Two Weeks' Notice: A Revivalist Novel

by Rachel Caine

  Annie tentatively raised her hands, too. The dogs were all barking excitedly, except for the pug, who was now cowering on the floor between Annie’s feet and next to Mr. French. He just looked like he wanted some peace and quiet.

  Bryn’s and Annie’s doors were pulled open at the same time, and Bryn popped her seat belt so the guard who reached in could pull her free without effort and send her facedown to the pavement. Annie hit the ground on the other side of the car. Mr. French bailed out and started trying to bite the guard holding Bryn, but he was kicked aside.

  “Run!” she screamed at Mr. French. He took a step back from her, looking confused. “Run, you stupid dog!”

  He wouldn’t have, Bryn thought, but then one of the guards tried to grab him, and that sent him fleeing.

  Chasing something was what the greyhounds did for a living, so they jumped out of the open car door and took off in graceful leaps after him, followed by the pug. The Rottweiler followed, leaving Maxine still in the cage. She was snarling and fighting to get out.

  The fleeing dogs ran for the parkland and woods beyond the building. Someone fired a shot, but it missed.

  “Don’t hurt them!” Bryn turned her head to yell. “You sons of bitches!”

  “No need for that,” said a voice from somewhere over her head, and she looked up to see the CEO of Pharmadene walking quickly toward them, trailed by his assistant, Jeremy, and a couple of others. “Nobody will hurt the dogs.” He looked at the guard who had her down on the ground. “Let her stand up.”

  The guard held to the letter of the order, but he slipped handcuffs on her just to be safe. Zaragosa didn’t object. He looked tired, Bryn thought, and careworn. Presiding over this place, keeping all these secrets, probably wasn’t a restful occupation.

  “Now,” he said. “You want to tell me what’s so critical you had to pull a stunt like that just to see me?”

  “Sir, we should get this car out of here. It wasn’t scanned properly,” a man at his side said—from his badge, he was some kind of high-level security officer by the name of Robinson. “Should I kill this dog?”

  “No need,” he said, and gestured to Jeremy. “Let the dog go. Outside the gates.” He gave Bryn an apologetic half smile. “I love dogs. I’d have it brought inside, but we really don’t have any facilities for animals, other than in the labs. I assume you don’t want it there.”

  “Hell no,” Bryn said. The idea of seeing the dogs, especially her dog, in those cages made her shudder. She watched Jeremy pick up Maxine’s crate and hold it at arm’s length while the dog barked and snarled, and walk it toward the fences where the other dogs had disappeared. “He should watch out. She’s in a bad mood.”

  “Mine isn’t doing too well, either, so why don’t you tell me what you want, Bryn?”

  “Do you really want to talk about this now? Right here?” Bryn asked. “Because I can promise you, there will be something I say that all these people aren’t cleared to hear.”

  Zaragosa considered her for a long second, then nodded and turned to Robinson. “Search and clear them, then bring them down to the conference room. C-17. I want badges on both of them, and two escorts each. Armed.”

  That seemed extreme, but Bryn could see his point; she and Annie had just obtained access by threat to what should have been a highly secure government facility. If he was taking them inside, he’d do it cautiously. That was only good sense.

  Of course, the safest thing to do would have been to shoot them in the heads and drag them back outside the fences to recover, but luckily, Zaragosa wasn’t quite as cold-blooded as Bryn herself was.

  Not yet, anyway.

  She and Annie didn’t resist the searches, although Annie made some smartly worded comments about hands in places she hadn’t invited them to go; Bryn, who’d recently undergone a cavity search by Patrick McCallister’s wife, didn’t much care. She listened to the lectures on security procedures, indicated her agreement, and got escorted to the elevator along with Annie and four armed personnel.

  She expected to go up to the executive offices.

  Instead, the elevator went down. Instead of showing the spacious atrium view, suddenly the glass walls were full of views of concrete. Bryn felt claustrophobia setting in, and a scraping sense of worry. “I thought we were going to a conference room,” she said. Robinson was one of the four security personnel, and he sent her a sideways glance.

