Max shook his head and looked once again at the window. He’d failed already. He wouldn’t get across this room nor would he survive a fall from the window. The security guards unclipped their batons and moved together towards Max, working as a team, surrounding him, cutting off his routes.
Something clicked in Max’s mind like the lights were switched off and he was facing blackness.
When he came to, his position had changed.
He was kneeling amidst a splattering of glass fragments on a layer of tarmac.
But he was outside.
What just happened?
The glass underfoot was from the broken window fifteen foot above, and from the broken window, he could see fresh guards appearing, ones that hadn’t been in the room a moment ago.
How much have I missed this time?
Don’t think, move.
Max moved.
He picked himself up and ran for the fence at the perimeter of the compound. It would take him a couple of minutes to get there and there would no doubt — Oh yes, here they come.
A door slammed open and a pack of security ran out into the open. Two of them had dogs, and they let them go, the canines snapping and barking in frustration at their target.
The guards ran, but they weren’t as fast as the dogs and Max allowed himself to focus on one immediate problem at a time. His lungs burned as they worked double time.
As his feet pounded the grass, he caught sight of the first dog approaching in his peripheral vision. A mean looking Alsatian. It kept pace, seeming to be looking for the best takedown option. The second dog was a fraction behind on his right.
Then they were on him. The first leapt and went for Max’s arm, dragging him around so he was suddenly facing the wrong direction. He yelled at them—the second jumped and wrestled with his other arm. Teeth bit into his flesh and he panicked. Max cried out, sure the guards would catch up in moments and would call the dogs off.
His arm felt hot. Both of them felt hot. A prickly feeling like getting your skin caught in the fading sun of a summer’s day. Something moved under his skin and then he was punching at the dogs without meaning to. His arms no longer under his control.
Stop it.
He wanted to yell but there was a snapping sound and the dogs suddenly let go, whimpering and backing off, skulking back to their masters with their tails low.
Without wanting to think about what had just happened, Max ran away from his pursuers once again.
The fence seemed so close now. If he could make it there, he reckoned he’d be able to hurl himself up and over and then he’d be out of the grounds and into the woods across the road. They wouldn’t be able to catch him and he could finally take a breather and work out where to head to.
But where the hell am I?
Max realised he didn’t even know what part of the country he was in. No one had ever told him where TALOS was located. No matter. At the first road sign, he’d get his bearings.
A familiar bolt of blue light tore past and struck the ground a metre to his right. Chancing a peek behind, he saw two of the guards had stopped running and were aiming the same weapons at him he’d seen MI18 use. The last time he’d seen one, it had been put to deadly effect, disintegrating a man. As another bolt narrowly missed, he focused entirely on the fence ahead. A hundred metres—he’d never make it.
Max ignored the pain in his chest.
He blinked and was suddenly slamming into the chain-link. It had happened again, a black out. A slip in time.
He leapt at the chain-link fence and grabbed hold—his fingers burning with the tight grip. More light beams tore past, but it didn’t matter. He would make it to the top. In seconds, he’d be as good as free.
Something punched his shoulder. He was winded and tried to yell but his mouth was locked, muscles taut.
There was surprisingly little pain, but that was scant consolation as he realised he’d lost his grip and was falling back onto the TALOS side of the fence.
Max’s body slammed into the ground and he tried to get to his feet but his coordination was all over the place. It was like waking drunk. His vision, blurred was like looking through ends of bottles, his limbs heavy.
And then he realised the thumping noise in his head was the running feet of the guards approaching. Guards with more guns.
Dreamily, he lifted his head to the nearest uniform and tried to yell out how pissed off he was. Demand a phone call. Just give me one... more... chance.
The guard’s gun raised and the second light beam struck Max unconscious.
33
3rd June 2013
The alarm cut out leaving them lost in silence.
Linwood stared at the man in the lift and resisted the instinctual urge to step back. Her heart froze, and she took a deep breath and let her mind assimilate the TALOS security uniform and the gun pointing unwaveringly at her.
“Are you really going to shoot me, Dean?” she said. “Because if you are, I hope you’ve got an awesome plan to get out of here before the security teams catch you.”
He waved a hand across his front. “I am security,” he said, grinning. “Besides, why would I want to kill you.” His smile cut through the air and made her want to never show her back to him again.
She remembered how easily her knife had slid into his side and was surprised at how well he seemed. “I did stab you.”
“It’s just your way of saying hello,” he said, lowering his weapon. “I wasn’t sure you’d be alone. Are you OK?”
She was confused. Why does he care? “How are you in that outfit?”
“I’ve been sent to help. You taught us, remember? Infiltration is second nature.” He made a half-hearted laugh then tucked the gun into his waistband.
Linwood’s mind raced.
“Pauline Harris only just made it.”
“I know, I checked.” He sounded despondent. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“You will answer for it. I can’t protect you.”
