Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection

by Kerry Adrienne

  He made it his first stop. Stealing what he needed from the pizza restaurant was like taking candy from babes.

  Fifteen minutes later, he parked his car several hundred yards away from the entrance of Proficere, got out of his vehicle, and shrugged off his leather jacket. Beneath, he wore a black flak jacket. It would not do much to keep out the chill bite of the wind, but the wind was much less likely to kill him than bullets were. The clips in his two handguns were full, but he took several extras with him.

  The last things he pulled out from his trunk were a white windbreaker emblazoned with the logo of the pizza parlor, a matching baseball cap, and a box containing a large pizza.

  Dressed as a deliveryman, he jogged along the curved driveway leading up to the large building that housed Proficere Labs. As he approached, he could see the two guards behind the security desk chatting idly with each other.

  He did not recognize them, which was a blessing. The guards from Proficere’s day shift would have remembered him from his earlier visits to Proficere. He tipped the edge of his baseball cap up—it would not do to look suspicious—and tapped sharply on the glass door.

  One of the guards hauled his large bulk to his feet and lumbered over. He unlocked the small door on the left side of the sealed sliding doors and pushed it open. “Where’s Joe?”

  “Out sick,” Kyle said. “Your pizza. The works with jalapeños on the side.”

  “Thanks, man.” The security guard held out his hands.

  Kyle stepped forward, placed the large flat box on the man’s hands, and reached down to pull the guard’s gun from its holster.

  “What!” The guard jerked away from him.

  The other security guard ran from behind the desk.

  Kyle snorted. The human instinct to run forward to aid a friend consistently overruled training, which would have kept the guard behind the desk, within easy reach of the emergency button.

  Just then, though, Kyle had no arguments with human instinct.

  He pulled his other gun out, and kept one trained on the first security guard and the other on the second. Both froze, staring at him. Newbies. Just as well. “That’s right,” Kyle said. He kept his voice low and calm. “Keep your hands where I can see them. You.” He addressed the second security guard. “Take your gun from its holster. Keep the muzzle pointed to the ground. I want you to put it on the floor and kick it away from you.”

  His eyes betrayed a split second of indecision.

  Kyle’s finger tightened on the trigger.

  The young man pressed his lips together.

  Kyle recognized fear mixed in with brash bravado—not a good combination.

  “Don’t do it,” he warned. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. I just need something from this lab, but I guarantee I can shoot faster than you can aim that gun, so don’t try.”

  The man blinked hard and nodded.

  Kyle did not let his relief show as the man slowly removed his gun and placed it on the ground. A half-hearted kick sent the weapon skittering over the polished tiles.

  “Now back away slowly. Stand against that wall.” He jerked his chin at the far side of the security desk. Doors lined the wall—doors that led to meeting rooms.

  They moved, their pace slow and their faces taut.

  “Unlock the door,” Kyle said.

  The second security guard swiped his security card key against the door.

  “Good. Now take that card off and toss it to me. His too.” Kyle nodded toward the first guard.

  The man pulled both security cards off and threw them onto the floor.

  “Now, get into the room.”

  Still backing away from him, they moved into the room. Without being told, they stood against the wall farthest from the door. If they could have retreated further, they likely would have. Kyle took his eyes off them just long enough to pump two bullets into the communications console.

  Electronics popped and fizzed. Gray smoke hissed from the console.

  The two security guards startled visibly.

  “Who else is working in the lab tonight?” Kyle asked.

  “Just Michael Hayes, Dr. Reynard’s laboratory assistant.”

  “Where is he?”

  “RS507. Research station on the fifth floor.”

  Kyle nodded. “All right. Now, just hang in here and enjoy the pizza.”

  He pulled the door shut, yanked a security card key from the floor, and swiped it across the terminal to seal it. The guards rushed forward and threw their weight against the door. It rattled, but did not give way.

