He surprised himself with a laugh as the euphoria of the moment swept over him.
I’m flying.
29
The landing was rough, and he skinned his right leg enough to draw blood. Fortunately, nothing seemed to be broken, and after a split-second look, Houston anchored the balloon to a drain grating and unhitched the two backpacks she had brought. They hoisted one apiece.
They left the balloon “parked,” fully inflated, right in the middle of the CIA lot. She had landed in what she called a security camera blind spot, the largest of four around the property. Even so, “largest” meant that they had a very narrow landing pad in which they could work, but somehow, she had done it, even with him underneath to complicate the touchdown. He assumed that the tradeoff was bouncing him off the asphalt.
Lopez carried the tablet, checking once more that the app was running correctly, displaying the strangely out-of-focus image of Houston that was supposed to defeat the face-recognition algorithms. Houston pulled out four small containers marked with several warning labels: ultrahigh pressure, explosive, extremely cold gas. She had briefly explained that it was highly compressed nitrogen that when released in the small spaces they would enter, would momentarily lower the temperature in the room by tens of degrees. While not much, it was enough to decrease the sensitivity of the tracking equipment. Exactly why this was the case, he didn’t have time to pursue. Because of this, they were to don oxygen-supplied gas masks immediately after entry, both for the volume of released nitrogen, and for the moment the security system would detect Lopez as an intruder and release the neuro-suppressant sleeping gas.
In addition, she had packed electronic equipment, several small firearms, and a bag full of gray bricks, which he assumed were plastic explosives. As they ran from the balloon toward the glass pyramid, he suppressed a bitter laugh as he gazed toward the razor walls and robotic weaponry they had skipped over. Down the rabbit hole, I go. A parish priest only recently teaching bored students was now sprinting through what should have been an adolescent’s video game. Except that the deaths are real. The bullets real. The pain real. My brother’s death, real. His smile faded, and he focused ahead as they approached the entrance.
At the facial-recognition device, there was the turnstile she had mentioned, after which was a short ten-foot walk to a stairway leading downward, ending at a heavy-looking door. Houston indicated that through the door was a short tunnel, embedded in the ground next to the building, which would lead upward to the main floor.
She motioned for him to keep at a distance. “Don’t get close enough for it to scan you until you have the tablet positioned right against your face.”
“How will I see to walk?” Lopez had not thought of this until now.
“You won’t. Eyeball a line, look down at your feet, and walk straight. When you get close to the turnstile, quickly align yourself — it spins counterclockwise — and just push your way in. You should be able to lower the tablet once it engages.”
Lopez nodded, and she turned and walked toward the turnstile and invisible camera system. “Walk slowly to this spot,” she said, coming to a stop, “and stand still until you hear the mechanism.”
At that moment, a green light appeared next to the door, and he heard a metallic clanking sound. Houston walked forward and pushed her way through the turnstile. As she did so, a loud click came from the far door, and it opened automatically, pivoting on its hinges slowly. She motioned for him to approach.
Taking a deep breath, he verified again that the image was showing, and walked forward with the device pressed closely to his face. As he neared the location she had indicated, she called out, “Stop!” Lopez halted. There was a pause. He was sure that it was longer than it had been for her. He felt sweat trickle down the side of his face, but he did not move the tablet or change position. Just when he began to panic, he heard the same metallic sound he had a moment ago. “Francisco, move!” He lowered the tablet. Houston was motioning animatedly. He walked forward quickly, pressing against the turnstile bars. They moved! He pushed through and felt his knees nearly buckle.
“Damn it, Francisco! Don’t get shaky on me now! This is just starting.” As she spoke, she removed one of the slabs of gray plastique and attached it to the turnstile. Embedded in the putty was an electronic device. Radio receiver? He didn’t ask.
Lopez placed the tablet back into the backpack and followed her through the second door. He had hardly entered a foot when she held up her hand and stopped him again.
“Okay, beyond this point and we’re in the range of the tracking system. Help me with these.” She removed her pack and knelt down, yanking on the large zipper. She reached in and removed four small gas tanks. “Get the masks.”
Lopez mirrored her position and opened his pack. He removed the two masks with their small oxygen canister. Houston grabbed one and strapped it on. “Like this.” She showed him how. Clumsily, he mimicked her motions, and with some help, soon had his on.
“Wow, this is heavy.” His voice sounded strangely resonant.
“Bad for the neck, but it beats having to lug a back-mounted cylinder. Especially if you’re traveling by personal balloon.” She didn’t smile. Her voice was substantially muffled, but she spoke loudly enough for him to understand easily. “Second drawback is that the small tank means we only have clean air for twenty minutes. Enough time for us to get to where we need to go before the nitrogen will have dispersed. I don’t think we’ll get close to fooling the system that long. We’ll be lucky to make it to Jesse’s office before all hell breaks loose.”
Houston transferred most of the remaining items to one pack and indicated that Francisco should take it. She kept the two guns, strapping them tightly to her waist with a utility belt, and then reached up and touched Lopez’s mask on the side. It was nearly as if she had placed her hand on his cheek, and it felt like an oddly intimate gesture. He felt and heard a click.
“Opening your supply.”
He felt a pressure change in his ears, and there was a strange taste in the air suddenly. Houston affixed another large charge to the doors and then handed him two of the canisters.
“Do what I do.”
With a firm motion, she twisted a valve-like object at the top of the canister, and like the pin in a grenade, it came off. She then rolled the canister along the floor, and it immediately started spewing a dense cloud of white vapor into the air, spinning in circles as it did so. Together they repeated the procedure with the other canisters. Soon the room was noticeably colder, the air becoming slightly foggy.
“Care to dance?”
Lopez frowned. Here was perhaps the craziest part of the entire plan, and he felt that this was saying a lot. He stepped up to her, and she grasped him around the waist and pulled him closely in. She placed a leg along each of his, and as instructed, he crouched down slightly to match her height. His body was charged with an old instinctual reaction. He had not been so close to a woman since high school. Before seminary. But the body had a program of its own, independent of a priest’s vows. I am not going to have an erection…