The Sacred Vault nwaec-6

by Andy McDermott

  He recognised the pattern of one of them.

  The Harbor Unit boat.

  It was over a mile away, and in no hurry to reach them. But it was definitely coming back upriver. He jumped back into the cabin. ‘We’ve got a problem!’

  ‘We’re not the only ones,’ said Rad, jabbing a finger at the laptop.

  On the screen, one of the guards had just stood.

  ‘Gonna do the rounds,’ said Jablonsky. ‘Don’t let Mario distract you from the monitors, huh?’

  Vernio waved a dismissive hand. ‘Nothing’s happening - he’s hardly moved.’

  Jablonsky glanced back at the screens. Eddie was still at the desk. He turned in the direction of the reading area . . . then changed his mind, deciding to check the other side of the archives first. He could look in on the Englishman at the end of his patrol.

  Which wouldn’t take long.

  14

  The object in the prototyper’s tank was now almost finished - and somewhat disturbing. Eddie could easily recognise it as Nina’s right hand, a small childhood scar visible at the base of her first finger . . . but it had no colour, a translucent, boneless mass like some primitive deep sea creature.

  The fingers were complete, loops and whorls discernible in the lifeless flesh. The laser head whirred back and forth over the thickest part of the hand, the ball of the thumb, as it added the final layers. Eight minutes had gone, and it still wasn’t finished. Karima had warned him that one of the guards was patrolling, but there was no point worrying - there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

  The scanner whined back to its rest position - and stopped. The prototyper bleeped three times. Done.

  Eddie gingerly touched its end product. The ‘hand’ was soft, rubbery, almost but not quite like flesh. It was also hot. He dipped the digital thermometer into the liquid. Over a hundred degrees Fahrenheit. He kept it in place, watching the display. The figure dropped by a tenth of a degree, then another.

  He carefully lifted the hand out of the tank. It flopped grotesquely as it emerged from the thick liquid. He used a wipe to clean off the excess goo, then checked the temperature again. 99.1°F. Almost down to human body temperature. He didn’t know how far above or below the norm the temperature sensor in the handprint scanner would accept, but doubted it was more than a few tenths of a degree.

  He typed in Nina’s security code. One, eight, six, zero, nine, two, four, six, zero, nine. The panel lit up: code accepted. Now the system was waiting to confirm her identity biometrically.

  98.8°F. Almost normal. He laid the hand palm-down on the panel. The line of light moved beneath it. He glanced round at the locker, waiting for the LED to turn from red to green.

  It didn’t.

  The monitor flashed up a message, polite but chilling: Unable to confirm. Please rescan.

  It hadn’t worked. The system had recognised the fake . . .

  No, Eddie realised, forcing himself to be calm. If it had detected trickery, it would have raised the alarm. It just hadn’t quite matched the silicone palmprint to the one in its memory.

  98.4°F. Below normal body temperature. And it would only keep falling.

  What was wrong? He lifted the hand from the scanner, torch beam darting over it as he searched for any flaws—

  There! Between the first and second fingers, bisecting the scar. A hairline split in the silicone. The two halves of the scar had slipped apart by a tiny amount . . . but enough for the computer to find something odd about the easily identifiable feature. He put the hand back on the scanner, nudging the gelatinous non-flesh into what he hoped was perfect alignment.

  The scanning beam moved again. Eddie looked round—

  A single point of green appeared amongst the grid of red lights. ‘Yes!’ he said, pumping a fist.

  ‘Eddie, did it work?’ Karima’s voice crackled in his ear.

  ‘Yeah, it’s open. What’s going on outside?’

  ‘That guard’s still on the far side of the archives, but he’s circling round - and the police are on their way back to us!’

  ‘I’ll have to get a shift on, then.’ He moved to the very edge of the desk, balancing on his toes - then let himself topple forward, one arm outstretched to arrest his fall on the lockers.

  He reached out with his other hand and opened the large door. The case containing the Codex was inside. He slid it out - then, swinging the heavy container as a counterweight, shoved himself back upright. For one horrible moment he wavered, rubber-shod toes clawing at the edge, before arching his back and standing tall.

