I waited a few minutes, and every once in a while a check-in was relayed back and forth. Headlights came up the road, and this information was immediately relayed to someone, the guard focused on the vehicle as it pulled up to the gate.
It was a semi with a flatbed full of steel; the driver said, “Hey Tom, here to drop off for Z-249. Gotta get these papers signed this time also.”
“Sure, no problem,” the guard said as he reached for his radio. “This is Thompson at the gate; I’ve got steel delivery for Z-249, clearing for entry.”
“Affirmative, Thompson. Direct him to bay 12.”
“Roger that. Out.”
“Alright head to bay 12; you know where to go, take care.”
I had slowly worked my way along the other side of the truck, where the gate would open first. The trucker tipped his hat, and the gate started rolling back as the guard engaged the switch inside. I moved inside the compound and off the road, resisting the urge to hurry. There were a lot of construction supplies, but only one building that could be considered the center of the project at about 100 yards away.
Coming up on the building, it was obviously an older concrete and metal frame, looking mostly unfinished as it had settled through more than a few decades of disuse. Various doorways were open to the elements. There were some lights inside and floodlights outside, and I could see a guard at one corner and a few more on the roof. I wasn’t sure if so many guards were normal or simply the influence of the military proposal I had seen. I had no weapons, but if I needed to “borrow” one, an unconscious guard would be my choice. Considering the guard at the front gate was checking in regularly, I didn’t want to chance an unresponsive guard unless absolutely necessary. If that meant the proposal had been accepted, then this was quickly becoming a high-value target. There’s a fine line between abundant security to shout out, “Hey this is important” and having just enough to keep it secure without drawing unwanted attention.
I stepped closer to one of the lit doorways, moving slowly due to the amount of noisy gravel in the area and to keep my light headache at bay. Inside the tall ceiling stretched up two floors like a big warehouse. In the center area of the building sat a few rugged-looking construction trailers, both with their air conditioning units chugging along. The place was crazy dusty, and the floor had not been cleaned for quite some time. I knew I was leaving boot prints, but so was everyone else. The room featured old lighting units across the ceiling, adding a dreary glow to the otherwise darkened warehouse.
Neither trailer had a window that I could see, but when I heard a few voices coming from one of them, I crept to the doorway to listen in on the conversation. Two voices. One, to my surprise, was most certainly Matroni: “…and since Foulker is an idiot, then your results will be much better with me. I have skilled workers who can work faster and keep their mouths shut.”
The unknown person was male and sounded annoyed. “As you’ve said, and I’m inclined to agree since you not only know the details of construction he was supposed to be in charge of, but the union foreman relayed the message that all construction would halt until he was told otherwise. I imagine it was your influence?”
Matroni replied, “It was.”
“And your price?”
I could almost hear Matroni counting the money already. “I have everything written here. I know you have a large foundation to dig, tapping into the city water, sewage, and electrical grid. My guys are quality and can get this done three months ahead of schedule. But we’ll need plans for the rest of the building beyond the initial foundation if you want numbers for what it would take to complete.”
The man scoffed. “This is your price? An extra 25% over Foulker? Not that I have much of a choice; that man is obviously incompetent and you can influence the local workers. But you’ll only be doing some initial work for the building’s foundation. Everything else will be handled by the military. I can’t discuss that further, and those decisions aren’t mine to make. I can accept those terms.”
Matroni, sounding cool and calm, said, “Accepted. We can negotiate for the rest when the time comes.”
“So it’s settled. Have workers here by morning as we are behind schedule already.”
The door opened unexpectedly, and though I tried to move back, it hit me and knocked me backward with a thud. Matroni stood in the doorway confused by the sound. The influx of adrenaline at being caught surged, and my head hurt as a result.
“What is it?” the other man asked.
“It sounded and felt like the door hit someone as I opened it, but no one was there.”
“They were listening?”
“If they were, they’re gone now” Matroni answered.
The other man in the trailer, whom I couldn’t see, spoke into a radio: “All units not on patrol, an intruder is inside the warehouse. Converge immediately to my position, and block all exits!”
He received a few acknowledgments back; things didn’t look good. I heard a dog bark in the distance. Dogs weren’t a bonus and had been a huge issue when raiding the drug and gang locations. They sensed me if I were close enough, but they didn’t know what to do and generally alerted people to a problem. I’d have to avoid them, if possible, but either way, I needed to get out of here.
Crap. You know that part where I mentioned I wasn’t completely stupid? I may have been wrong. I definitely couldn’t run to any exits without kicking up dust, making noise, and alerting them to my position. I slowly backed away from the trailers and watched mercenaries file inside from the various exits. I could see nearly all of them pull something down over their faces, and then the lights went out. Double crap. Night-imaging gear, and I had no idea what that would mean for me.