“Do I look like I need your protection?”
No, he didn’t. The man was as confident as she’d ever known him.
“Who’s sent you to help me?”
“A friend. He pays well. We should go before Winborn gets back.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she replied.
“You were about to go looking for Max Harding?”
She nodded.
“That alarm was him escaping his secure unit. We’ve not got a chance to get him out today, but I can get you out before it’s too late. Winborn is not himself.”
“What do you mean?”
Before he could answer, there were shouts from the grounds. Linwood hurried to the window and saw a man in a tunic running across the field towards the perimeter fence.
Dean stood beside her. “There he goes.”
“Wait, that’s Max?” It was hard to see his features from up here. She felt sick as she saw the dogs chasing after him. “We’ve got to help him.”
“It’s too late,” Dean said. Max had reached the fence, but the guards were using ion blasters. So, the MI18 strongroom information had definitely found its way here. The schematics for those weapons were secure to MI18 and as far as she was aware, they’d never been shared. If TALOS had cleared out the Tombs strongroom before Linwood’s search, that meant they’d taken the schematics and turned them into viable weapons in an incredibly short space of time.
A bolt of blue hit Max’s shoulder, and he fell from the fence to the floor. Max may be captured but at least he was still alive.
“He’s one of Winborn’s pet science projects,” Dean said, then he tapped her arm. “Come on, we need to get moving.”
Nodding, and with a weighted chest, she followed Dean into the lift. Her finger moved to the button for the ground floor but Dean intercepted her hand and pressed the button for lower level one instead.
“What are you doing?” Linwood asked as the lift doors closed.
“Max Harding isn�
�t TALOS’s only secret project.”
The lift descended rapidly and opened out onto the floor she’d been shown around earlier. There didn’t seem to be anyone around and Linwood suspected they’d been evacuated when the alarm had sounded.
Dean pulled out his own smartphone, Linwood recognised the design as the same Department 5 issue as her own, and he headed to the far side of the open research space.
Linwood kept up with him. “Where are we going?”
Dean had paused in front of a large layout of the facility attached to the wall. As he talked, he drew his fingers over the surface. “Most of their R&D is done on this level. Various levels of classification. Usual industry secrecy. But here,” he paused and circled his finger around a portion of the map, “is a section that doesn’t appear to be categorised at all. It’s only when you correlate the current layout to the original building plans for the institute that you notice the omission.” It was a section on the level below them. The lift hadn’t given them an option to go any lower.
“How did you get that information?”
“They left it on their systems.”
“And you just took it?”
He shrugged. “Their security isn’t as good as they’d like to think. Only took me five minutes to break through their firewall.”
He was giving her the firewall crap, but she knew it wasn’t as easy as that, it never was, but Linwood didn’t have time to go into specifics. But, before they moved another step, she wanted to make things clear. She held out her hand. “I want your weapon. If you’re serious about being here to help me, I’d like you to respect the chain of command.”
He turned to face her. At his full height, he stood almost a full foot above Linwood but rather than be intimidated by him, she shook her head and grinned. “You’ve some serious issues to work out, Dean. I think I’m best continuing without you.” And she moved to step around him. He put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back.
“Things have changed. You’re not in control and you need my help. I’m here to offer it. I’m not here to ask for your forgiveness. I’ve made my choices, and I will live by them.”
“So, can I have your gun?”
“Sod off,” he said and began walking down the corridor.
She sighed and hurried to join him. It had been worth a try. Leaving him to make her own way was one option but not something she gave any serious thought to. At the least, he offered a secondary target for the security teams and improved her chances of surviving.
The air was getting warmer, and she brushed away a line of sweat forming on her brow.
“What did you do to the guard whose uniform you took?”
Dean shrugged. “He’ll live.” He’d stopped at the doors with red markings.
“Winborn said this area isn’t in use,” she said.
“This is where we need to go.”
The doors were locked but Linwood swiped through her phone’s menu and placed it on the security pad. The pad illuminated and Dean pushed open the doors. There was a staircase on the other side.
“We need to hurry.” Dean held his gun before him and they both hared down the staircase. Adrenaline was keeping Linwood’s senses sharp and she could taste the chemicals in the air. She suspected this section had increased filtration systems.
From the corner of the stairwell, a gentle whirring identified a security camera, tracking them as they moved. Linwood tapped at her phone. “I’m going to turn these off. It’s all too easy for them to track us.” But her phone couldn’t find the security subroutines. She’d have to do something more heavy-handed.
She thumbed the device, and the lighting went off. “I’ve shut the power.” The stairwell stayed black for a few seconds before a terrifying screech sounded. A vibration began through the floor. The screech of machinery calmed and became a low droning noise that seemed to come from all directions.
Dean was scowling. “Not that smart. That was the backup generators kicking in.”
