A green light came on next to the button and he pressed it hurriedly. As soon as the opening in the portal was big enough, he stepped inside and hit the second button, closing the door behind him and starting the sterilization process. The strange spray wasn’t wet. It felt more like a cool, dry powder. Grates in the floor sucked air downward, pulling the smoky substance into an air duct below. A few seconds passed before the second green light came on, and the door opened for him as it had for Helen.
She was waiting on the other side as he entered the warehouse. “I thought I heard someone coming,” he said in a weak attempt to stay calm.
Her face became concerned. “Quick, over here,” she moved towards a stack of plastic boxes and ducked down behind them. Joe followed closely and looked back just in time to see another person in a suit walking around the corner.
“Crap,” he whispered.
“Did you see anyone?”
Joe nodded, crouching next to her. “I don’t think he saw us. He was looking at his cell phone. It was a guy in a suit, not security.”
She looked relieved for a moment. “Still, we better get this thing and get out of here.” He agreed with a quick nod.
“How do we know what we’re looking for?” he wondered, silently.
She scanned the row of plastic wrapped packages across the aisle. There was a bar code on the top right corner of each one. “I guess we look at the labels.”
“Right,” he hoped he didn’t sound like an idiot.
Helen shuffled over to the row and examined the first label. “This one is going to Russia,” she said. “But it isn’t what we’re looking for. It’s some kind of antibiotic.”
A sudden noise startled her from the other side of the row. She peeked through the crack between the shipments and was relieved to see it was just the robotic forklift. The machine picked up a pallet then backed its way down the aisle, out of sight.
Joe put his hands out, asking if that was one of the shipments they were looking for. She responded by shaking her head quickly.
Another noise echoed from down at the other end of the aisle, causing Joe and Helen to jerk their heads in that direction. One of the machines had turned their direction and was rolling along the concrete floor. The machine took up most of the space in the row, meaning Joe and Helen were going to have to move.
Taking a chance, Joe eased his head back around the end of the row and stole a look through the glass to the corridor. The man in the suit had just finished putting on a mask and was taking the last remaining lab coat off the rack.
“That guy looks like he’s coming in,” Joe informed Helen. “We have to get over to that other row or that thing is going to hit us. Gotta go now.”
He grabbed Helen by the wrist and jerked her up, careful to keep low as they moved. The loader was moving closer as he stopped at the corner of the next row and took another cautious glance back through the glass. The man had his back turned, which Joe took as the perfect opportunity to move. They both stood in sync and rounded the end of the row, ducking behind the other side of the stack of supplies. A few seconds later, Joe heard the sterilization chamber power up, signaling that the man was about to enter the warehouse.
While temporary danger had been averted, there was still the problem that the guy would likely find them eventually. And there were two other people in the room in lab coats. As soon as they were spotted, there would be no chance of escape. They had to move fast.
Helen stayed crouched low and shifted over to the next row of shipments. She read the label, but again was disappointed. She was beginning to wonder if they were going to find anything.
A buzzer made a sound from behind where Joe was crouching. It was followed by the click of the air lock door opening.
The guy in the suit was in the warehouse, and Joe and Helen were running out of time.
Chapter 38
The temperature inside the inflatable tent was remarkably warm considering that just outside it, snow was piling up by the minute. The mountain winds combined with the storm to cause the sides of the temporary shelter to shake violently, testing the strength of the anchors Will had driven into the ground.
Alexander Lindsey sat in a chair near one of the heaters, still wrapped up in his coat despite the warmth pouring out of the device next to his feet. His eyes poured over the pages of an old book he held delicately in his hands. The cover of it was brown leather. Its edges had been worn away through the years. The pages within were still in fairly good condition despite the apparent age of the book. The old man read the contents of the book slowly, not wanting to miss anything important.
The room had been peaceful, other than the wind outside causing the nylon to flap back and forth. Will was busy cleaning one of his handguns, while Kaba did the same on a makeshift table they’d put together out of a few plastic crates.
Out of the blue, the peace in the room was broken up by a short gust of cold air through the door as it followed the French archaeologist into the area. Snowflakes covered his hair and shoulders like a dramatic case of dandruff. He shook off the accumulation and stepped further into the dwelling.
Lindsey looked up from his study with disdain. “Is there something we can do for you?” he asked in an impatient tone.
DeGard faked gratitude and tilted his head one way in a mocking bow. “Thank you, Monsieur. But I am merely tired of the idle talk that is taking place in the other tent. I decided I would come over here to see what you three were doing. However, now that I am here, I can see it is no more interesting than the chit chat of those brutes you call your guards.”
“Well, I am so sorry to disappoint you,” Lindsey lied, overdoing the sarcasm by a metric ton.
DeGard didn’t seem to care. He reached down and pried up the leather book in his employer’s hands so the cover became visible. The Frenchman’s eyes narrowed as he tried to see what the man was reading. A curious expression crossed his face.
“What is this?” he asked after moment of awkward silence.
Lindsey eyed him suspiciously and pulled the book back a few inches. Will turned his attention to the conversation from across the room.
“I see no harm in telling you,” the old man said, finally. “You may as well know. It’s a diary. And it is very old.”
“Obviously it is old,” DeGard commented with a sneer. “There are not many books in existence from the period.”
Lindsey stared up at DeGard over the tops of the wireframe glasses perched on his splotchy nose. He could tell the Frenchman was waiting for further explanation, but he wanted to make his employee wait for just a few more seconds. If he happened to beg, that would be even better.
“Who did it belong to?” DeGard pressed.
Lindsey lowered the book to his lap and closed it gently. “Its original owner was a man by the name of Sir Francis Drake. Do you know that name?”
“Of course. Every historian knows Drake. He was one of the greatest pirates who ever lived. How did you obtain this diary?”
“Privateer,” Lindsey corrected.
“Whatever you want to call it, Monsieur. How did this book come into your possession?”
Lindsey shook off the desire to have Will shoot the man dead right there. “Sir Francis was not just a pirate. He was a world traveler and a very learned man. He did not spend all of his time at sea, though history teaches us that is where his expertise was most renowned.” He took a deep breath before starting again. “On one particular journey, he and his crew sailed the Mediterranean to the coast of the Turkey. After securing their vessel, the men ventured deep into Islamic lands, something few Christians had done since the time of The Crusades.”