I was starting to panic. My eyes were trying to adjust to the sudden darkness, and I wasn’t sure how visible I was to their gear. I took a deep breath and slowly let it out, while trying to find a solution. The entire room began to lighten, and I thought the lights were slowly coming back on. However, I soon realized that my eyes were pulling in more and more light and were grabbing hold of anything in the visible spectrum to guide my sight, especially since the invisible tissue around my head wasn’t stopping all that light from reaching my eyes in the first place. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than nothing. I could see a row of Boy Scouts playing dress up in their camouflage pajamas, forming a basic semicircle right in front of me; behind me a few guarded the doorways on the other side of the room. I could stand here and eventually be walked into, or I could slowly start moving and hope I got away.
I took a few steps back toward the lightly guarded doorways, hoping they weren’t traps. Probably my best exit strategy, but also probably intended to flush me out. Since they had night-vision gear, they were prepared for anything and more trained than I’d thought. Almost anything. I took a few more steps back to aim between the large doorways along the outer wall. It wasn’t an exit and may put my back against the wall, but if I didn’t go for an obvious exit, it might throw them off.
The line of men was still converging on the trailer area, while maintaining a line across most of the warehouse floor. As I slowly moved closer to one of the doorways, I could see the mercenary closest to me with a unit over his head, which helped in the dark but also sacrificed peripheral vision. He kept moving his head side to side, yet continued to pass over me without reaction. So far, so good!
I inched closer to him and was now only about five yards away. How could he not see me? I was sweating profusely, nervous, and still a bit panicky, yet either this guy was the greatest fake out ever or he honestly couldn’t see me. I slowly dropped to pick up a few pieces of debris about the size of a quarter to use for distraction. I stood up too quickly and got a little dizzy. It would definitely not help to pass out and become visible in front of twenty or so angry mercenaries. At that point, he seemed to turn and look directly at me. I saw his head move forward a bit and neck tense as if he were struggling to see something more clearly.
I fr
oze and nearly stopped breathing. After a few seconds, he looked away and continued pivoting his head. The line of thugs was getting closer, and I noticed they had passed the trailers. There was no break in the line for me to slip through, and now that I was closer to this doorway, its gap wasn’t large enough to squeeze through without bumping into a guard. I really hoped my movement wouldn’t be rewarded by a bullet. I pulled back my arm a little and waited until the closest man looked away, then I tossed one of the small chunks of junk up and over the line of mercenaries. It landed along the left flank, and three of them immediately whirled around.
“Possible contact!” one yelled as they all dropped to a knee, looking for the target.
I was backed up against the wall when one looked up, and they started all checking the ceiling. I couldn’t climb up any of the supports because the girders offered nothing but a little sightseeing, but you gotta check everything. The added stress wasn’t helping my headache either.
I was about twenty yards from the trailers now, so I tossed another object their direction. I heard a nice metal thump as it bounced off one of the trailers, and they all moved toward the sound. I almost laughed, thinking they might fire and shoot right through the wall and kill Matroni. I took my last chunk of cement and tossed it directly at the wall beside me, which finally got a response I could work with. The guard nearest me swiveled toward the sound and took a few steps toward it. I barely slid past him through the doorway before I heard him turn back to cover his position again. More mercenaries were outside, but I easily walked between them undetected and tried to rush toward the perimeter.
My headache had gotten past the point of no return, because even standing still would not lessen it. I forced myself to painstakingly shuffle to the guard shack for my escape. Better to live to fight another day, and my stomach seemed to be agreeing. My head was spinning, stomach was growling, and I finally stopped to keep from falling down. It was at that point when I realized my stomach wasn’t growling, it was a German shepherd that lunged at me as I passed out.
◆◆◆
I am in incredible pain.
The side of my head is burning.
There is fire everywhere, echoing the pain in my scalp.
Through the pain I could see a label burning on a cardboard box. I think perhaps I’ve seen it before, but all I can feel is pain.
I can hear someone screaming and realize it is me.
The fire, the label, everything around me starts twisting into unnatural reddish colors and push away from my vision like a drop of soap in oily water.
It all crashes back together, except I am lying on a different floor, in a different place, and a terrible sound grows louder. I see a box with lights on some sort of track fly past me. A subway, yes. But how did I get here? It all fades to black.
◆◆◆
I am suddenly slammed into a cold consciousness, gasping for breath as water was poured over my face. I started coughing and tried to lean over, but found myself immobilized in a chair; a scarred old man looked at me with a smirk as he tossed a now-empty bucket off to the side.
My headache was partially gone, but my left arm felt like dynamite had exploded inside it, and the number of gashes looked like a perfect match for a German shepherd’s teeth marks.
And there was Matroni leaning against a table with a look of satisfaction. Crap.
Chapter 14
I assumed they had a good reason for not bandaging my arm. Oh, right, because I’m going to die. Okay, well…maybe they’d let me go if I asked nicely… I started adjusting my rear to allow for a horde of flying monkeys to exit, since that had about the same probability as me being freed from these restraints. No such luck.
I was in one of the trailers with a mess with blueprints, maps, and construction-related papers all shoved off to one side. I was on the other side, securely tied to a metal chair by thick rope. I may have been able to hop up a tiny bit, but that would be the limit. Lingering dust floated around the few light bulbs in the room.