Emergency lighting strips activated, outlining the edge of the staircase.
“With the main power out, they’ll have a harder job tracking us.” But Linwood considered that perhaps she’d been hasty. Dean, in his security uniform, could have been a good enough distraction for anyone they stumbled across. At least, a long enough distraction to disable them. Now, she might as well have painted a big arrow over their heads saying ‘we’re here’.
They hurried down the staircase and stepped out into a gloomy corridor, lit only by the ruby emergency lighting overhead. The rumble from the generator was louder down here. A deeper vibration that bothered her fillings.
Dean stopped and checked his phone. “We’re close. The classified section is over this way, to the right.”
They turned a corner and before them, was a pair of double doors. Dean tried them but they were locked.
“Is this is?” she asked.
“They’re locked,” he replied.
“You didn’t expect them to be wide open did you?”
He shot her a dangerous look, and she stepped back. “With the power out...”
Yes, but the auxiliary generators would be keeping the major systems running. “At Thames House, the generators kick in every Friday morning for a test cycle. It starts at seven before most of the workers get in, but I’m there waiting for the damn noise to be over. But, Thames House has a lot of equipment, plenty of projects on the go.”
“Your point being?”
“The generators at Thames House can’t be that impressive. It’s an old building and investment always gets diverted elsewhere, and yet, on those tests, apart from the noise, you wouldn’t even know the power was running from generators.”
She gestured across the room. “The lighting has switched to low-power emergency strips. This is a top of the art research facility. Don’t you think they’d have top of the art power generators as well?”
Dean’s brow furrowed. He stood straight and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “You messed with the power system.”
“I only interrupted the main power supply. I did nothing with the generators. And we heard them working.”
“I don’t get your point.”
“Where’s all the power going?” He looked at her, and she looked at the locked doors. “They’re diverting all their energy into that room. Keeping that section going at the expense of everything else.”
34
3rd June 2013
Dean stepped back from the door. His face had turned pale.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not feeling so clever. The silver.” He was struggling to stay upright. Linwood put an arm out to support him but he shrugged off her help.
“We’re running out of time,” she said.
Linwood used her mobile to unlock the doors then held onto Dean’s arm as he pushed at the doors to open them. “Careful, we don’t know what Winborn’s up to.”
Dean nodded and entered, Linwood following close behind. She idly checked to see if there was anything she could barricade the door with, but there was nothing.
“We’ve got to hurry,” she said. “When they come, we’ve got nothing to stop them with.”
The section they found themselves in had painted concrete floor and white walls. Lighting had been installed haphazardly along the surfaces and the bulbs were burning brightly, so despite the emergency lighting outside, it was bright enough to see clearly in here. There were no windows, and no doors leading off into other areas. The only way to go was forward to a large workspace. The scale on Dean’s map had been accurate. It felt about four times the size of Winborn’s office. They walked along the corridor for about a dozen metres, pipes and power cables fed along the walls, leading them forward. And when the corridor reached its end, they found themselves in a double-height workspace.
“This is impressive,” Dean mumbled, heading to an object in the centre of the room. To Linwood, it resembled a casket for a very large man. About eight feet long, three fee
t wide and deep, it was made of a white composite material that reflected the light. A mass of cables reached into the casket and those, in turn, were connected to standalone control units—computers with screens built into the cabinets like old style arcade machines.
There was a dull throbbing noise that Linwood assumed was just the generators, but it sounded uncannily like a heartbeat.
“What’s in there?” She approached the casket cautiously, senses alert to the prospect of security coming through behind them, or was she just waiting for something to rise from the unit ahead of her?
Dean stepped around to the control units and flicked through displays. “It’s got high energy readings. Or that could just be because of the power they’re channelling into that container.”
He suddenly stopped and grabbed at his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and his mouth curled in agony as he fell to the floor, reaching but failing to find a surface to grab onto.
“The silver?” Linwood ran over, put her hands under his arms and tried to lift him back up, but Dean was heavy, too heavy for her, and she had to hold him upright whilst he regained his composure.
“It’s reacting to this place. There’s something in there that it doesn't like.”
Gritting his teeth, he dragged himself upright, but Linwood could tell that every movement was a struggle for him.
“Take it easy,” she said and found a chair for him to sit on. Time was running out. “We need to see what’s in that casket.” She moved to one of the consoles and worked through menus. “It’s all locked out.” But her mobile made short work of the passwords and the screen menus opened. She saw systems covering the power regulation for the casket, but it took a couple of minutes before she found anything useful. Logs. This was an ongoing research project and there were bound to be logs of scientist observations. Here was something.
Project Lantern.
Dean was breathing easier now, and the colour had returned to his face. He swivelled his chair over to the casket and was inspecting the cables running into the unit. Delicately, he ran his fingers along the top of the white surface.
The Faceless Stratagem (Tombs Book 2) Page 16