I peered closely at the screen. The gigantic space was marked Office. I didn’t see an elevator, but the room was large enough to fit one. “Simona’s office?”
She nodded.
“Perfect. Let’s go.” I turned to leave.
“Attention, everyone.” A commanding voice, one I hadn’t heard before, rang out. “I need you here right now.”
People rushed toward the voice. Following their movements, I saw Jeremy Pascal. He was short and husky. His hair was tied into a ponytail. Old cuts, healed and recut again, lined his body.
Anger ripped through me. As the head of Simona’s security forces, he was at least partly responsible for countless deaths, including those of Lila, Milt, and Akolo. Their blood was on his hands.
“Hey.” Pascal’s voice dripped with venom. “You guys, the ones in Section A. Get over here or I’ll put you out with the Grueler.”
I clenched my jaw. Shared a glance with Beverly. “We’ll be there in a minute,” I called out.
“Now.”
“We’re just finishing something.”
A short pause followed. “Who the hell are you?”
I reached for my pistol. Took a deep breath.
Let’s do this.
I whirled around. Workers surrounded Pascal, so I aimed my gun above their heads. “The name is Cy Reed.” My jaw hardened. “And I’m about to ruin your day.”
Chapter 67
Still aiming high, I squeezed the trigger. My pistol jerked. A loud bang sounded out. A bullet shot into the air and pinged off the ceiling.
Havoc erupted. Shouting and screaming, people ran for their lives. Many headed deeper into the hangar, taking cover behind the drones. Others aimed for the doors, pushing each other out of the way and creating a small bottleneck.
Peering into the crowd, I saw Pascal. He was pointing and shouting orders to his guards.
Waving at the others, I slipped to the back of the hangar and led the others to the bottleneck. Without hesitating, I slammed into it.
Elbows struck my side. Boots kicked my legs. Waving hands struck my head.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Pascal and his men. They were aiming guns, but couldn’t get a clear shot amidst the chaos.
I fought my way into the doorframe and made room for the others. They slipped by me and then we sprinted down a hallway. The concrete walls, painted metallic silver, looked sleek. They reminded me of a minimalist 1960s version of the future, one filled with automated kitchen devices, pointy spaceships, and flying cars.
Other employees, many dressed in identical jumpsuits, ran alongside us. Their faces were tight. Their eyes were cold. They didn’t give any of us — even me — a second look.
Bullets chewed the air. More screams sounded out. Carrie took the lead and swerved into a corridor.
The gunshots turned louder, more frantic. People threw themselves to the floor. Covered their heads with their hands.
I dove into the corridor. My palms struck smooth concrete. Tucking my head, I rolled and regained my footing.
The gunfire ceased. Footsteps pounded behind us. Other footsteps, a bit softer, slapped the floor somewhere ahead of us. Shouts — full of anger, confusion, and pain — sounded out from all directions.
I recalled the floor plans, the rooms and the access points. Looking ahead, I spotted a door. I was almost positive it led to the stairwell.
Faster. You’ve got to go faster.
Abruptly, the door opened wide. A man, dressed in a guard uniform, emerged from the doorway. He gave me a confused look. “What the —?”
My fist slammed into his jaw. He crumpled to the ground.
I jumped over him and grabbed hold of the door. “In here,” I said.
Guards rushed into the corridor. Rifles lifted in our direction.
Carrie ran into the stairwell. While the others followed her, I twisted around and fired a few shots. As the guards took cover, I hustled into the stairwell and shut the door. Exhaling, I studied the metal surface. But I didn’t see a lock.
I sprinted up the staircase. Beverly edged the door open and we peered outside. The second floor was brightly lit and surprisingly empty.
I listened for the first floor door to open wide, for footsteps to pound up the stairs. But all I heard was silence.
Beverly cleared her throat. “Where to?”
“Simona’s office,” I said. “We’ll use her elevator to access the basement. Then we’ll disable the elevator.”
“That’s not much of a plan.”
“It’s better than staying here.”
“Good point.”
Carrie darted forward. As she led us down a hallway, my mind worked in overdrive. With any luck, we’d find Simona in her office. We could capture her, use her for leverage. If not, we’d go straight to the elevator. I was fairly certain the basement connected to the old tunnel system. If so, we just needed to find Rizzalyn and the reliquary and then head for Pagan Bay.
We ran into a reception area. It was empty. Taking a deep breath, Carrie walked to a closed door. She placed her ear against the metal surface. Then she opened the door.
“It’s clear,” she whispered.
I took a quick glimpse down the hallway, making sure no one was behind us. Then I joined the others in Simona’s office. Graham closed the door and engaged the lock.
Frosted glass walls, which overlooked the hangar portion of the research station, allowed a bit of light into the office. Squinting, I saw a couple of leather-backed steel chairs in front of a long aluminum desk. Another chair, outfitted with padded leather, sat behind the desk.
Graham hurried to the elevator and hit the call button. A few moments passed. Then the doors opened and we stepped into the car. Reaching out, he pressed the B button.
Nothing happened.
“What’s that?” Benigno pointed at a lower panel.
“It’s a keyhole.” Graham frowned. “And an electronic keypad.”
“Can you bypass it?” Beverly asked.
“Give me a minute.” Using a small knife, he pried the keypad open. Then he began to fiddle with some wires.
“Cy.” A voice, strong and masculine, rumbled from the hallway. “Get out here!”
Immediately, I recognized the speaker.
Pascal.
I stepped out of the elevator.
“Where are you going?” Graham asked.
“You need time, right?” I took a deep breath. “Well, I’m going to buy you some.”
Chapter 68
Deep in thought, Simona Wolcott paced back and forth in front of the various glass enclosures. Her great plan, her decade-long effort to save the planet, was nearing completion. The prospect absolutely thrilled her.
At the same time, she was apprehensive, maybe even nervous. She prided herself on limiting chaos, on modeling away risks and uncertainties. But life had a funny way of punishing the well prepared.
First, that journalist, Carrie Cooper, had infiltrated Eco-Trek. The Pagan Nation people had showed up unannounced. The Separative had lost faith and sent that so-called modeling expert, Alan Briggs, to pester her. The Nautilus had crashed during its kill run. And then there was that strange helicopter that had tried to land on Pagan.
Of course, she’d dealt with matters effectively and decisively. Carrie Cooper was either dead or would be soon. The Pagan Nation settlers had proven to be valuable experimental subjects. Briggs was dead. The helicopter’s passengers were likely dead as well, victims of either the crash or the ensuing aerosol attack.
Even so, she felt the noose tightening around her neck. Others would come to Pagan, looking for lost loved ones. The Separative would grow even more suspicious when Briggs didn’t return his calls. They’d send other people, maybe even soldiers, to take charge of the research station.