by LC Champlin
The locals’ leader lowered his rifle. “If these people want to take off, they can, unless you’ve got them arrested or detained.”
“We can’t allow that, sir.”
“The question you need to ask yourself . . .” The man paused to push his white cowboy hat up on his forehead. “Is what are you going to do about it? What we say goes, unless you got a lot more guys hiding in that jet.”
The government agent wore a strained smile. “There’s been a misunderstanding. These people are in no danger. In fact, it’s our job to protect them.”
“I believe,” Albin began, still with hands aloft, “we can reach a solution if you contact Special Agent Greg Saito of the FBI.”
The agents glanced at each other before the shorter of the two responded, “We are unable to do that. We don’t have reception.”
Albin raised a brow. “You are not making a convincing case for being government agents. I would say we should commandeer your weapons—”
“I’m not going to fly at gunpoint,” the copilot declared.
“I suppose you are correct,” Albin agreed. “You might signal your cohorts and cause us to be abducted again when we land.”
The taller agent cocked his head. “Where did you hear this false information about us not being FBI?”
“A reliable source.” If he contacted the authorities, they could put him in touch with Agent Saito or Director Washington. But, voice of doubt murmured, What if Agent Saito is behind the abduction?
“It’s dangerous to attempt travel on your own,” responded the copilot.
“I am willing to take that risk.”
Chapter 42
Foot in the Door
Bury Me Face Down – Grandson
June 5, 2016—
Nathan swung the gray delivery van into the driveway of Mercury International Technologies. One of the mercenaries occupied the passenger seat, AR against his shoulder.
Mercury, a fitting name if the facility contained what Sophia claimed. The Roman god Mercury presided over communications, thieves, and trickery. He also escorted the souls of the dead to the underworld. He shared traits with Hermes, who carried the caduceus. But now another God’s messenger arrived to overthrow the messenger of the Pagan gods.
Nathan parked in front of the building, under the sheltered drive. Nothing suspicious about. Except for the four armed guards approaching him. They wore rent-a-cop uniforms and tactical vests. It would make their day if they could cut down the trespassers.
Nathan and the merc climbed out of the cab.
“We need to see your IDs,” the lead guard informed them.
“Sure.” Nathan removed the badge clipped to his plate-carrier. His mercenary followed suit.
The guard scanned the IDs with a smartphone. “It checks out. You can park in the back.”
Nathan pushed his sport-frame sunglasses farther up his nose, under the brim of his military-style cap. “My partner will take the truck around. I need to talk personally to the people I’m delivering this to.”
The cop wannabes exchanged glances. “I don’t—”
“This is sensitive material,” Nathan cut him off, stepping closer. “Your bosses will be pissed if I don’t get this to the right people safely.”
“All right.” But the man looked uneasy. They would look far more uneasy if they knew .50-cal death would rain from above if they turned on him.
As the merc climbed back into the van, Nathan strode into the lobby of the building. Spacious and elegant, it pushed into the second floor’s territory in its quest for height. Overhead hung a mobius with a disc behind it, cut from a sheet of aluminum.
Before him waited the reception desk. The woman—mid thirties, dark haired—occupying it looked up as he approached. “May I help you? Deliveries are in the rear of the build—”
“I’m here to see Dr. Maxwell, Head of Research and Bioengineering.”
She pursed her lips as she eyed him, but she seemed unperturbed by his paramilitary uniform and accoutrements, which included an AR. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Here are my papers.” Smiling in reassurance, he handed over a folded slip of paper. A key card clipped to it carried extra information. Though Lexa had provided detailed information on the organization and claimed to have handled the minutia of security clearances, he had no guarantee the staff would allow him into the labs. Let them be the usual low-motivation office workers! If she called to check his references, he was fucked.
She scanned the card, then glanced over the paper as the information loaded. Nathan’s sunglasses hid his eyes, allowing him to study her expression as she decided if she would lower the drawbridge or not. Her brows drew together as she read.
“It looks acceptable,” she decided, “but because you need access to a high-level area, I should call the other office.”
“I was told the lab’s been waiting on this for a while, ma’am. I’m supposed to deliver it ASAP or their research might be delayed. The other office has been experiencing some technical issues with the internet and phone anyway. I’m sure your employers trust you to make the judgment call.” The grin that followed had earned many an acceptance.
“I should still call.”
For fuck sake! Why did he have to stumble across the one person in all the world who actually performed their job correctly? If he managed to escape this chaos and return to a normal life, he’d have to offer her a job with Arete Technologies.
She reached for the phone, but he leaned forward before she could bring the receiver to her ear. “Have you seen cannibals in this city?”
She paused. “Yes. There are plenty around. But security is able to keep them away from here. The Air Force has done a fairly good job of securing the areas close to the base.”
Lowering his sunglasses, he gave her a conspiratorial look. “Then you know how critical it is we get things under control.”
Click. The receiver settled back into its cradle. “I suppose you’re right. It’s through those doors.” She pointed over her shoulder, to his right. “Follow the hall down. You’ll see the Director of Research’s office on the right-hand side.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat. Lexa had provided a layout of the building’s four levels, which he’d memorized.