I knew that no matter how I answered his questions, I would be beaten, tortured, and possibly killed. Might as well save my energy as much as possible. Matroni leaned close and hissed, “Do you know what it’s like to suffocate in cement?”
Well, I wasn’t expecting that question. Didn’t he want to know who I really am? Or how I could pull off my inexplicable feats? Hopefully, that meant I hadn’t become visible while they were watching. A fist exploded against the side of my jaw and knocked the chair onto two legs. I guess I took too long to answer and spent several long seconds watching the room spin out of focus, trying to catch my breath.
He grabbed my chin and turned my head back to face him. “Who are you?”
“I think you know.”
A fist slammed into my stomach, and my lungs expelled every possible ounce of breath I had. My chest was in spasms as I tried to suck in air, but nothing worked right. My neck felt like a turtle stretching out of a shell. After almost thirty seconds and several deep breaths, the tingling and burning in my chest finally subsided. Matroni had some muscle…and anger issues.
“You obviously have the tools to infiltrate this place, although I have no idea how you stashed them so quickly and nearly got out of here. Do you have other copies of everything? Answer me!”
I showed vengeance to those who crossed me, and I relished the moment I’d venture in this direction with Matroni. I looked him in the eye. “I completed the job and gave you everything that was in the safe at the club. I didn’t make copies.”
The back of Pete’s fist slammed into the side of my head, knocking over the chair, and I slipped into unconsciousness as my head left an imprint against the trailer wall. Was it something I’d said?
Slowly opening my eyes, they revealed a trailer, but not the same one I’d been pummeled in; this one had been completely cleared out. Sitting up, I managed to look at the floor and see a bottle of water next to the cot I was on. As I reached for it, I noticed my arm wrapped in gauze over the dog-bite wounds. It didn’t hurt as much, so I hoped they had given some painkillers, but why help a prisoner? The bed was a thick frame bolted to the floor, unmovable by me, with my wrist handcuffed to one of the supports. Crap.
I fumbled with the cap on the water and sipped slowly at first; when I was able to keep it down, I greedily drank the rest. I leaned back against the wall, awkwardly, with my one wrist still chained to the cot, but I was alone for the next few hours.
The door opened and Matroni stepped into the trailer, followed by a graying, but red-haired and wild-looking tech in a lab coat. The man carried some sort of tablet, fiddling with it. Double crap.
Matroni looked at me. “Doctor Malcolm Bryson here will find out what I want to know with an interesting invention of his.”
I kept a blank look on my face. “Ooooh. Computer tablets. They are scary.”
Matroni wasn’t amused and started to come at me, but Dr. Bryson put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I can take it from here, Pete.” I recognized his voice as the other one in the trailer earlier.
“Fine, call me when he starts talking—or if the screaming would be entertaining.”
He opened the door and stepped out, leaving me to stare at this guest. Should I feel honored? Afraid? He stood about 5’11” and wore a white lab coat on over blue jeans and white canvas shoes. His hair was bright red in the places gray had not touched, and even though it was short, it stuck in all different directions. Apparently, Bryson didn’t care that he looked more like a troll than a doctor.
“I’ve spent years researching and programming nanobot technology, robotics, and swarm intelligence. I can use a decentralized group of nanobots, which can only hold a small amount of information in each single bot, and spread a larger set of programming across them as a whole. They grow and communicate over a localized radio network of sorts, and work toward a common goal as a group within the body—much like how a hive operates.”
I sort of followed his logic. The topic seeme
d somewhat familiar, but I wasn’t sure why or how.
“I see you have some understanding at least,” he continued.
“I ah…on a basic level, I suppose. What is your point?”
“I’ve been working to rebuild some research that was lost to me, research that pushed the boundaries. For instance, if I injected you with some of these nanobots, I could easily see your heart rate and tell whether or not you were lying. I could rupture blood vessels, tear nerves, cause a heart attack, or do any number of things. You’d eventually tell me anything I asked, and I would know if you were lying just to make it stop.”
Triple crap. I felt myself go cold at the thought. Being attacked or beaten was one thing, but to be completely at the mercy of something unknown that could rip you apart from the inside? Well, that was another story.
“There’s no way I’ll let you near me; you aren’t using me as one of your test subjects!”
“Oh, but it is much too late. You already drank the water.”
Quadruple crap! How could I know whether he was telling the truth, aside from having something burst from my chest like in Alien?
He stared at me with beady, uncaring eyes devoid of any respect for life. I was a lab rat, nothing more. I felt my heart rate climb and my hands sweat. “Don’t worry; the nanobots are only in monitoring mode right now. I can see that your heart rate has spiked, breathing is becoming strained as some adrenaline levels are increasing, and you are quite nervous.”
I couldn’t know if he was being honest or not because, in this situation, I was probably exhibiting those signs anyway. He looked back at the screen and fiddled with a setting. “It takes time for them to move through the body; currently, they’re heading toward the brain. It’s a remarkable instrument, and when your blood deposits more of them there, I’ll have some fun.”
Invisible Threads Page 8