  Kyle figured he had a half hour before the guards figured out a way to break out of the room. He took both card keys with him, shoved his handgun back into its holster, tossed the guard’s pistol behind the security desk, and ran toward the waiting elevators.

  Jaw tense, he glanced at his watch. He was running out of time.

  Moments later, the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor, and Kyle stepped out.

  He stared down the corridor. The overhead lights were dim and shrouded the corridors in overlapping shadows. The white tiles that should have glistened brightly were dull gray. Proficere Labs took on a desolate, abandoned quality at night. Kyle had walked through shattered edifices of bombed-out factories in Kosovo that had freaked him less.

  Glass-enclosed research stations flanked both sides of the corridor. They were dark, except for one at the far end of the hall. Kyle made his way down the corridor and paused next to the stations. He peered in and saw a man in a white lab coat hunched over a large desk, his back to the door,

  Kyle pulled his Glock from its holster and pushed the door open.

  Michael did not look back. “Is the pizza here yet?”

  “The guards are probably chowing down your share, but you can join them downstairs once you tell me where the antidote is.”

  Michael leapt from his chair and spun around. His wide-eyed gaze immediately fell upon the gun in Kyle’s hand. “Uh, I…”

  “Where’s the antidote?”

  “What antidote?” Michael retreated until his back hit the wall.

  “The one for Cardorin”

  “Cardorin? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you do. Smith and Reynard developed it.”

  “If the professors worked on it, then it would be in their lab or their office. But who the hell are you? How did you get in here? What do you want?”

  “The antidote.” Kyle stepped to the side and gestured with his gun. “Lead the way.”

  With his hands in the air, Michael edged around his desk and walked out of the room. He cast repeated nervous glances over his shoulder at the gun in Kyle’s hand. “You don’t have to use that.”

  “That would depend on you,” Kyle said. “Move it. I don’t have much time.”

  Michael’s footsteps thumped on the tiled floors and echoed off the concrete walls as he led the way to a large research station. Hands trembling, he flicked the switch by the door, flooding the room with light. “This is where Dr. Smith and Dr. Reynard work.”

  “Where do they store their work?”

  “In here.” Michael led the way to a large refrigerator. He stood beside it, his sweaty fingers entwined in front of his chest.

  “Open it,” Kyle ordered.

  Michael’s Adam’s apple worked as he gulped. He pulled the refrigerator door open. Inside, a pale blue light glowed over rows of test tubes and sealed vials. Michael knelt down and peered into the fridge, carefully turning each tube around so that he could read the labels. “Nothing here says Cardorin.”

  “I’m not looking for Cardorin. I want the antidote.”

  Michael shook his head. “It’s not here. Whatever it is you’re looking for, it’s not here.” He swallowed hard. “I swear, it’s not—”

  Kyle stared in frustration at the neat rows of test tubes in the refrigerator. He understood weapons—he could disassemble an AR15 blindfolded—but here, he was out of his depth, entirely out of
it. And Sofia is dying. He scowled. “Is this where they store the volatile stuff?”

  “Volatile stuff?”

  “The stuff that kills people.”

  Michael frowned. “We don’t make stuff that kills people.”

  “Bullshit. Where do the professors keep the volatile stuff?”

  “If not here, then in the safe room.” Michael inched slowly around Kyle and led the way down the hall to a large office marked with Alvin Smith’s name. He fumbled with a large portrait on the wall. Something clicked audibly, and the back wall slid apart.

  The safe room was not much more than ten feet square. Stacks of shelves held binders and data discs. A sealed safe was anchored to the concrete floor. At first glance, nothing remotely resembled a vial.

  “Unlock the safe,” Kyle ordered.

  “I don’t know the code. It is the professor’s stuff. I work for Reynard, not Smith. I don’t have access to any of it.”

  “Damn it.” Kyle knelt to examine the safe. Perhaps he could—

  Michael darted past him, lunged out of the safe room, and slammed the door shut.

  Kyle surged to his feet and threw his weight against the door. It did not budge.

