Wood paneling continued down this wide hallway and he noticed several doors that blended into the wall’s moldings, each with a small round hole instead of a keyhole. These remained locked unlike the rest of the home and continued to follow the zig zagging hallway. Stratus finally came to a mesh gate that blocked a dark shaft leading down to the subfloors.
The remaining hallway continued, opening up into some sort of large, barren garage structure. Stratus returned to the gate and began to search for a way down the shaft, but there were no gears knobs or buttons. How would you get the elevator up and the gate open? It must be radio controlled.
The mansion was a dead empty shell now. Nothing was automated. He’d need to force his way in and hope to get the elevator to rise somehow; that or find another way down. With a small knife he was able to get the release mechanism of the gate to unlatch and slid it into a pocket into the wall.
A large dark opening now appeared in front of him. He stood at its edge looking down and contemplated a descent, one that didn’t involve his pulling off some kind of crazy acrobatics.
He shined his flashlight into the space up and down, looking for anything he could tap into and found nothing. He held the wall with one hand and leaned out into the opening looking directly to his left and right for any releases. He spotted the pump for the hydraulics of the elevator and quickly pulled himself away from the precipice. It’s worth a shot.
Stratus returned to the garage area to see if there was anything he could use to get the elevator to rise for him. He had noticed it was a pneumatic lift; the problem was that the motor needed to drive the piston was without power. To raise the elevator would require a significant power source, finding anything short of a generator, he’d be out of luck.
His search for discarded battery cells was unproductive. He had thought of ditching the idea of descending altogether when he noticed a nook filled with a large machine, an exhaust pipe sticking out of the top. He threw back the tarp draped over it. A cloud of dust wafted down and drifted onto his legs and feet; it was an old backup generator, and he had his doubts it would even work.
Crossing his fingers for luck he primed the generator and began to spin the crank, no gas and his plan was over. A couple of early sputters led to several hard coughs by the relic, then a deep grumbling roar as it began to run, black smoke billowing out the top. He exited the area before it burned his lungs with exhaust fumes and returned to the shaft hopeful.
Once again, he braced himself, leaned out over the dark opening, and reached for the manual switch. Dangling over the edge, he strained and stretched but was inches away from the bright red button. Still over the opening, he patted himself over with his free hand for something to use until he finally remembered the Mont Blanc pen in his shirt pocket.
He slid his favorite pen out carefully, giving him the ability to reach the button easily, he pressed it. He heard grumblings from below as the lift began to rise.
As Stratus started to pull himself back from the opening he bobbled his pen and caught it by his fingertips. With a sigh of relief, he slid his pen back into his pocket and pulled himself away from the edge, just in time before the lift filled the space. He pulled up the elevator’s gate, which rolled back into the space like a garage door.
Now inside, Stratus realized he hadn’t thought out how to make the lift lower him. Now that the elevator filled the shaft, there was no way to activate anything electrical above. Besides, by design the button he had pressed would only return the lift to its raised position. “Damn,” he said calmly. He concocted a crazy stunt in his mind, figuring in order to write this place off as a lead, he’d better go the distance.
He undid his belt, then lowered the elevator gate, latching it in place. He weaved the belt into the gate, placed his back against the links, and cinched both ends tightly in front of him. He was now strapped to the wall. He drew his pistol and pointed it at the ceiling in the upper corner where the hydraulic pump was located.
Looking down and away Stratus began firing. After his clip was expended, he glanced at the hole, reloaded, and began firing again. He hoped to hit his mark this time, he had only one more clip and if he was unable to rupture the line and cause loss of pressure, he would be trapped by the latched lift gate.
The noise drilled into his head, each shot amplified by the metal can he was in, his ears ringing till the rounds sounded like faint dings. Stratus’s expelled his last round and the slide popped open on his gun. Immediately his feet left the floor in free fall, and hydraulic fluid spewed down into the compartment from the hole his rounds had punched out in the ceiling.
Stratus had hoped for a slow descent from an oozing line, but his rounds had been more effective than he thought.
The crash was going to feel like his body had been hit by a ton of bricks. He braced for the jolt of impact, the crash coming sooner than expected.
The tin can slammed down forcefully, jerking his body downward, cinching the belt into his gut. The structure crumpled and bounced upon impact, causing his body to rise and his belt buckle to snap. The metal buckle pinged off the interior of the elevator, and his upward movement popped him a foot into the air before he landed on his feet. Stratus shook his head clear, brushed off his shirt, and walked into the vault-like space. The enormous door hung wide open, its goods scooped out hastily days before his arrival.
A cement hallway behind this massive door led into a huge fifty-yard-long space filled with wiring sticking out in one-yard increments. Rows of walkways were visible where server after server would have been laid out in an enormous grid; a staggering amount of storage and computing power had resided here.
It was like nothing he had seen. Huge cooling ducts of industrial proportions were located every 30 feet, which would have chilled the potentially hazardously high temperatures the room’s electronics would emit. He spotted something across the space on the floor but couldn’t make it out, so he walked the length of the space to investigate, his footsteps echoing in the hollow space.
