The Blacklist--The Beekeeper No. 159

by Steven Piziks

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Summer crickets chirped, and warm, muggy air wrapped itself around Keen like a damp blanket. The satellite phone screen’s glow was already attracting bugs—and maybe other attention. She snapped it off.

  “I think I got through,” she said. “It shouldn’t take the Post Office more than a couple-three hours to get down here.”

  “I’m in trouble,” Aram moaned. “Cooper’s gonna be pissed that I went AWOL like that.”

  Keen arched an eyebrow, though she doubted Aram could see it in the dark.

  “Really? We’re in the middle of a trackless wilderness near a madman armed with enough sarin gas to take out a small town, and you’re worried about how the boss will react?”

  “It’s no fun when Cooper yells,” Aram muttered.

  “We have to get back in there,” Keen said, straightening and flicking leaves off her jumpsuit.

  “In there?” Aram gestured at the cave entrance several yards away. “Why would we go back in there?”

  “We have to get Ressler out of that cage. And we have to get the Beekeeper’s drone key out of the chem lab.”

  “Why?” Aram repeated. “Cooper will alert Fort Daymon so they can take proper precautions. All we need to do is wait out here for Cooper to show up with a nice, big army. Once the Hive is outnumbered, we can—”

  “Aram,” Keen said, “if the Beekeeper knows his attack on the fort will fail and then the FBI arrives on his doorstep, who do you think he’ll use the sarin gas on?”

  Aram opened his mouth, then closed it. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Dead FBI everywhere, while the Beekeeper and the Hive hide in their gas masks. Or the Beekeeper will send the drones to hose Roebuck, just for spite. Or any number of other things. We need to get that key, and fast.”

  “Yep.” He took up his gas mask, the one he had taken from the drone who had come to the guest room with Vernon. “Let’s go.”

  As Keen pulled on her own mask, she mused that Aram might come off as fearful on the surface, but if you looked closer, you realized that he only looked that way when things were uncertain, when he didn’t understand what was going on. When he knew what was coming or what he had to do, he was as straightforward and brave as any agent she knew.

  They slipped back toward the main entrance. There were no guards on duty tonight. Everyone was either asleep or working in the chem lab. Under many circumstances, Keen would have found this lucky, but since it meant the Hive was working busily to kill all the soldiers at Fort Daymon, she found it more chilling than fortunate. Still, they kept their masks on. Keen wondered where Stuart was. She hadn’t seen him in several hours. Sleeping, she supposed. He definitely wasn’t working in the lab.

  The cave floor crunched quietly beneath their feet and Keen’s breath rattled inside the mask. She had mixed feelings about Stuart. On the one hand, he was quite the fascinating old gentleman who had both a tragic past and some entertaining stories about Reddington when he was young—and Keen had to admit those were fun to hear. On the other hand, he had dived into the Hive awfully quickly, and anyone with his kind of criminal past wasn’t in the least bit trustworthy. There was also the backstory about his wife Vivian. She could see the way it complicated his and Reddington’s relationship. Reddington probably thought he was hiding it, but Keen could see how deeply he was hurt.

  She pursed her lips inside the mask. It was so tangled up! Why couldn’t anything be simple?

  “Is this a good time to say,” Aram said, “that there’s a second key out there?”

  Keen wrenched her head around so fast, she almost dislocated a pair of vertebrae.

  “What do you mean?”

  The main cavern, with its beautiful carvings, was empty, so Aram was safe in talking.

  “I mean I created a key for Reddington. That’s why he wanted me to come. I was supposed to deliver it to him.”

  “And did you?”

  Aram nodded. “He has it. He didn’t want me to tell you.”

  Keen’s head swam with the possibilities. Why would Reddington want to control the helicopter drones? He didn’t have his own plan of mass destruction, did he? No. That wasn’t his style. To Reddington, killing was a deeply personal act, something done up close and for good reason. It wasn’t the mass slaughter of people he didn’t know. So what was he up to? Why would he go to great lengths to bring in Aram with a drone key?

  “Would your key be able to override the Beekeeper’s?” she asked. “Could you take control of his drones away from him with it?”