He passed through glass double doors. A two-tone umber and cream hallway stretched ahead. Now he only needed to locate his targets. Birk would come after the data. Here in the heart of the beast, every computer could access damning evidence against LOGOS. Lexa also wanted the data; thus, she’d supplied basic passcodes. He would no doubt need higher security clearance for the files he sought.
Either Lexa underestimated him, or she’d ordered Sophia—his own sniper overwatch—to kill him if he attempted to flee with Birk and / or the files. Would Sophia truly gun him down? It depended on her paycheck and what she valued him at.
++++++++++++
June 4, 2016—
The locals’ leader, likely a rancher, took a step closer. “If these people aren’t under arrest, you can’t hold them. Get out of here.”
He shifted his attention to Albin and the others. “We might be able to help you out at least part of the way. It would be nice to get some of my own back against the damn Feds.” He spat.
“Thank you, sir.” Albin inclined his head.
The rancher gave a curt nod to the aggressors. “All right, you bastards, get their gear out of the plane, then get going.”
“I warn you,” the shorter agent responded, “you’ll face repercussions.”
“Get!”
Faces dark with anger, the men took their leave. Once past the line of militia, they trotted across the road, toward the airport.
Albin lowered his hands.
What now? Should he believe Mr. Serebus had been taken to New York? LOGOS or corrupt FBI agents may have provided him with falsified court documents. Given the thoroughness of the information,
though, they may have based it on the real trial.
Albin turned to his compatriots. “Rest assured, I will find a way to locate Mr. Serebus and return us to New York.”
The group showed little emotion at this; however, the tension in their stances eased. Judge remained unsettled: ears back and growling deep in her chest.
Chapter 43
Big Shots
My Domain – Tommee Profitt featuring Svrcina
June 5, 2016—
According to Nathan’s mental map, the camera control room should reside . . . here, past the hall on the left that intersected his path. Swipe the card in the door’s reader. Green light. Acting with the assurance of an employee on a mission, he pulled the door open and stepped through.
At the intrusion, a wiry scrawny guard hopped from his chair to block the entrance. “This is a restricted area, sir. You need to leave.” Beside him, his chubby partner looked over from the camera monitors.
“Is it?” Nathan blinked, slowly. “I’m sorry. My card worked, so I assumed I had clearance. If you could help me,” he forged on as the security guards wrestled with explaining why the newcomer had clearance, “I’m looking for a certain researcher. His name is Dr. Victor Anthony Birk. Do you know where he’s working? I have a message for him.”
“Birk?” The rent-a-cop glanced over his shoulder at his colleague, who shook his head.
“I was told by my superiors to find him. It’s urgent, so—”
“Hold on.” The raised hand cut Nathan off.
Guard #2, still in his seat, pressed the button on his shoulder mic. “This is Control Room. Send Dr. Wong and Captain Warren.”
“Quite the setup you have here.” Folding his arms, Nathan nodded to the ten screens on the wall and their rotating views of the facility. “I monitor them at my facility sometimes. You must be fairly high-ranking if you watch feeds from the entire place.” At his smile of approval, the guards exchanged looks, apparently unsure if they should expel Nathan from the room or accept the compliment.
“Oh, well,” the husky guard responded, “I suppose.”
“You’re lucky; you see scientific breakthroughs every day.”
“I don’t know about that,” the scrawny grunt replied.
His companion snorted. “We’ve been with the company for a few years, so we’ve earned it.”
As the two babbled, the camera feeds clicked through their loops: views from labs, halls, boardrooms, and the outside. Birk, Birk—where in the world was Victor Anthony Birk? Too bad he didn’t wear a red-and-white striped shirt.
Each screen had the numeral 1 to 2 in the upper right corner. “Is that the floor number?” Nathan pointed.
“You got it.”
Two floors. What about the basement levels? Classified, no doubt. “Why are we waiting for upper-echelon people to take me to Dr. Birk? I didn’t think he was that high in the organization, from what my supervisor said.”
“Protocol,” Husky reported by reflex.
On the view of the hall outside, a woman in a lab coat and a man in a security officer’s uniform strode toward the control room.
The door opened a moment later. Captain Warren shouldered through first. In his late forties, with a military bearing and a buzz cut to match, his steely eyes and set jaw said he would take no shit from an outsider.
At his side came an Asian female, also in her forties. Hair cut short at her jaw line, dark eyes keen, and lab coat pressed. She would not prove a pushover either. Her name tag read, Dr. Skylar Wong.
Nathan averted his gaze from the badge before his muscles could lock up in a stare. Director Washington had told him Skylar Wong, assistant head of research at Doorway Pharmaceuticals, had died in the Bay Area at the hands of unknown assailants. It came as no surprise to find her here.
“I’m Dr. Skylar Wong,” she announced, “filling in for Dr. Maxwell.”
“Nice to meet you. What happened to Dr. Maxwell?”
“He’s indisposed.” Had he fallen prey to his own creations?