  “You are,” he said. “C-17. It’s belowground.”

  It was part of the lab complex. As the doors opened on thick glass, white walls, familiar awful white walls, Bryn felt the worry turn to a sickening flood of dread and panic, but she breathed in slowly and tried to keep it at bay.

  They walked right past the white room with the drain, the one where she’d been confined to rot. It was sparkling clean. If anyone had died there, had their decayed flesh scrubbed off the tiles and washed away, there was no sign of it.

  This was not right. Bryn felt it stinging all over her, and the sharp, bitter taste of fear filled her mouth like acid. “I want to talk to Riley Block,” she said, and resisted a little when they tried to hurry her along. “Get her!”

  Robinson said, “No can do. Agent Block has been reassigned to another project.”

  “Reassigned?” Bryn repeated. “When? By whose order?” There was no way that would happen, unless Riley herself had requested it, or something spectacularly bad had blown up in her face, politically speaking—bad enough to need a scapegoat at the highest levels. Riley might hate the assignment at Pharmadene, but she’d never walk away from it—and the government wouldn’t let her, because they didn’t need more eyes on those top secret files than were strictly necessary. Riley was read in. She’d stay.

  “Sorry—don’t know the details, lady. Above my pay grade,” Robinson said, and led them past doors marked with lurid biohazard stickers, secured with keypads and scanners. Nothing was marked, except with numbers. He paused at C-17, which didn’t have any warnings on it, and keyed in a code to open the door, then ushered Bryn and Annie inside.

  This isn’t right, Bryn thought. Not right at all. She had a terrible, sickening sense of having made the worst choice of her life…and it was too late, way too late, to change it.

  To Bryn’s huge relief, it was a conference room, after all; she’d been half-expecting some kind of vivisection lab with autopsy tables. Or that furnace, that horrible furnace.

  This wasn’t the showroom conference room, either; it held a battered long table, some less-than-new chairs, and whiteboard walls with dry-erase markers scattered randomly over every surface. Some of what had been scribbled there remained ghostly on the surface, even after cleaning. Formulas. Equations. Molecular drawings.

  Zaragosa, already seated at the table, nodded to Robinson and said, “You stay, Pete. Bryn and—Annalie, right?—please sit down. The rest of you, outside.” Meaning that the three extra security guards were firepower, but not cleared all the way for the kind of conversation they were about to have. Robinson obviously was.

  Without asking, Robinson took the handcuffs off Bryn, and then Annie, and fetched them each a sealed bottle of water from a built-in fridge. He tossed one to Zaragosa as well, who thanked him and cracked the seal to drink, as if he knew they’d want some reassurance that it wasn’t drugged.

  It wouldn’t have mattered, frankly; she didn’t waste a second in unscrewing the top anyway. Bryn was shocked at how good the water tasted. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she’d been.

  Annie didn’t drink. She looked wary, pale, and terrified, and Bryn reached over and took her hand, drawing a startled flinch. “Hey,” she said. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” She turned her attention to Zaragosa. “I’m going to confess up front that I used you. I needed to get us somewhere safe, somewhere the people who were just holding me can’t reach. The only place I know is here, inside Pharmadene.”

  “You’re talking about the same ones who slaughtered those people at Graydon,” Zaragosa said. “The ones wh
o’ve been picking off our Revived employees, one by one.”

  “You knew about that?”

  “Yes. Riley kept me informed of the disappearances, and the developments at Graydon.”

  Don’t trust Riley, he’d written on the back of his business card, yet he’d trusted her himself. Odd. “How many of your people have gone missing?” she asked.

  “Twenty-three that Riley was able to discover,” he said. “It’s possible a few of those have run away instead of being taken, but if so, they’ve figured out how to beat the tracking nanites. Like you did when you first escaped.”