  “I doubt it,” Aram said regretfully. “Mine isn’t very sophisticated. I had to make it fast, and I copied half the codes from—”

  “Okay, okay,” Keen interrupted. “Don’t tell Reddington you told me.”

  “I’m not very good at secrets, you know,” Aram muttered.

  The tunnels were dimmed at night to save power, which made Keen feel safer—they were cloaked in partial darkness, though she had to admit there really wasn’t anyplace to hide. If someone challenged them, their only options were to try and talk their way out of it, or attack. Not for the first time, Keen marveled at the amount of work that had gone into enlarging the caverns. It was incredible what a group of people could do when they cooperated—and a horror that it was all done for a murderer.

  They were almost to the room with the pens in it when Mala caught up with them. Keen swore under her breath.

  “Elizabeth!” Mala said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  Wondering how Mala recognized her with the mask on, Keen removed it, turned, and forced a smile. “We had some work to catch up on,” she said.

  “I wanted to warn you,” Mala told her in a hoarse whisper.

  Keen shot Aram a look. “Warn me? About what?”

  Mala licked her lips and glanced down the dim-lit tunnel. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About the Bodysnatcher killing Iris. And how the Beekeeper made me shoot someone on my first day here.”

  “What have you been thinking?” Keen asked quietly.

  “I’m… confused,” Mala said in a small voice. “The Beekeeper made me pull the trigger. I told myself it was wrong, but then I told myself it was okay because the Beekeeper said it was okay, but the more I thought about it, the more confused I got. I wanted to be here, Elizabeth, really I did, but I think I changed my mind and I got scared and please don’t tell the Beekeeper, because I’m scared of what he’ll do.”

  “I won’t tell him,” Keen promised. “Neither of us will, right?” She poked Aram, who vehemently shook his head.

  Mala seemed to notice him for the first time. “That’s not Donald, is it? I thought it was.”

  “I think Donald is still in the cage room,” Keen said. “This is someone else. But he’s a friend. I promise. We won’t tell the Beekeeper. But Mala—what aren’t we supposed to tell him?”

  “I was in the lab earlier this evening,” Mala said shakily. “And… I snuck some time on the computer when Vernon wasn’t looking and sent a message to my father.”

  “Your father is Pavel Rudenko,” Keen said. “Stingster and weapons.”

  “Yeah. How did you know that?”

  Damn. “I read—used to read—the Wall Street Journal a lot. Why did you contact him, Mala? You said you hated him.”

  “I don’t. I mean, I do, but not really.” She wiped her nose with her sleeve. “I just want a dad, you know? A real dad. One who doesn’t shout or hit or kill your dog? Sometimes I get away, but he always seems to pull me right back. I thought I got away for good this time, but now… I’m so confused. I told Dad where we are. He has a whole band of guys he keeps around to ‘test the weapons,’ he says. Hired mercenaries is what they really are. Team Green Alpha. They’ll probably be here any—”

  An explosion rocked the tunnel. Keen lost her balance. Aram hugged the tunnel wall for support. Dust sifted down from the ceiling.

  “They’re here,” Mala said. “Oh god, I’m sorry!”

  “
Ressler!” Keen said. “Come on!”

  Alarms blared, and the hall lights turned red. Keen rushed down the tunnel to the cage room, not bothering to see if Aram and Mala were following. She found Ressler curled up in a ball on his mattress.

  “Ressler!” she said, shaking the bars. “Ressler! Time to leave!”

  Another explosion shook the floor.

  Ressler didn’t move.

  Keen fumbled with the ring of keys. Her hands were shaking. Shouts and cries and two gunshots echoed from down the hall. So far no one seemed interested in the cages, but that could change, especially since the Beekeeper had to be awake by now.

  “What are they doing up there?” Aram demanded.

  “Getting the Hive’s attention,” Mala said. “The commander’s name is Steele. Ryan Steele.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Aram said. “Does he drink his martinis shaken and not stirred, too?”

  “I think he changed his name.”

  Keen finally got the door open. She hurried to Ressler and shook his shoulder. “Wake up! We have to get out of here!”