  Eddie opened the case. A golden light filled the vault: his torch beam reflecting off the orichalcum cover of the Talonor Codex.

  He had it.

  Now . . . he had to get away with it.

  Jablonsky had completed his rounds of one side of the labyrinth. Humming to himself, he started towards the vault to begin his circuit of the other.

  Matt hurried back up to the deck. The police boat was about half a mile away - heading straight for him.

  The desk was clear, almost all Eddie’s equipment shoved into the overhead vent. Aside from the case containing the Codex, the only thing left was the screwdriver.

  He held it between his teeth as he hauled the hanging ventilator back up until it was at shoulder height. Supporting the weight of one end on his collarbone, he took the screwdriver in his free hand . . . and stabbed it into a fan.

  The blades instantly jammed. The motor protested, whining angrily. He pushed the insulated handle down harder. With an electrical crack, the motor burned out.

  He yanked out the screwdriver and did the same to another fan. This time, the motor sparked, an acrid burning smell hitting his nostrils as smoke coiled out of it.

  Jablonsky crossed the central aisle in front of the vault door, and was heading for the reading area when his walkie-talkie squawked. ‘Hey, Lou,’ said his partner. ‘The computer’s showing something wrong in the vault.’

  He went back to the curved steel door, looking down the main aisle to the security desk. ‘Has the alarm gone off?’

  ‘No, but there’s some problem with the ventilation system. I’ll open it up so you can check.’

  Jablonsky inserted his card and waited while Vernio went through the procedure to open the door. After a minute, the heavy door hummed open.

  He caught the sharp tang of smoke in the air as he entered. A crackle from above; he looked up at the grille to see a blue spark flicker behind it. ‘Yeah, something’s shorted out,’ he reported into his radio. ‘Better call it in.’

  Leaving the vault door open to disperse the smoke, he headed back to the main desk as Vernio picked up the phone to summon an engineer.

  Watching the laptop screen, Karima saw that the guard had his back to the vault - and the other was looking away as he made a phone call. ‘Eddie, now!’

  The locker swung open. Inside was the case containing the Talonor Codex - and Eddie Chase, squeezed into the space even more tightly than he had been in the duct.

  He had used the cutter, retrieved from the vent, to sabotage the lock mechanism inside the door. Now, he hurriedly unfolded himself, using the handles of the lockers above to climb out. Standing with one foot on the edge of the locker’s floor, he recovered the case and jumped across to the central desk.

  The guard was still walking away from him. He stretched out one leg to nudge the locker shut, then drew back - and made a flying leap through the open vault door.

  He cleared the pressure-sensitive floor by less than the length of a toe. Pain shot through his ankle at the awkward landing, but he held in a grunt and flung himself sideways behind the nearest bank of storage lockers.

  One rubber sole squeaked on the floor—

  Jablonsky looked round at the sound.

  Eddie heard his footsteps stop. He froze, pressed against the cabinets.

  The steps resumed . . . coming back.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Vernio called.

  ‘Thought I heard
something.’ Jablonsky was almost at the vault. Eddie braced himself - he was going to have to fight his way out after all . . .

  One of the damaged fans sparked again. Jablonsky stopped. Eddie could see his shadow. One more step and he would be found—

  The guard turned away, thinking the sound was just another spark. Eddie waited until he was clear, then quietly tiptoed back to the locker where he had stashed his clothes.

  The spotlight beam stabbed through the porthole. ‘Time’s up!’ the cop said through the loudhailer. ‘Get moving.’

  Matt ran up on deck. ‘We’re stowing our gear! Give us a minute.’

  ‘Okay, you got your minute - but if you aren’t moving by the end of it, you’re coming with us.’

  ‘We’re moving, we’re moving!’ Matt leapt back into the cabin. The live feeds showed Eddie hurrying back to the reading area, the Codex under one arm, a bundle of clothes in the other.

  ‘Eddie!’ Karima cried. ‘We’re out of time!’

  Eddie reached the booths. He had dumped the Codex’s case in the locker; now, he flung open the briefcase and dropped the gleaming artefact inside before pulling on his trousers over the filthy bodysuit.