  “I didn’t beat the trackers. I had them scraped off my bones. It wasn’t pleasant.”

  “Evidently, they’ve grown back,” Zaragosa said. “Mr. Robinson says you’re broadcasting a signal, loud and clear.”

  “That’s part of why I came here,” Bryn said. “Because I’m being tracked, and I can’t afford to lead the people who are following me anywhere else. You’ve got a hardened facility; you’ve got armed guards and security countermeasures, with the strength of the government behind you. Anywhere else would be vulnerable.…Where’s Riley Block?” It was a strange segue, but Bryn couldn’t keep her mind off the agent’s absence. It bothered her, deeply.

  Zaragosa shrugged. “Agent Block was reassigned by her own request.”

  “Agent Block asked to be reassigned when there were people she was in charge of protecting who’d gone missing? She never struck me as the type to break down and walk away from people in trouble. People she knew.”

  “I only knew her professionally, not personally; I can’t tell you what was going on in her head,” he replied. “Only that the paperwork crossed my desk, I signed, and she left. It was the best thing, really. She wasn’t entirely trustworthy. Let’s get back to the issue at hand—what happened to you, exactly?”

  Too much to tell you, Bryn thought, but she condensed it down, describing the failed attempt to abduct her at her funeral home, and then the successful coercive operation that had taken her to the nursing home. She skipped Jane altogether because even thinking about the woman made her also think of Patrick, and that was like putting her hand on a hot stove. Operative was a much less painful way to describe the woman. An operative questioned me at length.

  “A nursing home,” Zaragosa repeated, when she was done. “You’re sure about this.”

  “Completely. I can tell you approximately where it is. I wasn’t driven far before I was released from the restraints in the ambulance, so there can’t be that many possibilities. I’ll know it on sight.”

  Annie hadn’t heard any of this, Bryn realized; now she had tears in her eyes, and grabbed for Bryn’s hand on the table. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “We were so afraid for you, but I didn’t know you’d be—”

  “I’m all right,” Bryn said, and smiled. “Look, no scars.”

  Zaragosa gestured to Robinson, who leaned over; whatever passed between them was said in a whisper, and then Robinson rose and walked out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him. “You’re sure you could recognize the location,” Zaragosa said.

  “If you’ve got a laptop with Google Earth, I can show you the place right now. It’s vital you get a strike team out there and take the people that run it into custody before they have time to destroy more evidence. There was something terrible going on out there. The people, the actual patients, they’re in danger just by being around the staff. Trust me, nobody has their best interests at heart in there.”

  “Robinson’s fetching help now,” Zaragosa said, and leaned forward, hands clasped on top of the table. “You said you were kept in a building that was separated from the main one. Do you have any idea what they were doing there?”

  “Only vaguely,” Bryn said. “The patients kept there were in end-stage dementia, according to what they told me. They were using them as some kind of test subjects. No…” Bryn thought back, and frowned. The temperature of the room seemed to drop a few degrees. “Incubators.”

  Zaragosa looked grim, and nodded. He sat back, folded his arms, and looked down, clearly deep in thought. “That’s very troubling,” he said. “You heard them say that. That exact term.”

  No, she’d heard that part from Jonathan Mercer, but she couldn’t disclose that; the FBI had always made Mercer their primary target, and just now, she couldn’t afford them splitting their focus. Jane and her crew were the first-order danger, not Mercer. “Yes,” she said. “I did.”

  “Incubators for what, exactly?”

  “That I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound good, does it?”

  “No,” he agreed. “Not at all.” There was a buzzing sound, and the locked conference room door swung open. Robinson was back, and he’d brought a small laptop, which he put down on the table in front of Bryn. She navigated the map to the area she wanted, then zoomed in and switched to the street view. It took her all of three minutes to find the right place.

  “There,” she said. She zoomed in on the sign in front. “Arcadia Nursing and Rehabilitation. A division of the Fountain Group.”