  “The room smells orange,” Ressler muttered.

  “Oh, god.” Keen hoisted Ressler upright. “Come on. We don’t have time for this.”

  Aram came to help. Together, they got Ressler on his feet and half dragged him out of the cage. The alarms continued to blare.

  “Attention!” said the Beekeeper’s voice, and Keen jumped. She hadn’t known the Hive had a PA system. “We are under attack! They have found us! All drones to battle stations!”

  Mala squeaked. Four drones charged into the room, pistols drawn. Keen and Aram both froze.

  “What the hell are you doing?” one of them barked.

  Keen didn’t even think. “We have to move the prisoner. There’s an escape tunnel in the back of his cell, and someone is trying to break through. Hurry!”

  Three of the drones rushed into the cell. Keen kicked the door. It slammed shut and locked.

  “Hey!” the fourth drone said. He whipped his pistol around. “What are—?”

  But Aram got him with the taser. He went down, twitching.

  “Stung,” Aram said.

  But the drones in the cell still had their weapons. Already they were spinning around, pistols coming up.

  “Run!” Keen barked.

  The drones fired through the bars. The four of them dove for the exit, slowed by the half-conscious Ressler. Fortunately, the drones weren’t taking much time to aim and were further hampered by having to aim through the bars of the cage. Bullets ricocheted off stone like angry wasps. Keen ducked and hauled Ressler with her down the hall. The hail mercifully ended.

  “I can walk,” Ressler panted. He shook his head. “Moving makes it better. God, this is awful. I feel like I’m in a blender. That alarm sounds purple.”

  A third explosion.

  Keen nearly went to her knees. The air was filled with throat-choking dust now, and she pulled on her mask. The others followed suit. Immediately it became easier to breathe.

  “What now?” Aram said.

  “The kids,” Keen said. “We’re getting them out.”

  “We also have to get that key from the lab,” Aram said.

  Keen tried to think. That stupid alarm kept up its buzz and blare. Okay, Ressler was still woozy. Aram was the best choice to handle the computers, but he barely knew the Hive complex. There was no way Keen was letting anyone else handle the children. Aram needed a partner. The solution was obvious.

  “Mala, can you take Aram to the lab? He’ll take care of the key. See if you can shut down that stupid jammer, too. Ressler and I will get the kids out.”

  Aram said, “But—”

  “No time! Go!”

  She and Ressler took one tunnel, Aram and Mala another.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The nursery was in dire straits. All five little children were crying and the three babies, including Luke, were wailing. Roberta and Sally were rushing about, trying to be eight people and calm everyone down.

  “It’s them,” screeched a little girl. Tears made wide tracks of terror down her face, and Keen wanted to choke the life from the man who had instilled such fear in a child. “They’re going to kill us!”

  “We’re evacuating!” Keen had to shout in Roberta’s ear over the children’s cries and the siren’s blare. “No time to take anything. Grab the children and follow me!”

  Roberta and Sally didn’t question the order. People in emergencies rarely questioned anyone who seemed to be in charge. Keen snatched up Luke while Roberta and Sally took a baby each and a diaper bag. Keen pressed the hand of the crying girl into Ressler’s hand. Thank god the kids were used to the gas masks and weren’t scared of them.

  “The Beekeeper said we have to go to a safe place,” Keen announced firmly. “We’re all going to be brave and safe together. Everyone hold hands with our friend Mr. D. March together, now! We’re going to be as quiet as baby bees.”

  Her firm, even tone calmed some of the children down. Sally handed around bottles of formula to give to the infants in hopes of stopping their crying, and two of them quieted immediately. Luke continued to fuss in Keen’s arms. Ressler stared down at the little girl’s hand. Keen hoped he wouldn’t say her fingers felt like a sunset or something.

  “Off we go, now!” she called. “March, two, three, four! March, two, three, four!”

  They marched.

  The tunnels were filled with drones now, rushing about like angry yellowjackets. They bristled with weapons. Most of them ignored the little procession. Twice someone approached, and both times Keen barked, “Child evacuation! Make a hole!” and they backed away. Keen tried not to pant with fear. Blood sang in her ears, and the children kept whimpering. Luke squirmed in her arms.