“Do you have a delivery or not?” Warren demanded.
“I have some business to conduct with Dr. Wong first, sir, per my supervisor’s order. Then I’ll finish my delivery.”
“Captain.” Wong turned to him. “I can handle this on my own, thank you.”
The man frowned but nodded. “As you wish.” With a last look of warning at Nathan, he exited.
“Come.” Wong waved for Nathan to follow her into the hall. “Whatever business you have to conduct with Dr. Maxwell you can conduct with me.” Though several inches shorter than Nathan, she managed to look down her nose at him.
“I’m here for a data exchange.” He pulled a jump drive from a pocket in his tactical vest as he came abreast of her.
A skeptical look met this news. “It’s normally conducted by highly secure, highly encrypted channels.”
“We’ve been having technical issues. It’s the situation, you understand.”
“Of course.” But doubt made the statement snap. “I suppose an armed guard is an acceptable alternative.”
She stopped at an office marked with her name. After ushering him in, she followed. “My computer terminal works as well as any. Your papers weren’t very specific about what data your supervisors need.”
He needed a full copy of their database, but he would settle for anything he could obtain. “They gave me separate instructions. They didn’t want it on the orders in case they were intercepted.” He handed her the list Lexa had created and he had modified.
She eyed the paper. “I thought they already had a copy of this. Are you certain this is current?” Pause. “I need to see your orders and your identification again.”
Heart rate pushing into the hundreds, he presented them. Couldn’t she simply cooperate by transferring a few files? Then if she could point him toward Birk—
Skepticism hardened her features as she studied the documents and badge. She knew. She had to. Cold dread sluiced down Nathan’s spine.
“On second thought,” she began in an offhanded tone, “I will need a different computer. It might take a moment. Wait here.” She made to exit. He blocked her.
“Actually, Doctor, I believe you can get it all from your computer.”
She hesitated. “Excuse me?”
“I would advise you to keep your hands where I can see them.” He smiled in the manner of a loan shark before a debtor. “Now, kindly fetch those files.”
She stiffened, eyes narrowed and hands climbing. “I suspected as much. The request was highly irregular.”
“But it opened the door for me.” The smile remained. “The files, Doctor. Please. I can get them myself, but it will be easier for both of us if you cooperate.” As he spoke, he sauntered behind her. His pistol remained in its holster on his thigh.
She paled. “Who are you working for? The inventor? Lexa Birk? The terrorist ? The gray fox?” Gray fox? Another player in the game to complicate matters.
“That’s my business. The files, Dr. Wong.” He nodded to the computer monitor.
Chapter 44
Quarantine on the Range
Whatever Doesn’t Kill Me (Better Run) – Benj Heard
June 4, 2016—
Carrying the rifle on his shoulder, barrel up, the leader of the locals strode over to Albin and company. “We can’t take you into town at the moment, since you’re from outside. We have a quarantine time.” He gave an apologetic smile. “I don’t think you’re sick, since you haven’t vomited slime all over me. But I can’t go against what the town’s decided.”
“I understand,” Albin replied.
“There’s a propane fill station there.” The rancher turned to point at two grey pole sheds between the road and the lumber yard. Propane tanks of the five-hundred-gallon residential variety ran in rows beside the buildings. The main tank lay to the left of them, its white body stretching twenty meters or more in length. “You’ll wait there for a ti
me. Come on.” He jerked his head toward his pickup. “Two of you can ride with me in the cab, and the rest can find seats with the other trucks. By the way, I’m Max Kingston.” He lifted his hat.
Thanks and introductions followed.
Behrmann and Bridges stepped up to Albin’s side, but the reporter spoke first: “I’ll ride with you, Albin. I want to know what’s going on.”
Crestfallen, Bridges turned to Amanda and the girls. “Anybody want to ride with me?”
“Okay.” Taylor joined him.
With the new arrivals thus divided, they boarded the pickup trucks. Albin and Behrmann sat in the rear seat of Kingston’s vehicle.
“Are you guarding the airport so people don’t infect your town?” Behrmann enquired of the rancher.
“That’s the general idea.”
“Have you had any outbreaks of the contagion here? Any of the affected?”
“The cannibals?” Kingston glanced back at her in the rearview mirror as he led the trucks down the road toward the highway. “Not that I’m aware of. Then again, I live across that ridge of mountains to the west.” He gestured to a rise of dark stone in the distance. “We take shifts guarding Walden’s airport here. There are other airstrips around, and we guard those too.”
The reporter peered at the geological feature. “It must be a trip of at least an hour or two around those mountains.”
“Out here, an hour or two drive is short!” he laughed.
He turned on to the propane station’s dirt car park.
After disembarking, Albin turned to Kingston as the rancher came around the front of the truck. “May we in the meantime use a satellite phone if one is available?”
“Be my guest. I’ll get you situated inside, then I gotta go back to work.”
Albin waited for the Musters to join him before leading the way into the smaller of the two structures. Several armed locals met him at the open garage door. Inside, wooden picnic tables ran down the center of the concrete floor. Cots lined the perimeter.
