“He’s alive. Unconscious, but alive. The thing is bulletproof.”
Without waiting for an answer, I rose to my feet and pressed the OFF button. I pushed the manual drive lever forward. I thought to push it all the way up, but reconsidered, leaving it at about a third.
“All right.”
“Ready,” Paul replied.
I pressed ON and, as the train began to move, jogged to the door and out onto the platform. Paul stepped out behind me and the doors slid shut. The shuttle train slid into the tunnel and was gone.
We were alone in the dark station. Unlike in Waukegan, there was no lounge here, just the platform, the guardroom and the door. The door did not react to the guard’s ID card at all. There was no power. The train system must have been powered by a different backup generator. The building above us was still dark.
We positioned ourselves by the door and waited, hoping the rest of the guards were not going to return before electricity. Having to wait gave me the opportunity to remove the disguise. Dr. Wright’s face would not really work with the guard’s suit. And it itched. I tossed everything on the tracks. It felt good to have my own face back, though I hid it immediately under the helmet.
“Thanks, man,” Paul said after a bit of silence. Then, after another bit, added, “Wait a minute. This guy, Sono, went in somehow. With no power, right?”
He was right. I went up to the door, pressed against it, pressed some more, and suddenly it gave and slid an inch to the right.
We pushed it open together and entered the empty, darkened hallway beyond.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Stealing a chopper wouldn’t be hard. Special Agent Brome, although technically on vacation, still had complete access within the FBI headquarters. Or close enough to complete. His access included roof; he was sure of that.
The hard part was being alone.
He was to fly out at nine o’clock sharp, and for eighty minutes between then and his departure from Whales’s house in the suburbs Brome battled an army that would not relent. Doubts.
It started with the decision about the infiltration to be carried out by two untrained civilians. He had agreed to it initially, because all signs pointed to the fact that getting in the facility would be easier than getting out of it. He had agreed, yet as he drove back downtown, Brome couldn’t help thinking that he should have stopped them. God knows chances would be slim if he was there. Without him “slim” began to sound like desperately optimistic odds.
None of them could fly a helicopter, he reminded himself. And immediately had an idea of confiding in Rush, one of the FBI pilots he’d gotten chummy with because of his background. Rush is a decent guy, he thought. He’ll understand. I’ll call him and have him do the evac. Meanwhile, I’ll turn around and catch up with Whales and his friend before they get themselves killed.
It sounded so reasonable in his head, he almost dialed the number. However, there was no active communication link between Whales and him. The alien had said it was too risky. If he turned around now he could end up late. Would likely end up late. And Rush would end up in serious trouble regardless of the outcome.
Which led Brome to his own troubles. What they were about to do — and this in the event of success — would render his vacation permanent. In the event of success Special Agent Brome would probably end up on the wanted list. What would he do? What would he tell Grace? That he threw away his career and hers and Annie’s future because aliens were after a talk show host whose show he always hated? That’s a ticket to a padded room right there. He shook his head and drove on.
A billboard hanging from the highway’s ceiling caught his eye. To the left of the face of an obviously beleaguered, middle-aged white man, in big, soothing, green letters was printed:
It flew past and disappeared before his mind registered the advertised company’s name.
Somehow it helped.
His doubts shrunk. The plan was weak, but it was the best one possible considering the available resources. As to his own motivations… It was the right thing to do. Simple as that. Grace will understand, he told himself. If she doesn’t, Annie will. He knew it. And in that knowledge he took comfort.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The lights came back about a minute after we left the station. We were in a long curving hallway, painted — of course — white. We moved at a trot, partly because time was short, and partly because a couple of trotting guards would probably look less conspicuous than two who strolled leisurely along, several minutes after a bomb had almost destroyed the building.
We passed doors and narrow crossing hallways, which sometimes opened into much larger spaces. It felt like we were in service corridors of a huge mall, barely finished and not yet populated. But Freedom Corp. wasn’t about to open a mall under its Long Grove facility. What was the place for, then?
For now we ignored the elevators. According to Bogdan’s map — whose scale I had really misjudged — both the dormitories and the infirmary were on the same level as the shuttle station. Since the map did not have a locale called “Dungeon” or “Prison,” we had hoped one of those places would be where they usually held hostages. The labs, on the level below, was the third possibility, but I refused to consider it until I checked the first two. Getting inside the labs would be a whole different story.
Traffic was scarce. Aside from the occasional jogging snow-whites in teams of three and four who paid us no heed, we encountered no staff. No civilians of any kind; no damages from the explosion. No clues, either. And I needed those, because the size of the facility threw me off completely. I had no idea where we or anything else was. The map in my head was useless.
We followed the hallway as straight as we could through intersections, but the damn thing always curved to the right, and soon I began to suspect that we were going to end up back at the train stop. Paul had by then voiced his doubts once or twice. To those I preferred not to respond on account of saving my breath.
Just when I really started to despair and hyperventilate, the hallway abruptly ended in a bend. As we slowed to a walk and came around it, trying hard not to expose our exhaustion, we were greeted by a pair of glass doors and the most unurgent guard we’d seen all day. Droopy-cheeked and helmetless, he was seated at a crescent-shaped white desk and, as we approached, was trying to break the record for the largest bubble blown out of a chewing gum. He seemed pretty close to doing it, but then suddenly the green ball popped and fell limp over his chin. If it caused disappointment, he hid it well.
“Let me guess,” he yawned, staring up at the ceiling. “Diarrhea.”
We found one of them! I thought excitedly. The gum slithered like a lizard back into his mouth. I saw a golden triangle insignia stamped on the white in the middle of his chest.
“Sir, no, sir!” I blurted out. “We are reinforcements. To provide additional prisoner security, sir.”
“Ain’t no prisoners here, you dumbfuck.”
“Is this the infirmary, sir?”
“What? Not only you’re dumb, you also blind? Of course it’s the infirmary.”
“Sir Sono directed us here, sir. He said the prisoners—”
“That’s cos your Sono is a dumbfuck too. Now get outta my sight.”
When we didn’t immediately comply, the guard finally graced us with his gaze. He contemplated us for a moment, then shook his head.
“Try the dorms.”