  They were nearly at one of the rear exits when a fourth explosion hit, sending everyone to their knees. The children screamed and the babies howled. Jesus! How would they survive outside? How would they—?

  A hand plucked at Keen’s elbow, nearly sending her through the stone roof. She spun, her taser at the ready. Roberta gasped.

  Mrs. Griffin.

  “Where are you going, dear?” she asked. Her gray eyes blinked rapidly. Incongruously, she carried a large handbag. “Did my husband order the children to be taken out?”

  Keen cast about. “It’s the safest thing to do,” she said.

  “Why, dear?” Mrs. Griffin asked. “With all those weapons going off outside.”

  “Grandma Griffin!” said one of the children.

  “Er…” Keen tried to think, but the children and the sirens and the pressure made it impossible to get her brain moving.

  Ressler spoke up from inside his mask. “They won’t shoot children, and we don’t want them in the caves if they…” He glanced at the children and decided to spell out his final word. “C-o-l-l-a-p-s-e.”

  “What are we doing?” said Sally in the near darkness. “I’m confused. Did the Beekeeper order us to evacuate or not?”

  Another group of drones rushed down the hall. Keen didn’t know what to do or say. Where the hell was Reddington when she really needed him?

  Then Mrs. Griffin said, “You stay here, my dear. I’ll take the children outside. They won’t shoot at me. Go back to your duties.”

  “But—”

  “Keen,” Ressler said. “Other people need your help. I’ll get the kids out.”

  “We’ll be fine, dear. We have to protect the children at all costs.”

  Ressler gave Keen a hard look and a sharp nod. She could see he was on his last reserves. He had to get out. Meanwhile, she still had to deal with Reddington and that drone key. Ressler would take care of it. For the second time in her life, she gave a baby over to a man.

  “If you let anyone hurt him, I’ll slice your ear off,” she warned. “And it won’t feel like blue.”

  “Come along, children,” said the Beekeeper’s wife. “Grandma Griffin will show you the way.”

  * * *r />
  Ressler followed Mrs. Griffin up the narrow cavern tunnel. He had a baby in one arm, and his free hand held the small, sweaty fingers of a child. His mask was hot and uncomfortable. The two child-care women, whose names he didn’t know, brought up the rear with babies of their own. Ressler had no idea whose children these were or how they got into the Hive. All he knew was that he had to get them out. God only knew what they’d been through already, and they couldn’t be allowed to suffer further. Unfortunately, he had the feeling they were going to see a great deal more tonight than any child—or adult—should see in a lifetime.

  His knees were shaky and his muscles were still flaccid from the Beekeeper’s latest treatment, hours of being dragged through his own drug-induced nightmares of losing Audrey while the Beekeeper’s relentlessly gentle voice told him the Hive was there for him, the Hive would share his pain, the Hive… the Hive… the Hive.

  The helplessness turned to rage, rage turned to impotence, impotence turned to apathy. In the end, he had just lain there and let the Beekeeper do as he pleased. He wasn’t Donald Ressler, FBI agent. He wasn’t Donald Ressler, American. He wasn’t even Donald Ressler, human being. He was a sack of meat for the Beekeeper to pull apart and dump in a cage like a dog. He had, in fact, been on the verge of letting his entire self fall into darkness when Keen had shown up. She had pulled him, physically and metaphorically, out of the black and into harsh red light. And he was grateful to her for it.

  Now he was leading a pack of screaming children down a tunnel behind a little old lady while hired mercenaries tossed explosives at them.

  Okay, Donald, he told himself. One step at a time. Solve one problem at a time.

  At the mouth of the tunnel, Mrs. Griffin shifted her handbag and gestured at everyone to halt. She edged out into the open with her arms up. Ressler hoped whoever was out there could see her—it was still night, though he could see a full moon.

  “Don’t shoot!” she quavered. “We give up! We have children! Don’t shoot! We have children!”

  The baby in Ressler’s arms chose this moment to start crying again, underscoring the truth of Mrs. Griffin’s words.