  “Damn it, Michael! Open the door.”

  Michael’s voice sounded faint. “I’m getting security. I have to call the cops.”

  “No, no, don’t. I just need the antidote.” Kyle fisted his hands against the door. “Michael, please. I just need the antidote, and I don’t have much time. Sofia’s dying.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? What antidote?”

  “The one Bert Reynard developed to counteract Cardorin.”

  A long pause, then Michael broke it, his voice hesitant. “Cardorin?”

  The words poured out in a desperate, frantic rush. “A chemical agent. It stops the hearts of people with South American genes. There’s an antidote. Reynard said he designed it, and it’s here in the lab somewhere. Cardorin is out, Michael. The Rue Marcha released it in a warehouse in Washington, D.C. Maybe the warehouse will contain the gas, maybe not, but Sofia is dying now. She needs the antidote.”

  There was no sound from the outside.

  “Michael, are you there?” Kyle took a step back and aimed his gun at the door lock, but before he could pull the trigger, the door swung open.

  Michael, pale-faced, stared at him. “Are you certain? What you said about Cardorin?”

  “Yes.”

  Michael swallowed hard. “This way. I know where Dr. Reynard stores his work.”

  Kyle followed Michael to Bert Reynard’s office, adjacent to Alvin Smith’s. Michael pulled out a small desk drawer. In it was a numeric keypad. He punched in a few numbers and the lower drawer popped out.

  At the back of the drawer, nestled in a thick foam pad, were two sealed test tubes of clear liquid. Michael picked one up and stared at the label. His eyes widened. “This is it. You weren’t lying.” His hands trembled as he set the test tube down on the foam pad. “I’ll get you a container to transport them.” He rushed out of the office, stumbling in his haste.

  With careful hands, Kyle picked up the other vial and compared its label to the first. With focus, the jumbled letters straightened out; he had found two precious vials of antidote. The rapid pounding in his chest eased slightly and he inhaled deeply.

  Michael’s footsteps sounded behind him. Kyle looked up as Michael returned with a small container specially designed to transport test tubes and vials. He held the cover open as Kyle slid the vials into the container.

  Michael zipped it up and handed the container to Kyle. “Here you go.” He inhaled deeply and exhaled in a jagged rush of air. “I’ll start gathering Dr. Reynard’s research. I suppose the government or the IGEC will be coming for it shortly.”

  Kyle nodded.

  “Okay.” Michael pressed his lips together. His face was drawn into lines of tension, but his eyes were clear.

  “You all right?” Kyle asked.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Michael said. “I…” He looked up at Kyle. “My mother’s from Latin America. Cardorin…Cardorin would probably have affected her too.”

  “And possibly you.”

  He nodded. “Go save your friend. I’ll make sure the research gets to the IGEC so they can manufacture the antidote.”

  Kyle glanced his watch. Three hours and twenty-nine minutes. He had just enough time to make it back to Washington, D.C., assuming nothing else went wrong.

  The elevator chimed.

  Damn, the guards had broken out.

  Kyle looked out of the office.

  A spray of bullets ripped up the carpet.

  He dove for cover. Damn! Those weren’t bullets from a handgun. They were from an assault rifle on full auto.

  Not the security guards.

  Not even the IGEC.

  The Rue Marcha.

  Chapter 18

  “Get down!” Kyle ordered.

  Michael ducked, trembling, behind Reynard’s desk.

  Kyle set the antidote container behind a metal filing cabinet and pulled out his Glock. He gritted his teeth. What was a handgun compared to the firepower wielded by the Rue Marcha? They were trapped.

  “We can get out,” Michael gasped. He pointed at a side door. “It leads to Dr. Smith’s office.”

  It would not have done much good; Smith’s office opened into the same corridor. Their chances would be scarcely better, though all he needed was a slight advantage.

  Alone, he could get away.

  Burdened with Michael, he could not.

  If he escaped alone, leaving Michael to die, the Rue Marcha would claim the research. If he stayed long enough to protect Michael, he would lose Sofia.