To his surprise a human-like figure lay in the corner, its severed head lay a foot from its body, with cable jutting out from each orifice. The exposed inner workings revealed a metal skeleton structure which made up one of its hands. Stratus knew there was more than just animals of a destructive nature now; this cyborg in front of him led into a new realm, one of a sci-fi come to life. One that was irreversible.
This wasn’t what Mr. Cromwell had warned; he did suggest software from a distant future, but this was far beyond his boss’s knowledge. Or was it?
Stratus picked up the head of the deceased cyborg and tucked it under his shoulder like a football. He ascended a ramp and a five-step staircase that led to doors in the ceiling.
He pushed upward with his legs as leverage, his shoulder against the door. It swung open and clattered on the surface of a fern-covered forest floor. Storm cellar doors, you have got to be kidding? Oh well, the elevator ride was one I won’t soon forget.
He made his way back to his semi-crumpled, crappy rental car, shut the door and took out his cell and dialed. He started up the car and accelerated down the dirt road toward the highway. The decapitated head sat in the passenger seat facing forward, creepily staring blankly. His call rang five times until it was finally answered.
“Why are you contacting me already?! You have information for me, an address?”
Stratus paused before speaking. “I’d appreciate a little more gratitude. After all, I’m out doing your leg work. I don’t have information per se---”
“I said call when you had information! I have other matters to attend to.”
“As I was saying, no information per se but I do have something that may be useful. If you’re too busy, I could always have my friends at the Pentagon analyze what I have. I’m sure they’d love to see this technology and find out where it came from.”
“I think I’m the last person you should be threatening, and with the audio I have of you, those people at the Pentagon are not
very likely to be your friends after hearing it.”
“It wasn’t a threat, it was to grab your attention. Now that I have it, I have something for you, a certain man’s head, or should I say robot’s head. You didn’t tell me your motivation for finding Ms. Likvold, but it’s fairly clear now after seeing the body left at the Sullivan house. You have a rogue on your hands with technologies you’d wish to keep under wraps.”
“Why I wish to locate her isn’t any of your business. You need to stay focused and find her. It’s in your best interest that she’s found, and her plan stays on paper. If she’s allowed to implement her plan, our delicate arrangement will be your least concern.”
“With the body I saw, I have to admit I’m hesitant to help someone with the apparent aspirations you have. How do I know that she isn’t the one trying to keep this technology away from you?”
“Any and all technologies that she may have are mine, you need to worry about finding her or people you know will die. I will show you what she’s capable of when you find her, until then shut up, stop asking questions, and find her location.”
Silence indicated Mr. Halaby had ended the call. Stratus pulled the phone away from his ear and hesitated before dialing again. If there was anything that Stratus found more annoying than rude people or clueless college students, it was being hung up on in the middle of a conversation. Stratus tapped on the screen to dial a number and listened for someone to answer.
“Confirm identification please,” came the voice from the other end of the line.
“Agent Lattamus, ID 8473905, clearance level 10. Connect to agent Clark.”
“Level 10? That is related to our executive branch! You’ve called the---”
“Look I know who I’ve called, just connect the phone call please. I grow tired of going through this every time. Sorry, I’ve had quite a day.”
“Please wait.”
A simulated key sequence was heard over the line followed by a man’s voice.
“Why hello! What a surprise, you rarely dial in, especially to reach me! What does the man of legend want?
Stratus groaned at the man’s comments. “I’m not in the mood for sarcastic flattery Clark. I need you to run some information for me, and I need you to keep it discrete. It stays between us.”
“Gees, no sense of humor or tolerance as usual. I’d be more than happy to help, but you might have more success running it with your clearance level.”
“I just need whatever information you can get for me. I need you to run it. And what in the hell are you speaking about clearance levels? Yours is no different than mine?”
“Holy crap, they didn’t tell you anything yet!? He said you’d be coming in shortly to see the team. Does none of this sound familiar?”
“Obviously not, spit it out already! What is going on?”
“After your suspension and argument with Cromwell, things were tense. To our surprise this morning, it was announced that Cromwell was taking a leave of absence. Effective immediately you’re the lead of the GS team. You’re my boss!”
“Leave of absence … that’s imposs--- what in the hell? Who made the announcement? Who said I’d be in to see the team?”
“Well, Cromwell’s gone Stratus. You know better than anyone who he reports to. The President made the announcement via video conference five hours ago.”
CHAPTER 14
B right light invaded the dim room, warming only a narrow swatch, blinding the groggy awakened sleeper. Her pupils instantaneously constricted, causing her to jerk her head away in pain. Thick curtains held back most of the bright sunny day; the unfamiliar surroundings confused the now conscious Gretchen. As her eyes adjusted the room came into focus.
It was a fairly plain room, but the construction and furniture told her she was in a stately place. Gretchen sat up and stretched, then swung her legs off the side of the bed. Where in the hell am I?
As she scanned the room for clues, pain radiated out from her upper thigh now that she had sat up. Her leg was tender when she flexed; she stood up and shifted her weight to her other leg to relieve the ache. Gretchen pulled down the waist band of her pants to see what was causing her pain, revealing a large darkened bruise punctured in the center, a driblet of dried blood below it.
