She landed stomach-first on a large plastic pipe. It was too large to grasp but she managed to sling an arm around it, hanging by her armpit. The momentum sent her swinging under the pipe. She lost her grasp and found purchase on a thin metal frame. Both hands. She held firmly, swinging like a gymnast. Plaster flakes decorated the air around her like confetti.
‘Sophia!’ DC yelled from high above.
His voice echoed. She wanted to curse him for being so loud, then remembered she’d just caved in the center of the entire base and that had probably annoyed him more. But he didn’t call out again.
She looked up to see how far she’d fallen. Just above her, a giant slab of concrete was wedged in the chasm, dragging slowly on the edges. She recognized the two wings and the giant eye in the mosaic. The courtyard’s ceiling had fallen down the chasm after her. A few protrusions in the corners of the walls of the chasm had ground its descent to a halt. She saw powder fall from the corners and realized the halt would be a temporary one. If it came free, she would be crushed underneath.
She changed her grip on the metal frame so one hand was under and the other over. The frame started to bend. She looked around for something else. Below her was a dark chasm with bits of falling plaster and moss. She could hear chunks of heavy debris crashing below. Even if she avoided the mosaic slab, she would break her legs if she landed. She searched the walls. Plenty of things to grasp — broken outcrops of beams and pipes — but none of them anywhere near her.
She noticed a small metal rod protruding from a cavity in the wall beside her. It was damaged, curling downwards into the shape of a hook. The majority of the rod was firmly secured in concrete and would hold her weight.
She kept looking. There was nothing larger. The wall was sheer, flat, without texture. She was far between levels. Nothing but hard rock and concrete around her. The chasm — which might’ve originally served some sort of purpose — ran deep through the levels of the base. There was another level below her, exposed by the fallen debris. If she dropped straight down she’d fall through a big hole the debris had torn through it. But if she could swing away from the hole, she could land on firmer ground. Problem was, she had no means of doing so.
She reconsidered the hooked metal rod. She had the two carabiners attached to the carrying handle of her ruck, just behind her neck. The carrying handle was exceptionally strong. She’d attached the carabiners to it for good reason.
She released one hand from the metal frame. The frame groaned and she felt it drop her a few more inches. Slowly, not wanting to jerk or wrench the frame, she reached behind her head for the non-locking carabiner, the one not wrapped in paracord. Her elbow reached its limit. She was just able to grasp the carabiner. She breathed slowly, listened to the slab grind above her.
‘Come on,’ she whispered.
She pressed down with her thumb and disengaged the carabiner from the carrying handle. Holding it tightly, she returned her hand to the metal frame.
The small hooked rod was just out of reach. She had to get closer to the wall to reach it. She held the frame with both hands and shuffled carefully across to the wall. The slab above her growled and shifted some more. Powder sprinkled over her face, sticking to a layer of sweat. She reached over with one hand and hooked the carabiner onto the curled rod.
The carabiner clasped.
Engaged.
The slab crashed through.
She let go of the frame. Fell through the chasm.
The paracord unspooled from her ruck. She didn’t look up, but she could hear the slab roar from above. It was heavier than her, gained fast. She dropped towards the next level. She hoped the paracord had enough length.
The paracord drew taut.
Her descent stopped suddenly, her ruck pulling hard on her shoulders. She hung from the carabiner, dangling chest-down. Her armpits had kept her from slipping out of the ruck. The slab bore down on her.
Her sudden halt sent her into a fast swing under the falling slab. She saw the edge of the hole come rushing towards her. Firm ground. She reached out. The swing carried her through onto the debris-coated floor.
The slab fell behind her, through the chasm. She heard it grind, tip sideways and fall quicker. Her paracord drew taut. Hurled her across the floor. She slid back towards the chasm. The slab must’ve snagged the other carabiner. The speed and force of it pulling her was too great to wriggle out of the ruck’s shoulder straps. She was strapped in for the ride.
Her hand moved for the knife on her belt. The paracord tossed her onto one side, tearing at her jacket. She reached up and pulled the carabiner hard, lifting the paracord off the ground. She brought her knife under it and sliced.
The paracord frayed.
She kept working on it, her knife lacking a serrated edge. The edge of the chasm came up fast. She slashed the paracord again.
Half cut.
The edge of the hole came rushing to meet her. She slashed again.
The paracord severed.
She came to a sudden stop, dangling half over the edge. Knife in hand, she looked down into the darkness and saw the mosaic slab disappear. She tried to catch her breath. She heard the slab hit water.
Then she also heard debris shift behind her. She looked back to find a pistol aimed precisely at her head.
The operative wore a cherry-red leather jacket and a belt with enough room to slip a pistol down her jeans. Sophia recognized her as the operative from the museum who had been abducted by those masked Blue Berets. Denton had obviously gotten her back when he raided the Waldorf Astoria.
‘Hi,’ Sophia said. ‘You’re Czarina, right?’
Without a word, the operative tossed her a single ribbon of plasticuffs.
Sophia discarded her knife. ‘How romantic.’
Denton watched with interest as the operative instructed Sophia to kneel at the entrance of the debris-strewn laboratory.
‘I like what you’ve done with your face,’ Denton said. ‘It’s very … grim.’
Sophia had almost forgotten the half sugar skull the Mexican demon lady had painted on her face. Despite her unceremonious fall through the chasm, the face paint hadn’t rubbed off.
‘What took you so long?’ Denton said.
‘I stopped for a hot dog,’ Sophia said.
‘I wore my favorite suit,’ he said.
He seemed pleased to see her, and that bothered her. Perhaps it was because he was wearing a suit. Behind him, his small team of scientists stood by their equipment, waiting for his orders.
‘You’re really running low on friends these days,’ he said. ‘Would you like to borrow some of mine? Czarina perhaps?’ He gestured to the operative in the red jacket.
With her Cleopatra haircut and cherry-red lipstick, Czarina looked Sri Lankan. She watched Sophia with indifference, unconcerned that she was still wearing her ruck.
‘It’s a shame you didn’t bring that meteorite with you,’ Denton said. ‘Didn’t I say BYO on my invitation?’
Denton gave no order to Czarina to strip Sophia of her weapons. He was already inspecting her Glock. He weighed it in his hand, removed the magazine and cleared the chamber. She watched him catch the round and feed it back into the magazine. Then he handed both the Glock and the magazine to Czarina, who passed them over to a Blue Beret. The Blue Beret stored the magazine in a pouch on his vest and shoved the Glock into a larger pouch on his belt.
‘You know, since you won’t be needing it,’ Denton said.
She kept an eye on it. It was the only weapon in the room she could fire — everything else was fingerprint protected. Even the electroshock pistol Denton brandished. It was a slightly improved version of the more commonplace Taser electroshock pistol, except this one could retract its barbs from one target and engage a new target immediately.