“Floor schematics,” he mumbled, wondering if the signs belonged to the building he was in. He’d visited the Titan Missile Museum just south of Tucson during his freshman year of college and recalled what the tour guide had explained that day. When the Department of Defense decommissioned various missile silos around the country, they often sold the property to citizens at pennies on the dollar.
He wondered if Kleezebee’s company had bought one of them and refurbished it. If his boss had, it would explain the Silo name on the telepod’s control screen. And since the professor had given its name the number three as well, it meant he’d likely purchased several of them—at least three would be a safe guess.
“Okay, I’m underground in an old missile silo, but where?” He inspected the office supplies and found they were all from the same supply store in Tucson. He recognized the address as just south of campus on Broadway Boulevard, telling him he was probably still in southern Arizona. Good news. He wasn’t far from the university.
He went back outside and continued down the hall, turning right around the next corner. He could see an elevator at the far end of the corridor with a woman standing in front of it. To his immediate left, there was a door marked ARMORY.
“That’s more like it!” he quipped before ducking inside the door. The room was only slightly larger than the shared bedroom in his apartment but much better stocked. An overcrowded weapons rack with machine guns and semi-automatic handguns was hanging on the far wall. In addition to the rack, there was a generous supply of other combat gear, including handheld radios, ammunition, night-vision goggles, smoke and flash grenades, helmets, and Kevlar protective vests.
He’d hit the mother lode.
On his way to the rifle rack, he bumped into a case of odd-looking handheld weapons sitting on top of two black corrugated storage containers. The guns were dark gray, almost black, with a blocky, right-angle appearance, much like a police-issued Taser. He picked up one of the weapons and balanced it in his hand. It was much heavier than expected.
A pea-sized lever stuck out on the side of the gun and just above the handgrip. He pressed it with his thumb, releasing a two-inch rectangular cartridge from the bottom of the stock. The cartridge was glowing green, warm to the touch, and fit into the palm of his hand. He snapped the cartridge back into its chamber, then pointed the weapon at the empty wall next to the closed door.
He wasn’t paying attention to his fingers and accidentally pressed the trigger, sending a crackling blast of white energy out of the gun’s barrel. When the energy ball hit the wall, it scattered across the surface like static lightning frolicking across the night sky. It raced around the room, spreading out and fading in intensity as it went, until it became only a memory.
“Holy shit!” he muttered, staring at the energy weapon. He smiled, then tucked the gun inside the back of his waistband and pulled his shirt down over it to conceal the bulge. He also grabbed a black 9mm handgun from the weapons rack and checked its ammo. All fifteen rounds were loaded into the magazine, which he rammed into the gun’s stock.
Lucas took a moment to admire the precision engineering that had gone into building the semi-automatic firearm, letting the importance of the moment settle in and register. The two weapons he was now carrying suddenly made everything seem more real.
What came next wasn’t going to be easy and he wondered if he was ready. Not that it mattered; he didn’t have a choice. He needed to venture forth into hostile territory, and do so without backup or support if he hoped to save his mom and figure out what the hell was going on. He’d already lost Drew and wasn’t about to let someone take the last member of his family away.
“This is it. Time to get serious,” he told himself, his hands shaking and knees feeling weak. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, calming his nerves a bit. “Playtime is over.”
Overall, he felt good about his progress thus far. He’d made it past the sentry door in the underground parking garage, figured out how to use a high-tech transportation device, then fooled two lab techs in the hall. Now came what he assumed would be the lethal stage.
He stuffed the 9mm inside the front of his belt and returned to the hallway, where he continued down the corridor toward the elevator, keeping track of the armory’s location in case he needed to return.
When he reached the end of the hall, the elevator door opened and a security guard walked out, whistling a happy tune. “Can I help you find something, Dr. Ramsay?”
Lucas cleared his throat, trying to act cool and play the part of the imposter. “Have you seen Bruno?”
“Last time I saw him, he was down on Sub-Eight, in surveillance.”
“Thanks.”
“Of course, anytime,” the guard said, walking away. Then the man stopped and turned around. “Hey, didn’t I just see you down there? How did you get up here so fast?”
Lucas pretended he didn’t hear the guard’s question and quickly stepped into the lift. He just needed the doors to close before the man asked him a second time. He pressed the Number 8 button on the panel, then smiled at the guard as if everything was normal. The guard brought a hand up with his index finger pointed as he went to say something, but the elevator doors closed before he could get the words out.
Shit, that was close. I’d better hurry.
The lights on the elevator showed he’d been on Sublevel 5, and it was only a matter of seconds before he reached Sublevel 8. A bell chimed and the door slid open.
Lucas expected to see another hallway, but instead the lift opened directly into a warehouse-sized room filled with a 5x4 grid of twenty massive video screens covering the far wall. He stood there speechless, with his jaw hanging open, watching the sweeping array of technology.
He’d seen control rooms like this in the movies plenty of times, but the reality of where he was now and how he got there was a lot to take in. The screens featured a wide variety of images: some were only displaying numbers, charts, and graphs, while others showed energy domes wreaking havoc and destruction across the planet.