She never slept in her work clothes. What am I missing here? Gretchen’s job at her father’s metalwork shop hadn’t created any enemies and certainly none that would abduct her. Her father’s work was just art. She didn’t want to just jump to conclusions, so she decided to explore the home and get some answers. Nothing was clear about the last few days, but there had to be a logical explanation.
Gretchen limped around the room looking for clues, she saw her phone on the dresser, grabbed it, and carried it with her to the window. This time prepared for the bright sunshine, she threw back the curtains. Her view was from the second story which looked out on a wooded area, save for cleared trees, that afforded a driveway.
Still having no idea where she was or recollection of how she came to be in this place, she checked her phone to see if any conversations she had could clear things up. I hadn’t had too much wine last night, had I?
Her text conversations didn’t leave her any clues, only emails on orders that were already stacking up from yesterday. I missed a whole day? Still looking out the window at her surroundings, she heard a click from behind her, turning, Gretchen saw a man setting a tray of food on the desk in the room.
“Lunch ma’am, please do enjoy.”
He turned around and headed toward the door to leave. “Wait, sir. Sir, wait!” said Gretchen.
The man exited the room and held the door cracked open enough for him to peer inside.
“Yes, ma’am?
“Where in the hell am I? I mean I don’t remember coming here.”
“You’ll have to ask Mr. Sullivan. I can’t answer any questions for you.”
The door swung shut. “Please, where am I? Please, I just want to leave. I have a shop to run,” she yelled in a semi-desperate tone.
After checking if the door was locked she pounded her fist, frustrated, she laid her head against the door. A muted voice was heard from the other side of the door. It was different, one with a deeper tone.
“Gretchen, please be patient. I can’t tell you why you’re here, that’s for Mr. Sullivan to say. It should all be over soon, if all goes well.”
Hard footsteps could be heard walking away until finally there was only silence. Gretchen now knew her confusion wasn’t the result of a drunken stupor. Someone had deliberately taken her. The question was why.
. . . ..
Marty’s Metal Mayhem had remained quiet for the last few days, with the exception of an occasional disappointed shopper. Cupped hands and peering eyes had led to greasy windows as its patrons tried to look in for an explanation.
The small nuts, bolts, and springs lying on the floor didn’t attract anyone’s attention, preserving the scene of the crime. The shop’s clicks, ticks, tocks, and coo-coo’s continued on without an audience.
Until now. Scratching and scraping was suddenly heard coming from deep within the shop behind the show floor. It was the sound of metal against metal, muffled and hollow, echoing from within something. In the upper right-hand corner above the face of the grandfather clock Marty had crafted, was inlaid an owl. Its figure, like many features on the clock was embossed, standing out from the surface.
The scratches became less frantic, replaced with long screeching sounds scraping along the inside of the clock. The eyelids of the owl closed shut then opened again, fully flexing as if waking from a long nap.
The eyeballs began to wiggle and turn until they finally disappeared, followed by a bang inside the clock face. Whatever was inside had freed itself violently. Squeaky mutterings echoed within, and finally a series of strange noises, like that of a lock being spun back and forth inside.
The spinning noises stopped, followed by a metallic clang, and the round clock face unhinged smoothly,
slowly revealing the face of a small creature. Its face was almond in shape with accordion-like folds along its nostrils, rounded ears, and long slender hands. Its eyes adjusted once again to the room, blinking and calibrating.
The creature opened its mouth wide, revealing long four-inch incisors as it belted a high pitch howl loud enough to blot out the noise from the clocks in the shop, turning a few passerby’s heads in alarm.
Its head darted side to side around the room, its eyes scanning, making it aware of its surroundings. It slinked out from the circular clock face, climbing straight down the tall vertical structure, its hind legs broke the lip of the opening and a long sturdy tail held on tight.
The creature’s tail was long, allowing it to lower itself nearly to the ground, hopping the last six inches to the floor. The metallic monkey stood on all fours, its tail curled up behind its head, like a scorpion ready to strike. Its appearance was deceptive, small in size, seemingly harmless, yet its features intimidating.
The creature quickly and quietly exited the rear of the store and scampered away unnoticed. It had been programmed to avoid all contact with humans, unless they conflicted with the safety of the target object. With precision it made its way down the alleyway awaiting nightfall for more cover.
CHAPTER 15
W hile undoubtedly relieved to be back home, Matthew knew Victor Renique wasn’t all too excited about his first few days back. Those day would be filled with physic evaluations, stress testing, memory retention, hypnosis, and his favorite, physical fitness. While his absence was relatively short, they wanted to be sure that in every way, shape, and form he was fit for duty.
However, the medical department was content after running just basic psychological testing and pushed for his release to active duty. In their defense, Victor had passed the tests with flying colors and didn’t register any signs he was a risk. Matthew wasn’t about to allow that to happen though. He wanted him tested every way possible. He made it clear that despite their thumbs up, Victor wasn’t welcome back into his unit until he was satisfied.
The Second Rising Page 7