Suddenly the floor below them started turning like a record on a player. Jack smiled as he knew exactly what he was seeing. The floor turned and they heard another motor kick in somewhere and then the floor started to separate and begin to corkscrew into the depths of building 114.
“All technical staff please initiate shielding procedures. Set condition Blue, nuclear safeguards are now in effect.”
“Oh,” Henri said as he and Jack exchanged worried looks. Jack stood at the glass and saw the spotlights as they illuminated the descending floor below the thick viewing window. As they became exposed, the walls were lined in white plastic much like the Event Group complex interior. Collins knew that plastic was the best electrical grounding you could get out of most building materials. The walls were also lined in blue-colored fluorescents, which illuminated as they became exposed. What worried him were the nuclear triangular warning symbols that lined the shaft as it went lower into the bowels of Brooklyn.
“My God,” Henri exclaimed when he saw what was buried underneath building 114.
Jack smiled for the first time in what seemed like days as he took in the scene. He removed the secured cell from his jacket and then punched in only one number.
“Boss, it looks like we may be in business. Start Dr. Morales and Europa on finding that second signal we can lock on to.” Jack shut the phone down and then looked at Henri.
Farbeaux watched as the world of tomorrow’s science came into its full glory. Glass, steel, and white ceramic glass gleamed in the controlled atmosphere of the laboratory. Row upon row of consoles sat silently waiting for orders that would send a traveler through to a past that had long vanished.
Then Collins and Farbeaux lost their approving smiles almost as quickly as they had appeared.
“Shit,” Jack mumbled as the lights came to full illumination below.
“May I suggest you inform Commander Ryan and Captain Mendenhall the situation has become much more serious?”
Collins reached for his cell phone as his eyes scanned the console stations below. Each station had a white lab — coated technician sitting at it. For his part Henri looked around and his weapon was no longer held without killing intent.
The gleaming white skeletons stared at consoles that had been the last thing any of the twenty-six technicians would ever see again.
Only the gleaming surfaces of the duplicate Wellsian Doorway that sat before them in all of its gleaming glory had been witness to their sudden and brutal execution.
Julien felt his bladder release in a flood of wetness that he could not hide. Thus far the five men had not laid a hand on him, but their mere presence made him wish he were safely in the company of Madam Mendelsohn. He twisted the plastic tie that bound his hands behind him and felt the slicing pain as the sharp edges cut into his wrists. The five brutes watching him had nothing to say to his protests over his treatment. He knew he should never have trusted the men Madam Mendelsohn had expunged from her business and her life.
He heard a door open behind him and the five men stepped away from the man in the wooden chair. He looked around but his view was limited. He saw beer kegs and other items associated with a drinking establishment. He twisted but could not see who entered the room. He heard a chair as it was moved behind him and wondered if he was about to receive a blind-sided blow he wouldn’t soon recover from. He was far more worried when he saw who had the chair.
The man known as Mr. Jones, or more precisely, the man Julien knew as Alexi Doshnikov, turned the old wooden chair backward and then sat down. He smiled as he looked at the frightened Julien and then placed his crossed arms over the back of the chair and smiled. The Russian reached out and patted his right leg as he calmly and slowly lit a large cigar.
“Why am I here? I told you everything you wanted to know.”
The small Russian kept his smile and then removed the cigar. He slowly blew smoke into the frightened man’s face. His smile grew and then he looked up and gestured for one of his henchmen and he was handed a bottle of spring water.
“You must try this water, it’s from the Ukraine. Artisan.” He clenched the cigar in his teeth and then uncapped the green bottle and held it to Julien’s lips and he drank. “Yes, that’s good stuff, isn’t it?” He pulled the bottle away, spilling a little on Julien’s shirt. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said as he handed the bottle back to the bodyguard. He used a silk handkerchief to wipe the water from the shirt. “I do have one more inquiry for you, my friend,” he said as he removed the kerchief and then tossed the just-lit cigar away. Doshnikov leaned over and pulled up the man’s left shirt sleeve. He saw the numbers on the forearm and smiled. He lowered the shirt sleeve and then fixed the former bodyguard with his most disarming smile.
“I don’t know anything else,” Julien said as he watched the Russian start to place the handkerchief back into his coat and then thought better of it and threw it on the floor in mock disgust.
“I can see by your numerical artwork on your arm that you have been through some hard times. I do not wish to add to those… distant memories.” He held a hand out and then one of his men placed a photo into it. The Russian held the picture up so Julien could see. “Which one of these five men can operate the machine you have dubbed the Wellsian Doorway?”
Julien looked at the picture and then at the Russian. “The chairman placed the responsibility for the doorway into the hands of that man.” He nodded at the photo, making the Russian lose patience.
“There are four men, which one?”
“The younger man, Jodle.”
“Aw, this makes sense. I find that man most disagreeable, but one who would protect a valuable asset with fevered purpose. I know the type. I have been surrounded by them my entire professional career.”
“Most do find him dissagreable,” Julien said with a faltering smile, hoping the comment would assuage the Russian. He felt better when the forced smile was returned, he just hoped it was more genuine than his own.
“Yes, you understand completely.” He turned to the five other men lining the basement of the Russian’s nightclub and handed the picture back. “You see, I told you these people are far more cooperative than any of you would believe.” He patted Julien’s leg once more and then stood up and twirled the chair around and moved it aside. He buttoned his sport coat and smiled down at Julien. “And you have actually witnessed this machine in working order?”
“Yes, it is an exact model of the first doorway. It works, I know.”
The Russian smiled wider as he rubbed at his gleaming black beard. He knew the large man was telling the truth because he had seen something few ever saw — he saw the tattoo. This time he patted the man on his shoulder as he made eye contact with one of his men.
“I admire you, my friend, to overcome so much and to be so forthcoming in regard to my inquiries. I salute your past, and I have planned for you a brighter and far less frightening future.” With one last smile the man known as Mr. Jones, aka Alexi Doshnikov, left the basement as he whistled an old Russian folk song.
Julien watched him go and was expecting his bonds to be cut. That was why he wasn’t expecting the send-off that he did finally receive. The plastic bag fell over his head and face and was pulled tight.
The last thing Julien ever saw was the light dimming as the world slipped away in the distorted and obscured view of the plastic bag.
At thirty-one years of age, one of the youngest survivors of a cursed event that claimed the lives of over six million members of his race, had finally succumbed to time and the new brutality of the modern world.