  Big picture. Small picture.

  The sour taste of bile surged into his throat.

  The big picture crushed the small one. Its fragments sprayed, slicing like a million dagger cuts into him. He could not let the research fall into the hands of the Rue Marcha. Not even if it cost Sofia her life.

  Kyle looked up and met Michael’s gaze. “I’ll keep them occupied. Get to the computer. You have to transmit the Cardorin files over to the IGEC now.”

  Michael’s eyes widened. He nodded and scurried over to the terminal. His Adam’s apple bobbed as his fingers tapped the screen, seeking files locked behind passwords and layers of network security.

  Kyle ignored the sound of Michael at work. He braced himself beside the doorframe despite the splinters of wood spraying from the impact of the bullets. The hail of bullets ceased for a split second, and he twisted around to fire his gun.

  Those split seconds were not enough to get lucky, but they offered him glimpses of the Rue Marcha’s position. At least four men, each armed with automatic rifles, and by the sounds of it, an unlimited number of rounds.

  He had to get out of the office if he were to have any chance at all.

  Kyle threw a quick glance over his shoulder. “Is it done?”

  Michael nodded. “Almost. I need another five minutes.”

  Five minutes in a firefight was practically eternity. He had to buy Michael more time.

  He glanced up. The ceiling panels were large enough to fit through, and the ventilation ducts they concealed would certainly be larger in the modern building that housed Proficere Labs, compared to the ones at Johns Hopkins Hospital.

  He turned, fired another shot into the corridor, and then scrambled back to the office. He slammed the door shut and dragged the couch over to barricade the door. “It’ll keep them out for a few minutes, but you keep your head down.”

  Michael looked around, alarmed. “Where are you going?”

  “To get a clean shot.” Kyle scrambled onto the desk and pushed up the ceiling panel. The crawl space was dark and wide. The injury in his shoulder throbbed when he hiked himself up into the ventilation duct. He gritted his teeth against the stabbing ache and slithered through the darkness.

  The sound of gunfire died away. Damn it, the Rue Marcha was getting re
ady to break into the office.

  Just a few more feet.

  Below, he heard the sound of wood cracking.

  Moments later, Michael shrieked, his voice thin and shrill.

  Too late!

  Kyle swung his feet around and slammed them down on a ceiling panel. It dropped to the ground with a clatter. Kyle leapt down and swung his Glock up. He fired twice. The bullets ripped through two Rue Marcha henchmen, catching them in their backs even as they were spinning around to face him. They collapsed with screams of pain. Kyle snatched up one of their assault rifles and raced toward the smashed office door.

  The tight, controlled spray of bullets from Kyle’s weapon hit the two Rue Marcha men who had broken into the office. They crumpled face forward, their weapons falling from their hands.

  Kyle rushed to the desk. He gathered Michael into his arms and pressed a hand against the crimson stain on Michael’s lab coat. “Hang in there. I’ll get help for you.”

  Michael’s hands wrapped around his. The lab assistant’s fingers were cold and trembled as he whispered, “Files sent to IGEC. No stopping them now.”

  Kyle reached for his smartphone. The digital clock flashed at him. He was out of time. Sofia… His breath shuddered. He pressed 911 and summoned the police and an ambulance.

  Michael’s breath rasped. “Go. The antidote. Your friend.”

  Kyle shook his head. “Someone’s got to keep you from bleeding to death. I’m not going until I know the EMTs have you. You did good, Michael.” A thin smile on his lips concealed the despair growing within. “You did great.”

  Chapter 19

  Dawn was more than a sliver of light on the horizon when Kyle arrived at the town house. He had pushed the car to its limit but he had missed Danyael’s eight-hour deadline. He rushed into the house and took the steps two at a time. Zara stood at the top of the stairs, her face drawn with lines of worry.

  She had not slept the entire night, he realized. Likely no one had.

  “You have it?” she asked.