by Cliff Ryder
He started forward toward the doors but stopped. Footsteps echoed in the hall beyond the cleaning locker. They approached slowly, and Alex pulled back from the elevator. He glanced around the room quickly. There were several closets, one tall locker, the deep sinks and not much else. The steps drew closer still, and he heard a deep cough.
There was no time to waste.
Moments later the outer door opened. A man in gray coveralls entered the outer room with a heavy sigh. He walked straight through to the back room and pulled the door closed behind himself, glancing furtively over his shoulder as if he was afraid he’d been followed. Apparently satisfied, he walked across the room and pulled open a small vent on the wall. It appeared to be some sort of exhaust, maybe for removing unwanted airborne contaminants.
Seconds later, the man had a small object in his hand and leaned in close to the vent. There was a flash, a flicker of flame, and then the man inhaled.
As he fought the rising cough, Alex nearly burst out laughing. Two hard hits later, the maintenance man tucked the small pipe back into his pocket and snapped it closed. He put away his lighter, closed the vent and walked to one of the deep sinks. After washing his hands, and his face, and then taking a long sip of the water to clear his breath, the man glanced around the room, turned and headed back to the hall.
Alex dropped. He’d been holding himself up in the overhead pipes, knees and arms jammed over pipes on either side. His muscles were screaming, and when he hit the floor his legs nearly gave out on him. He sank to the floor and sat for a moment, gathering his bearings. He felt light-headed, and the moment he took the weight off his legs they started to cramp. Rhythmic pulses of pain flared through his thighs and into his hips.
With a growl he rolled back to his feet and lurched to the elevator. He pushed the upward-pointing arrow and listened as the machinery hummed to life. It wasn’t like the dumbwaiter in Beijing. The MRIS elevators, even the service elevators, were well maintained, lubricated and tested on a regular basis by the local inspectors. Within moments the door opened, and Alex tumbled in.
When the door closed behind him he leaned forward and rested his head against one wall. He stayed that way for a few minutes, and then pulled himself together.
Brin’s office was on the seventh floor. She ran the entire research department, but her personal staff and offices were on the seventh. She was always joking it was high enough to have a view, and low enough to make it clear that Rand still ran the show. Alex’s plan was simple: find Brin. She would know where the prototype was being kept, and if she didn’t, or still didn’t know what it was, Rand would know.
He was more than a little surprised at the lack of live security. In fact, it was downright suspicious. Under normal circumstances he’d have understood it, but considering what was at stake, he was surprised Rand didn’t have goons goose-stepping up and down every corridor. It didn’t make sense, and it made him nervous. If he’d mis-judged the situation, or if he’d missed something important, not only his own fate hung in the balance, but Brin’s, as well. Maybe more than that, though he believed that Denny had been dead serious about a fast strike if he failed.
The elevator rose to the seventh floor quickly, and Alex spent the few moments sorting out his memory of the building’s layout. He knew Brin’s office was to his right. He knew the main lab she shared with her assistants was dead ahead, and that smaller labs, incubators and computer rooms lined the halls on both sides of the main lab.
There would be more cameras, but he didn’t believe he’d fall into their direct line immediately.
He was in a maintenance elevator, and unless the methods employed on the lower levels were different, he’d be clear, at least until he moved away from the elevator. The car came to a stop, and he waited for the door to open. Nothing happened.
Alex frowned and pressed the button to open the door. Nothing. The car sat still, not moving up or down, and he frowned.
He pulled the small meter out of his pocket and ran it up and down the wall near the doors.
The first two passes brought nothing, but on the third swipe, near the panel with the numbered buttons, he got a blinking red light. When he leaned in closer, he saw that there was a small panel imbedded in the wall of the elevator. It looked new. He pulled a multitool from his pocket and flipped open a small, sharp-tipped screwdriver. Moments later the panel was open, and he faced a second panel of buttons. There were sixteen in all. A hexadecimal code. Why were the maintenance people not allowed on Brin’s floor? he wondered.
He pulled out the small electronic scanner again. From another pocket he brought out a pair of tiny wire leads. He inserted them into two small slots on the meter until they were gripped by connectors inside the device. Next he placed the bare wire tips to two leads in the panel. He stood very still and waited. There was no alarm. The lights didn’t change. With his thumb, he pressed a small button on the side of the device, and the digital readout on the wall panel began spinning rapidly through different combinations.
His hand trembled, and sweat beaded on his brow. He tried to steady his fingers, but the harder he worked to prevent the trembling, the more severe it became. He moved his free hand closer and rested the shaking fingers on the palm, but he felt himself cramping up. The numbers continued to spin, and he closed his eyes, concentrating.
“Damn it,” he whispered. “Come on.” If he shook any harder, the wires would snap free, and he’d have to start over.
Then there was an audible click, and the numbers stopped. The code that appeared was made up of the numbers zero through nine and several letters. Hexadecimal code, very difficult to break—unless you had the right key.
The door slid open, and he didn’t hesitate. He stepped into the hallway before they could close behind him again. He slipped his tools back into his pockets and leaned heavily against the wall. When he glanced up again, he stopped and stood very still.
