Zane was concerned that the others weren’t responding, but didn’t have time to worry about it. “Brett, it looks as though Marrese and VanGelder are headed underground. I'm at the elevator and am about to descend, so communication may not be an option going forward.”
“Copy that. If Skinner and the others come back up I’ll get word to them.”
As the conversation ended, Zane directed the beam of his flashlight toward the control panel on the right side of the door. He pressed the sole button located there, and immediately there was a loud hum as the car began its ascent from the bottom.
When Zane extinguished his light, he was immediately hit with a strong sense that something or someone was moving down the hallway toward his position. He lifted the flashlight and turned it on. The red-filtered beam was weak, and the only thing he could see was the faint haze of smoke. If someone or something was about to attack, he’d have precious little time to react.
Realizing the flashlight only made him a target, Zane turned it off and remained still, listening to the hum of the elevator car as it continued its slow ascent. As he waited, something else hit him, the smell of rotting flesh. The scent was putrid, almost like death itself. Zane slid his finger over the trigger of his gun and squinted, trying to make out movement in the darkness.
When the car finally arrived, the smell of rotting flesh was almost overwhelming, wrapping around the operative as though it were trying to hold him.
With a bump and a ding, the elevator door opened. Light spilled out of the car and into the hallway. Zane used the opportunity to look around one last time but saw nothing. Not caring to wait around, he stepped inside the cage-like car and pressed the Down button. As the door began to close, Zane heard the unmistakable thump of steps that were closing in fast.
Zane got down on one knee and pointed his pistol at the shrinking opening. Just as the doors were about to close, the pace of the steps increased, and a shadow spilled into the car.
The door clanged shut, followed by a loud crash on the outside, as though a great weight had been launched against the exterior. The impact rippled into the cage itself, causing it to shake back and forth. Zane toppled over and his gun clanged across the floor.
As the elevator began to descend, Zane looked up and saw something pressed against the window. It was a face, and it was one he knew he’d never forget.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
At first he thought it was a dream, one with sound but no picture. The first thing he heard was a distant popping, almost like fireworks at a waterfront celebration. But as the sound grew louder, Markus VanGelder realized it wasn’t pyrotechnics, but gunfire. Nor was it a dream; it was very much real.
Sliding back to consciousness, he realized that almost every part of his body hurt. His head was throbbing and tender, and his eyes were stinging even though they were closed. What had happened? He had a vague memory of an explosion and gunfire but nothing else. He didn’t know what had caused it or where it had come from, only that there had been a loud noise and then darkness.
As the stinging in his eyes faded, VanGelder grunted and lifted his head. He found it hard to see, but he wasn’t sure if that was simply because of all the smoke or because he had lost his glasses. He only saw that he was situated directly underneath the counter inside a cubicle. As he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his memory began to come back. He remembered that they had been gathered in that same space when the German had started the collider. The explosion had taken place at some point after that, but VanGelder couldn’t remember exactly when.
The gunfire continued around him and was so deafening that it hurt his ears. One group appeared to be firing from just over the wall to his left, while another group appeared to be returning fire from near the windows.
As his strength returned, the Dutch physicist pulled his legs underneath the desktop. He didn’t appear to be in the line of fire, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He could hear shots ripping through the skin of a cubicle not far away. Other rounds glanced off equipment, ricocheting in every direction.
VanGelder tried to locate his glasses. It was hard to make anything out in the darkness and through the thick smoke, but as he turned to the right, he did see something else: a human leg. The suit pants looked familiar. Mironov?
As he pondered that question, he saw a flashing light on the other side of the cubicle. The light would appear for a moment, twisting and turning, and then disappear. He squinted and soon realized he was looking at a screen saver on the monitor that the German had used to access the system.
What about the collider? Nobody had stopped the collider. While the tremors had calmed considerably, the floor was still vibrating beneath him.
Letting out a groan, VanGelder got up on all fours, determined to get to the computer and shut down the system. Most of the CERN keyboards and mice were wireless, so he just needed to get over there and grab them.
But did he have the strength? And would he be shot the minute he got up? Good questions, but he knew he had no choice. The collider was still operating at energy levels it likely couldn’t withstand, and if not shut down, the whole facility might be blown to pieces.
Clenching his teeth, VanGelder stood up and stumbled over to the other side of the cubicle. He pushed the chair out of the way and then felt around for the keyboard, which he found quickly. He used his right hand to search for the mouse. He patted everywhere but was coming up empty. Where was it? On a whim, he stuck his hand around the base of the monitor and finally found the hard plastic lump. He stuffed it into his pocket.
The monitor suddenly glowed with light as it moved it out of screen-saver mode. VanGelder heard a loud voice speaking in Russian across the room. He’d been spotted. Two shots rang out, with one clipping his arm and the other clanging off a nearby hard drive.
VanGelder reeled in pain from the gunshot. He realized how unrealistic all of those scenes from the movies were, with the protagonist simply grunting a little after being shot while at the same time continuing to fight on.
But it was not the time to concentrate on his pain. If he stayed exposed much longer, the next bullet would take him down. Summoning all his remaining strength, he took two steps and dove toward the place he’d been hiding before. In mid-flight he heard another shot ring out, and two seconds later he thought a hot poker had been plunged through his side and into his abdomen. He landed short of the desk and rolled underneath, still clutching the keyboard and mouse.
The pain in his midsection was almost unbearable. Reaching down, he found the place where the bullet had entered his body. As he probed the red hole in his shirt, a stream of crimson flowed out. He knew immediately what that meant. He knew his life would now be measured in minutes, not years.
Realizing he didn’t have much time, VanGelder pulled himself up into a sitting position. His head spinning due to the loss of blood, he placed the keyboard in his lap and the mouse by his side.
It was time to shut things down.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
“Brett, do you read?” Zane stood in the center of the elevator as it plunged down into the bowels of the earth. Nothing. The only response in his earbuds was crackling static.
His mind kept returning to what he had seen only moments before: the emotionless unblinking eyes that had focused on him with malevolent intent.
But was the image even real? What if it was a hallucination? The lingering effects of the tranquilizer, coupled with smoke inhalation and stress, could’ve easily combined to produce something that didn’t even exist.