Between Lucas and the video feeds was a group of six technicians—all men. They were seated side-by-side in front of a control station that stretched from one side of the room to the other. Like the three men standing behind them, they were facing forward, with their backs to Lucas. Everyone in the room looked to be focused on either the huge wall of video feeds or the control panels in front of them. No one seemed to notice his arrival in the back of the room.
Lucas recognized the three men standing with their heads tilted up toward the active screens. One of them was Kleezebee, who was leaning on crutches, wearing his patented flannel shirt and coveralls. One of his pant legs was cut off just below the knee to make room for the white cast wrapped around his ankle. Bruno was standing between Kleezebee and the imposter who had carried his mother’s suitcases from the house up in Phoenix.
Before the elevator doors closed, Lucas quickly moved forward, aiming his 9mm handgun at the back of Kleezebee’s head.
“Someone mind telling me what the hell is going on here?” he shouted, making Kleezebee turn around in a lurch.
SEVENTEEN
Kleezebee’s eyes flew wide, as did Bruno’s and the imposter’s, all three of them now facing the business end of Lucas’ gun.
“L? What are you doing here?” Kleezebee asked.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” Bruno added, looking like someone had just walked over his grave.
“You mean like my brother?” Lucas asked, sending an angry scowl with his words.
“Exactly,” the redheaded imposter said with attitude.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m alive and kicking. It’s obvious to me now, you’re all in cahoots with General Alvarez. I should shoot all of you for what you’ve done to my family.”
Kleezebee put out his hands, like he was trying to stop a runaway truck. “Wait, it’s not what it looks like, L.”
“Yeah, what does it look like?” Lucas replied. It startl
ed him that Kleezebee called him L. He’d never done that before. “And what do you mean, L? You know perfectly well what my name is.”
“Please, put the gun down and let me explain,” Kleezebee said.
“Where’s my mother?”
“She’s safe and resting upstairs.”
Lucas pointed the gun at the imposter. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m you. The real you,” the freckled man answered, looking like he was about to start laughing.
“What? What do you mean, the real me?”
“You heard me. You’re not you. I’m you,” he answered with a full smile on his lips.
“You think this is funny, asshole?” Lucas asked.
“Yeah. It’s hysterical. I know for a fact you’re not going to shoot.”
Lucas waved the gun, wanting to drive his point home. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
Just then, the elevator’s arrival bell chimed behind him. Lucas didn’t turn to look at it right away. Instead, he slid four steps to the left to maintain a defensible position. If a security team was arriving next, he needed to be ready.
A second later, he swung his eyes to the elevator doors when he heard them swoosh open. Then he saw it—a wheelchair with a handsome young Italian man in it. It was his little brother, looking at him with his big, handsome eyes.
Lucas’ mind froze, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He lowered the weapon a few degrees and loosened his grip, almost dropping the gun on the floor. “Drew? You’re alive? How can that be?”
A smile erupted across Lucas’ face, but vanished just as quickly when he realized the person sitting in the wheelchair could be another imposter. He regained his wits and tightened his hold on the pistol.
“What the hell’s going on here?” he asked, pointing the firearm first at the kid in the wheelchair, then at Kleezebee, and then at his double. He was usually an excellent problem solver, but this situation had him stumped. He wasn’t prepared for any of it and didn’t know what he should do next, so he kept shifting targets to buy time while he figured out what was happening.
Bruno took a step toward Lucas, but Kleezebee stopped him with an arm bar maneuver.
Lucas pointed the gun at Bruno and held it there. “That’s close enough, big fella. Everyone just stay right where they are until I get some answers. Trust me when I say that my emotional state right now isn’t something any of you should bank on.”
“Easy now, let’s all take a breath and not do anything rash,” Kleezebee said, stepping between Bruno and Lucas. “We’re all friends here.”
Lucas turned to the boy in the wheelchair, who had a heavy bandage wrapped around his leg. “Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my brother’s chair?” It was all he could do not to pull the trigger and blow a hole in whoever was sitting in front of him.
The Drew imposter smiled. “It’s me, Lucas, your brother. Please put the gun down before someone gets hurt.”
“Not a chance,” Lucas said, shifting targets again. This time, the professor’s forehead was the focus. “Someone better tell me what the hell is going on here before I let my trigger finger do all the talking.”
“That wasn’t me out there with Alvarez,” fake Drew said. “I never got shot.”
“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “I saw my brother’s brains get splattered all over the desert after Alvarez’s men drugged us and took us out there against our will. You can’t be him. I was there. I saw him die. It’s something I’ll never forget. The general took everything away from me, and now this?”
“Please, L. Let me explain,” Kleezebee said, his face frantic.
“Yeah, why should I listen to you? Everything you’ve been telling me all along has been nothing but a lie. I should shoot all of you right now. Fuck this.”
“Wait! Wait! Wait! Just give me a chance to explain. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“Bullshit. It’ll just be more lies on top of lies, Professor. It never ends with you.”
“He’s telling you the truth,” Bruno said in a calm, steady voice.
“So you’re in on this too?” Lucas asked his friend, not wanting to believe it.
“Just hear him out. Please,” Bruno said.