There were twice as many cameras on this level.
They crisscrossed the hallway and there was no chance he hadn’t been spotted on at least one of them. He scanned the walls quickly and saw that there were motion detectors, as well as audio sensors.
“What the hell?” he muttered. Security on this floor hadn’t been this high before. Not even close.
Then it hit him. He might not have it in front of him, but he’d found the prototype. There was no other explanation for such a shift in the level of security. He wondered where the other end of all the sensors was wired, and who might be watching. He wondered if they were awake, on duty, or if maybe Rand himself had them all on a big monitor on his wall, waiting for someone to step into his parlor. He almost waved.
If the prototype was in a lab on this level, then it was in Brin’s hands, one way or the other. He knew that the beefed-up security would set bells off for her, but he also knew she could be as ob-sessive with her work as he was with his. If she thought she was doing something beneficial, she’d kill herself trying to get it done. He had to make sure it never came to that.
The first thing was to take out the motion detectors. There was no doubt they’d already registered his initial movement, but at least he could keep them from showing the direction he traveled down the hallway. He reached into a deeper pocket on his hip and pulled out a small black box. A short metal antenna protruded from the top of it. He pressed the box to the wall and flipped a switch on the side of it. Then he stood very still. Up and down the hall the motion detector beams winked out one at a time as the device sent a coded pulse to each one, instructing the sensor chip to shut down. The power lights on the sensors didn’t fade, but the beams were neutralized. So far, he’d been fortunate that the people behind the security on this level were using standard industrial-grade security and nothing too customized. The motion sensors would now show no movement on this level.
Next he examined the angles of the cameras. He needed to get close enough to Brin’s office to get a good look inside, but he knew if he started taking out came
ras indiscriminately it would set off alarms somewhere. He had to take out just the one he needed and remain in a very short, narrow slice of hallway, and then he needed to get the camera back online before someone was dispatched to check on it.
He worked quickly. There was a window on the outer wall of Brin’s office, and only one camera watched that particular bit of hallway. He slid along the wall, found the right camera and studied it for a moment. The ceiling wasn’t that high. He was able to stretch high enough to turn the connector on the back. It took a moment, and his fingers screamed with the effort, threatening to cramp up.
Finally the connector separated and he pressed into the wall again. His body shook, and he gritted his teeth. He couldn’t afford to slip up now.
He moved quickly back down the wall, slid to the cleared track he’d created and crossed the hallway quickly. He pressed his face to the glass window of Brin’s office and glanced inside. It was dark. Her computer monitor wasn’t glowing. He saw no indication that she’d been in the room recently, not even a coffee cup. He frowned.
He tried to get a look at the labs up and down the hallway, but he couldn’t without disabling more cameras, and he knew he probably only had a few moments to hook the first one back up before someone noticed and came down to check on it.
Alex slipped back across the hall and moved up under the camera. He took a deep breath, then stretched up and gripped the connector again. His fingers didn’t want to hold it, and sweat broke out on his brow. He stood very still, waiting for it to pass, and very slowly moving the connector up and forward. He felt it slide into place, and began turning. The camera was just high enough on the wall that he couldn’t reach it without a full stretch, and his body seemed intent on folding in on itself, cramping and preventing him. He gasped and released the connector. It hung on the lip of its mated piece, but he knew it wasn’t screwed in far enough. He sank down the wall. His legs trembled and his arms ached. He closed his eyes for a long moment and took several deep breaths. Then, without giving himself a chance to hesitate, he stretched up, gripped the connector and spun it. He managed to turn it three times before he had to drop back, and this time he thought it was tight enough. If not, he had no more time, or strength, to deal with it.
There had been two floors with lights visible from below. He hoped he hadn’t missed Brin, or Rand for that matter, but if they were gone and the building was empty, his work would be much simpler. He had to take out the entire complex, but he’d counted on taking care of Rand while he was at it and erasing any trail to the research or the prototype. Any trail but Brin. He would get her out safe, get her home, and then they’d have to see what Denny and Kate said, and figure out what they intended to do. It was entirely possible, he knew, that he was now a target himself and their only choice would be to run.
He turned back to the maintenance elevator and punched the up button. The door opened, and he was relieved. Apparently the code was only necessary to enter the floor, not to leave it. He hoped they hadn’t thought to alarm the access, letting them know whenever someone punched in the code. He pressed the top-floor button and leaned against the wall, wishing he’d taken some of the painkiller before entering the building. He also wished the elevator would move more slowly. He wasn’t sure his legs were going to listen when he told them to stand.
In a room down the hall from Rand’s office, the control panels for the security systems in the building lined one wall. A man stood, his back to the door, examining the panels. In particular, he studied the panels concerned with the new, heightened security on the ninth floor. It was a laughable system, almost childishly simple to overcome, but then, Rand hadn’t really expected anyone to try when he’d had it installed. The new system had a lot of sensors, a lot of cameras and monitors to watch over things, and it made a good security blanket for Rand and his inept crew.
The man watching the monitors wasn’t an amateur. He watched as a camera with the label G4
winked to black. He studied the diagrams of the seventh floor, and then returned his gaze to the dark screen. When it flickered momentarily and then came back to life, showing the empty hallway and the wall fronting Dr. Tempest’s office, the man smiled.