  ‘Maintenance is on the way,’ said Vernio, putting down the phone.

  ‘I’ll go get Eddie.’ Jablonsky headed for the reading area.

  Eddie fumbled with his jumper. No time to clean the muck off his hands—

  ‘Come on, move it!’ growled the cop.

  Matt ran back on deck and took the controls. ‘We’re going! Jesus Christ, mate!’ He started the engine, the diesels clattering. ‘The UN’ll be narked about this!’

  He pushed the button to winch up the anchor, then opened the throttle. The boat moved off, turning downstream.

  In the cabin, the fibre-optic spool spun faster and faster as the line was drawn out. It caught against the porthole’s brass frame—

  And snapped.

  Vernio looked up sharply as the monitors flickered. Was the electrical problem spreading?

  His eyes went to the visitor—

  ‘Yo, Eddie.’

  ‘Yeah?’ said Eddie, dropping into the chair just before Jablonsky entered the reading area.

  ‘Afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,’ the guard said apologetically. ‘There’s an electrical problem, and we gotta clear the room while it’s being repaired. Safety rules.’

  ‘That’s okay, I’m finished anyway.’ He gathered the papers and put them into the files. ‘Health and safety, eh? Surprised they don’t make you wear a hard hat and a Day-Glo jacket.’

  Jablonsky grinned. ‘Seems it’s getting that way, sometimes. You need a hand?’

  ‘Nah, I’ve got it.’ Eddie stacked everything so he could carry it with one arm, pretending that the now-empty box file was still heavy, and picked up the briefcase. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  Karima came on deck, Rad following. She looked back at the police boat. ‘That was close.’

  ‘Did Eddie make it?’ Matt asked.

  ‘He’s on his way out.’

  ‘Thank Christ,’ said Matt, relieved. ‘Only problem now is: how the hell am I going to explain to the Oceanic Survey Organisation that their hundred thousand dollar ROV is stuck in the UN’s basement?’

  Jablonsky led Eddie back to the first locker and opened it. ‘There you go.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He put the box file inside, surreptitiously plucking the piece of cardboard from the lock. ‘Okay, all done.’

  He stood back as Jablonsky closed the locker, waiting for him to escort him out of the archives. But the guard hesitated.

  ‘What’s up?’ Eddie said, as casually as he could.

  ‘You got something on your hand.’

  He brought it up - and saw a black smear across the heel of his palm, dirt from inside the duct. ‘Huh,’ he said, wiping it on his thigh. ‘Must have smudged something.’ A smile, hopefully not looking as forced as it felt. ‘Nina’ll kill me if I’ve made a mess of some hundred-year-old document.’

  After a moment, the smile was returned. ‘I won’t say anything,’ Jablonsky joked. ‘Okay, I’ll see you out.’

  Eddie returned to the security station and signed out, then walked down the corridor. As soon as he was out of sight, he increased his pace towards the elevators.

  Back in the archive, Jablonsky returned to the vault. He looked up at the grille to see if the faulty ventilator was still sparking. It had stopped . . . but something wasn’t right. It took a moment for him to realise what: the grille wasn’t straight, its slats not parallel to the vent’s outer edges, as if it had been lifted through the hole and turned slightly to balance on its corners. What the hell?

  He was about to climb on the desk to inspect it close up when he spotted something else: a dirty mark, right on the desk’s edge. It looked like part of a footprint . . .

  Horrible realisation hit him. He jumped up on the desk and reached for the overhead vent. ‘Henri! I think—’

  The grille dropped at his touch. Jablonsky pulled back in shock as the ventilation unit plunged downwards, jolting to a stop when its knotted power cable snapped tight. The entire duct shook, more objects dropping out of the open vent. An empty plastic container, some kind of suction cup . . .

  Someone had been in the vault. And there was only one suspect.

  ‘Holy shit!’ he yelled. ‘Sound the alarm! Stop Chase from leaving the building!’

  Eddie was in the lobby. Briefcase in hand, he headed for the exit. The security guards on duty had their usual expressions of bored politeness; at this time of night the building was quiet. Only a few more yards . . .