Lucas could see the sincerity in the guard’s eyes. His heart wanted to believe his friend, but his logic had other plans. “And why should I do that? Why should I believe any of you?”
“Because the fate of the human race depends on it,” Kleezebee said, this time with more confidence in his words. “All I need is five minutes and I can prove it.”
Lucas stood motionless and silent, considering the request.
“I’ll answer all your questions. Full disclosure. I give you my word,” Kleezebee said.
Lucas thought about it for a short minute, then decided to take a chance on the man and listen to what he had to say. “Fine, by all means. Enlighten me, Professor. But no sudden moves. From any you.”
“Why don’t we start with how you got away from the situation in the desert?” the professor asked.
Lucas decided to play along, hoping his mentor would give him some answers before he started spraying and praying. His nerves were completely frazzled and his patience was wearing thin—almost microscopic. He finally understood what the phrase itchy trigger finger meant. He could feel the power of the gun building in his hand, coming alive and ready to strike.
He locked eyes with Kleezebee. “After Alvarez shot Drew and left, I overpowered his guard and took his Humvee. Then I went to Mom’s to get her and saw you guys escorting her out, so I followed you to the hockey arena.” He gestured to Bruno. “Nice transporter, by the way.”
“Did you kill him?” Bruno asked.
“Who? Alvarez?”
“No, the guard.”
Lucas shook his head. “I sure as hell wanted to, but I decided to just cuff him and leave him in the desert with a canteen of water. I didn’t want to sink to their level.”
“Then this ain’t over, boss,” Bruno told Kleezebee with a worried look on his face.
“We’ll deal with that later. The boys are safe as long as they remain here with us.”
“I’m still waiting for an explanation,” Lucas said, wiggling the gun to get their attention.
“Bruno, it’s time to show him,” Kleezebee said.
“Sure, Chief,” Bruno said, stepping forward in front of Kleezebee.
Lucas took a step back as the overweight man extended both of his arms straight out from his shoulders, then tilted his head back and closed his eyes like an evangelist preparing for deliverance. His arms and legs started to quiver slowly at first, then gradually built in intensity until Bruno was in a full-blown, full-body seizure.
The contours of his face and body twisted and contorted, morphing its symmetry into something unexpected. His body mass shrank, decreasing to two-thirds of its original size. The convulsions calmed before he brought his head forward from the tilted position. Bruno, or what was left of him, looked at Lucas with a devious smile, his cheeks now soft and smooth.
It took Lucas’ mind a full second to catch up to what his eyes were reporting. The old Bruno was gone, replaced by version 2.0. Only this version was a hard-bodied female with curves in all the right places.
Somehow Bruno had just transformed himself from a fat, lovable security guard into a gorgeous female in mere seconds. But not just any female—he was now Mary Stinger, Kleezebee’s assistant. He, or rather she, was dressed in a short plaid skirt and sheer pink blouse. But that wasn’t all. She wasn’t wearing a bra and the pair of six-inch stiletto heels almost leveled her height with Lucas.
The video equipment illuminated her body from behind, allowing Lucas to see much more of her figure than he’d ever dreamed of, or wanted to, given the circumstances. A gut-wrenching pain wrapped his abdomen when reality sank in about the metamorphosis from manly plump to stunningly sexy. It was the most bizarre thing he’d e
ver witnessed in his life. And considering what he’d seen the past few days, that was saying something.
“How do you like my figure now?” Mary asked, using Bruno’s grizzled voice. She stepped out of Bruno’s duty belt, which had fallen past her slender waist and landed on the floor.
“What the hell is this?” Lucas gasped, regretting every lustful fantasy he’d had about Mary for the past couple of years. How could he ever trust his eyes, or his raging hormones, again?
“Bruno is one of our infiltrator units,” Kleezebee said in an even tone.
Lucas pointed the gun at Mary. “An infiltrator unit? So he’s . . . she’s . . . what? A cyborg?”
“Not exactly,” Kleezebee said. “Bruno’s a genetically engineered bio-morph. A synthetic replica of the original biological entity.”
The red-headed imposter with cheek scars who claimed to be him laughed out loud. “I had this exact same conversation just a little while ago. Talk about déjà vu.”
Lucas poked Mary in the arm to see if she felt real. “A bio-morph?”
Kleezebee replied, “He has the ability to mimic different organisms and assume their identity. He looks and acts just like the original but can be programmed to carry out a specific mission.”
“So which is he, a clone or a robot?”
“He’s neither. And both. He’s something in between. Bruno’s what we call a ‘synthetic.’ An artificial being who can transform at will to assume any identity or shape—whatever the mission demands. All he needs is a good supply of sugar to generate the energy needed to sustain each transformation.”
Lucas smirked, letting out a sarcastic laugh. “What a complete load of horse shit. You can’t possibly expect me to believe any of this. I’ve heard some whoppers in my day, but this one is biblical.”
“Okay, smart guy. You tell me: how do you explain what you just saw?” the professor asked.
Lucas thought about it for a bit, but came up with nothing. “Nice try, boss. But it’s not up to me to explain. I’m the one holding the gun, remember?”
Linkage (The Narrows of Time Series Book 1) Page 24
