls at 20-yard intervals. The fluorescent tube lights cast an eerie, white glow.
My attention is diverted by Jethro’s arrival.
“Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so,” he says as Brett closes the door. “Any sign of surveillance?”
“Not that I can see, but I guess we’ll soon find out.”
I secure my rucksack more firmly over my shoulder and walk in the direction of the Plaza, the only sound our soft footfalls on the polished floor.
“You guys ready?” I ask when we reach the doo
r that obviously leads into the Plaza. I pull my hair back and secure it with the band that I keep around my wrist. We are still theoretically underground, and from what I remember of the blueprints I am fairly certain we will enter in the basement.
“I was born ready,” Brett jests.
“I guess it’s too much to hope that we’ll get in and out without any bloodshed?” he asks and I shake my head.
We all know that we are likely to encounter a fair amount of resistance, and physical combat is highly probable. Not wanting to delay the inevitable, I grab the door by the handle and shoulder barge it. It caves under the force and I half-tumble into the familiar basement. This area is used as a parking garage, and a brief scan reveals no human presence, although I know from experience that there are guards at the boom-operated entrances. Crouching low to avoid detection, we skirt the length of cars along the east wall making for the elevators. The elevator will take us all the way to the 91st floor, but the main laboratory is on the 95th floor, inaccessible other than by the private elevator that services only the top nine floors. Eric’s office was on the 100th floor, but we do not need to get that high. I press the call button, and shift my weight from leg to leg as we wait. Never have I been in more danger of being caught than here at the Plaza. I spent three years married to Eric, three years as the First Lady. Most of the guards here at the Plaza will recognise my face, not too long ago they had sworn to protect me.
The soft ping announcing the elevator’s arrival has us all on edge, but when the doors open, the car is empty. We get in and I stab at the button for the 91st floor.
“So far so good,” Jethro murmurs and Brett starts to hum along with the annoyingly upbeat elevator music. We make it to the 32nd floor before the elevator comes to a sudden stop and we brace ourselves, but the admin clerk who enters is so engrossed in the reports that she is carrying, she gives us only a brief, vague nod and then buries her nose back in her work. There is an awkward silence until the elevator pings again at the 40th floor.
“Hey, Sandy,” a tall, ruggedly handsome man gets in and smiles down at the girl with the reports before turning to acknowledge us. His hair is fair and overlong and I am reminded painfully of Reed.
“You headed to the budget meeting?” he asks and the young woman nods, blushing slightly.
“I’m taking the minutes,” she replies.
He grins. “Use your longhand, it gives me more time to look at your legs.” Brett coughs to cover up a laugh at the cheesy line, and I glare at him as the couple turn to stare. Just as it seems they might question us, the elevator pings and they exit, turning to give Brett one last disapproving look before the doors close.
“What an ass,” Brett mutters.
I am about to retort when the elevator stops again and this time, to my horror, two familiar faces step into the confined space. Ray and Jenkins, two of Eric’s private security team, take one look at me and I realise the game is up. As the doors close, I lunge forward, grabbing the two men by the neck, and I bring their heads together with as much brute force as I can muster in the cramped confines of the elevator. Jenkins, a speed-Gifted soldier, is unconscious immediately, but Ray, the stronger of the two, staggers only slightly, and then his lips curl into an angry snarl. Jethro and Brett take a step back, knowing that they cannot help me, they are no match for a strong soldier in a small space. I bring my fist up and into Ray’s stomach, winding him, and, as he doubles over in pain, I bring my elbow down on the back of his neck. He drops like a stone to the floor.
“Now what?” Brett quips, and I can see the dilemma. If the doors open again and someone sees the two bodies on the floor, we are in huge trouble. Pulling the inert men to either side of the door panels, so that they will not be immediately visible, I straighten up just as the elevator pings again. Checking the display light, I see that we have reached the 82nd floor, only nine floors to go. A woman in her mid-forties steps briskly into the elevator, the doors closing as she turns around. It takes her only a second to register the two bodies on the floor, but as she opens her mouth to scream, I grab her from behind, pinning her arms to her side and clamping a hand over her mouth and nose. I keep applying pressure, and soon her frantic but pitiful attempts to shake me off grow weaker and she slumps in my arms, passed out.