  Someone’s walkie-talkie crackled, a frantic voice gabbling on the other end. A moment later, an alarm bell sounded.

  Eddie was already moving. He shoulder-barged the door open before the security locks could slam into place and emerged on United Nations Plaza, sprinting for First Avenue. Shouts rose behind him as guards rushed out of the Secretariat Building in pursuit.

  The entrances to United Nations Plaza were controlled by traffic barriers - and tall security gates. One was open, a car having just gone though. He ran for it as it closed. Another alarm sounded in the gatehouse. The men inside jumped to their feet.

  Eddie hurdled the traffic barrier - and practically dived through the outer gate as it clanged shut just behind him. Stumbling, he crossed First Avenue, cars hooting as he weaved between them and ran like hell for 44th Street.

  A look back. The UN guards were stuck behind their own barrier, waving furiously for someone in the gatehouse to reopen it. He reached the far sidewalk and darted round the corner, ahead seeing—

  The crowd. It was much bigger than before, the ranks of the paparazzi swollen by a legion of young women. Online rumours had spread that the object of their affection was in the hotel - and was neither alone nor with his girlfriend.

  Eddie also saw an NYPD car parked across the street, a cop leaning against it keeping an eye on events, but he ignored her and pushed through the crowd to the doors. The doorman recognised him from earlier, and let him inside.

  Zec was where he had left him - and a brief glance confirmed that Mac was too, standing as he saw Eddie. The Scotsman made his way to the doors, crossing in front of his friend - and passing him something while Zec’s view was momentarily blocked. Eddie slipped the object into his pocket and sat beside the mercenary as Mac left the hotel.

  ‘Do you have it?’ Zec asked.

  Eddie opened the case. The Talonor Codex gleamed inside. With a slightly disbelieving look, Zec raised the cover to confirm that it was genuine. Scribed metal sheets were revealed within.

  ‘What?’ said Eddie. ‘Don’t look so fucking shocked, I told you I’d get it. Now . . .’ He closed the case and lifted it on to his knees - then pulled Mac’s revolver from his pocket. ‘A trade’s a trade. You get this; I get Nina. Sound fair?’

  Zec didn’t appear surprised that Eddie had acquired a gun. ‘She is with Mr Khoil in his plane.’
/>   ‘And where’s his plane?’

  ‘A private airport, upstate.’

  ‘Then take me to it. We need to get moving - I attracted some attention at the UN. The quicker I’m out of here, the better.’

  ‘Give me the case,’ said Zec. Eddie stared at him coldly. ‘You still have the gun. But I take the case.’ After a moment, Eddie passed it to him. ‘Good. Now, let’s go.’

  They both stood. Eddie pocketed the gun and started towards the exit, Zec following - just as a man and a woman emerged from an elevator across the lobby. Seeing them through the glass doors, the crowd outside responded with excited cries and camera flashes.

  Grant Thorn was the man - and Macy Sharif was his companion, both of them dressed to party . . . with a slightly dishevelled look that suggested they had just come from a private event of their own. Another man hurriedly stood and joined them; a bodyguard, muscles bulging beneath his dark suit. He opened a door for the couple, holding up a hand to wave back Eddie and Zec. ‘Let ’em through, let ’em through, please.’ Annoyed, Zec tried to push past, but Eddie stopped in front of him.

  The star and the student stepped out on to the street to be greeted by strobes, shrieks and shouted questions from paparazzi and fans alike. ‘Grant, Grant!’ one photographer called. ‘Who’s the babe?’

  ‘Where’s Jessica?’ another demanded.

  ‘Which one?’ asked the snapper next to him.

  ‘Any of ’em!’ He fired his camera in the couple’s faces. Grant blinked, and Macy flinched back. ‘She know about this, huh?’

  ‘Grant, over here!’ someone else yelled. ‘It’s me, Sally! I was at the premiere of Nitrous, remember? You said you liked my hair!’ Hands were thrust over the shoulders of the front row, more cameraphones flashing. The paparazzi exchanged irritated looks at having their pitch invaded by amateurs and tried to shove them back, arousing shrill complaints from the crowd.