“So,” he muttered. “You’re here after all. And I was almost ready to think maybe you’d do the smart thing and leave it alone.”
The man turned to his left and punched a button.
Another screen lit up. On the screen Alex Tempest leaned against the wall of the service elevator. His eyes were closed, and he looked anything but ready to move. The man pushed the button again, and the screen went dark. He stepped out of the security office and closed the door behind him. He was only four doors down from Rand’s office, and he considered reporting in. They’d been expecting this particular visitor for almost a day, and he knew Rand would want to know the moment had arrived.
Rand thought he was in charge. But orders were orders, and his didn’t involve reporting to the CEO
of the U.S. office in anything but a token fashion.
He had a mission to complete, and he needed to get on with it. Instead of reporting in, he turned toward the maintenance elevator and unsnapped the flap over the top of the long, thin blade dangling from his belt.
This time, Captain Dayne planned to finish off the nuisance for good.
Alex stood and opened his eyes. The elevator car was slowing, and he knew he was going to have to concentrate. He didn’t know if Rand had beefed-up security on his floor, as well, though he doubted it.
He’d know when he tried to open the elevator doors.
He rotated his neck slowly, working out the kinks.
At the end of this motion, just before he turned to the door and pressed the button, he stopped.
Something caught his eye that he’d missed before, something he should have noticed right off the bat. He cursed himself softly, his mind back on track and working furiously. A small glint of light reflected through a crack between metal panels in the door. A camera. Was someone watching? Was it even turned on?
Alex unsnapped the tie on his holster and freed his 9 mm pistol, drawing the weapon. If they were watching, they’d see it and it wouldn’t matter, but if they were waiting for him, it might make the difference. If no one was there, and he was just being paranoid, the gun wouldn’t hurt.
It had bothered him that there were no guards.
He’d been careful, but he’d been careful for a very good reason. There was a biomedical weapon in the building worse than anything the world had never seen. There was a plan for some sort of terrorist strike. There were, in theory, backers and powers above Rand’s level who would be watching, and very disappointed if anything happened.
It didn’t add up. The haphazard security was a sign of something, but he just couldn’t figure out what it was. All of it had brought his senses back to their earlier sharpness. He crouched by the door, and then reached up to punch the button that opened it.
He didn’t take time to think. He lifted the gun, held it close to his chest, then dived forward into the hall, rolling. He swept left as the blade swept down from the right, slashing the back of his biceps. He gasped, but kept rolling, preventing the blade from biting as deeply as it might have. He twisted on his shoulders and got to his feet.
Dayne lunged. He held the long, slender knife in front of him, and his eyes blazed with hatred.
Alex brought the gun up, but Dayne was moving forward and lashed out, kicking the 9 mm pistol out of Alex’s grip and sending it skittering down the hall. Dayne never even glanced at it. He shifted the blade to his other hand and smiled. Alex crouched low and took quick stock of his opponent’s movements. Dayne was quick and agile, and the kick had been well aimed.
“You’re a long way from your crater,” Alex said, backing away slightly.
Dayne saw the motion and lashed out, swinging his blade in a vicious arc that Alex barely dodged.
Alex cursed and dropped back, concentrating on the one the blade that spun and was
slashing back at him in a return strike. The man was as fast as a snake.
“You should have stayed disappeared,” Dayne said. “A smart man would have walked away while he still could.” His teeth were gritted, and the words were difficult to make out. Only his eyes were calm—every muscle in the man’s body was taut like strung piano wire.
“I thought about it,” Alex replied, keeping his eyes on the blade. He didn’t want to make the mistake of watching Dayne’s face. “But then I decided I’d rather track you down and kill you and everyone involved with this project instead.”
Dayne reversed his grip on the blade, keeping it moving and twisting, a metal snake of death in his hands. It was mesmerizing, but Alex knew the trick. He shifted his gaze in quick glances at Dayne’s waist and hips. It was an old football trick, one he’d used throughout his martial-arts training.
You could be fooled with a motion of the head, arms, shoulders, even the feet, but where a man’s hips moved, he followed.
Dayne lunged again, and this time Alex was ready. He whipped his arm out and gripped his opponents wrist just above the blade. He yanked, pulling the man toward him, and moved a leg in a sweep at Dayne’s ankle.
But his leg didn’t do what he wanted. He missed slightly, and his sweeping ankle caught the other man on the calf. The blow was glancing, sending Dayne off balance, but his reaction was swift and nearly deadly. Dayne moved the blade to his free hand, and even as he tumbled and rolled past, he slashed out again. The only thing that prevented Alex from being cut was his own bum leg. He dropped as it failed to support him as expected, and the blade flashed by his face, missing by inches.
He moved back, rolling with the motion and coming back to a crouch, even as Dayne flipped back to his feet and came at him again. Fighting with this man was probably going to get him killed, Alex realized. His body had taken too much of a pounding, and his illness was making his responses slow and sluggish. He needed to look for his moment, the one opportunity he might have to end things quickly.