Chapter 11
Thankfully the elevator car does not stop again until we reach the 91st floor. This floor is a maintenance level only and is relatively quiet. We hide the three unconscious bodies in a storeroom and lock them in. The traffic on this floor is low; they shouldn’t be discovered any time soon, and four floors below the blast zone, they should be out of harm’s way when the bombs detonate.
“Okay, where to from here?” Brett asks, his eyes alive with excitement.
“You’re really pumped about this, aren’t you?” Jethro asks and Brett grins.
“Risking our lives to save the world? Hell, yeah! Tim is going to be so pissed. Imagine the stories we’ll tell our grandchildren one day!”
“If we live to see them,” Jethro scoffs and turns to me for instructions.
“We can’t all use the ventilation system. You guys are too big, you’ll never fit.” I had used the ventilation system to reach Eric on the day of the final battle, and I had had to leave Reed behind that day for the same reason. It had almost cost me my life and I didn’t want to make the same mistake again.
“So, we take the elevator?”
“No.” Thanks to David and his blueprints, I now have information that I didn’t have before. There is a stairwell on the opposite side of the building, an emergency exit that services only the top nine floors of the building. The only problem is that it requires an authorised electronic entry card to access, and I am fairly certain that not many people are given that level of clearance. I explain this to the two men, and then I outline my plan.
“So, you two wait here, I’m going to get us that card.”
I sneak down the public stairwell to the floor below and duck into the first vacant office I come across.
I dial the extension I am looking for, hoping I remember it correctly.
“Crawford,” I sigh in relief as the curt, clipped voice comes through the receiver.
“Chase, it’s me.” There is a moment’s silence and then, “Rebecca?”
“Yes, it’s me. I need your help.”
“Where are you?”
“Come up to the 91st alone. I’m in trouble, Chase.” I inject just the right amount of desperation and vulnerability into my voice and then I set the receiver back on the cradle and retrace my steps.
“Get out of sight,” I order as I step back onto the maintenance floor, and without any hesitation Brett and Jethro disappear. It takes about five minutes, and when the elevator opens, I peek around the cubicle I am standing in. Damn the man! I wait for the elevator doors to close before I step around the partitioning.
“I told you to come alone,” I say contemptuously. Chase gapes at me disbelievingly, his blue eyes wide behind his glasses. I can’t believe he is still wearing them – there is nothing wrong with Chase Crawford’s eyesight; he only wears glasses because one of the prettier secretaries once told him they made him look distinguished. The soldier beside him looks at me menacingly and folds his arms across his massive chest.
“Rebecca, what are you doing here?” Chase reaches me in a few short strides, the soldier hot on his heels.
“I told you, I need your help.”
“Why, what’s going on? We haven’t been told anything. Eric is dead, and we were told . . .” He hesitates, his eyes searching my face. “We were told that you killed him.”
“We should call for back-up, sir,” the burly guard reaches for his two-way radio and I brace myself, but Chase holds up a hand.
“Just a minute,” he instructs authoritatively. “Let her explain. You can explain, can’t you?” he smiles encouragingly as he places his hand
s on my shoulders.
Resting my hands on his chest I smile up at him, making sure I have his undivided attention. Chase Crawford, a member of Eric’s Board of Directors, has been infatuated with me as long as I have known him.
“You were told the truth. I did kill Eric,” I answer, and I shove him aside as the brawny soldier lunges for me. Despite the man’s strength he is unconscious in less than ten seconds, and Jethro and Brett emerge to pull him into the storeroom with the others.
Chase is looking far less comfortable, and he starts to retreat, backing towards the elevator.
“Not so fast,” Jethro blocks his way, and Brett advances on him from the front.
“Rebecca . . .” he pleads and I hold out my arm to halt Brett’s progress.
“I need your key-card, Chase,” I extend my hand, palm upwards.
“My . . . what?”
“Your key-card. I need it. Now.”
“But . . . Eric . . .”
“The less you know, the better, Chase. Now, hand it over.” Seeing his hesitation I sigh dramatically. “Jethro?”
Jethro is at my side in an instant, the card in his hand. On seeing it, Chase pats down his pockets in alarm. He rushes at me and I have to give him credit for his bravery – or his foolishness. I stop him with a simple outstretched hand, and as he realises my strength, he stops trying to grab hold of me, his flailing arms dropping limply to his sides.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hisses and I pat his cheek fondly.
“I’m doing the right thing, Chase. Do me a favour and don’t go anywhere near the 95th floor, okay?”
The Legion Page 9