  Robinson nodded, closed the laptop, and stood up. Zaragosa motioned him out the door. “What do you know about the Fountain Group?” he asked Bryn.

  “Nothing. It’s probably some kind of holding company—that’s all I can guess. Why, do you think they knew what was going on there?”

  “If their patients are disappearing, then I’d assume someone knows. It’s unlikely all this would happen without significant funding and approval from higher up.” He seemed deeply troubled now, and tired. Zaragosa scrubbed his face with his hands, as if trying to will himself awake, and Bryn realized that he looked as if he’d not been home in days—a wilted suit, a fresh shirt that looked as if it had been taken out of the package, crease lines intact, and a wicked growth of beard that wouldn’t have been out of place on a streetlight-hugging drunk. Maybe Riley had broken under the strain. Bryn wouldn’t have blamed her, really; the trauma and emotion of any of these jobs was brutal, and so was the toll they took. “Please wait here, ladies. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Zaragosa stood and walked to the door. Annie said, “Um, if we’re taking a bathroom break, I could sure use one myself.…” Her voice trailed off, because Zaragosa had kept on going, and the door clicked shut behind him. “Wow. Rude. Is this guy some kind of friend of yours?”

  “Not really. I don’t think he’s rude, just got a lot on his mind. He’s in charge of this place. It’s a lot to manage, and I just dropped some significant info on him he needs to look into.”

  “Well, I think he’s rude.” Annie went to the door and pulled the handle. It didn’t open. “Huh. Did he press a secret button or something? Because it’s locked.” Bryn came to her side and tried it, which made Annie give her a roll of the eyes. “Wow. Yeah, I tried that. Like I said. Locked. There must be some sort of trick to it.…”

  But there wasn’t. It was a simple lever system—push down, and the door was supposed to open. Only it didn’t.

  Bryn looked around the room with its clean floor and whiteboard walls, and started feeling that bad, old claustrophobic impulse click in again. Another white room at Pharmadene. Bad, very bad. Get out. That was her panic talking; they were safe in the heart of a very strong facility, and nobody meant them harm. If Jane or her employers wanted to get to them here, they’d have a pitched battle on their hands, one that would draw public attention. Not even Jane would want that.

  Bryn knocked on the door. “Hey! Bathroom break?” No one answered. She tried the speakerphone on the counter, and when the reception desk picked up, she said, “We’ve been accidentally locked in conference room C-17, and we need someone to open the door.”

  “Of course,” the woman said, in a soothing, calm voice. “Let me page someone for you. You’re wearing ‘Escorted Visitor’ badges, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s why the door won’t open, then. Your encoded escorts aren’t with you at the moment, so you�
�re on lockdown until they return for you. I’m very sorry for the inconvenience, but I’m sure it will only be a few moments.”

  Right on cue, Bryn heard the door lock buzz behind them, and smiled in relief at Annie. “Thanks—they’re here,” she said, and hung up the phone as she turned. “So, can we have a bathroom…” Her voice died, locked tight in her throat.

  Because Jane Desmond Franklin walked into the room, and behind her came Mr. Robinson, and his three armed security guards. Jane had on basic black that mimicked fatigues, and she’d tied her hair back in a sloppy bun, but it was definitely her.

  She can’t be here. She can’t.

  Jane smiled in slow delight at the look on Bryn’s face. “Awww,” she said. “That’s really adorable. You just don’t get it, do you, sweetie? Frying pan, fire? Escaping into prison? I have to hand it to you, it would have been a really good strategy, except for, you know, being entirely wrong.” She turned her gaze on Annalie, and the smile widened. “And who’s your little friend? Oh, that’s right. Annalie. Your sister. Nice to meet you, Annie.”

  “Uh—” Annie shot a look at Bryn, and was evidently unnerved and confused by her stillness. “Hi, I guess?”

  “Sit down,” Jane said to both of them. “You aren’t going anywhere until I let you.”

  “Where’s Zaragosa?” Bryn asked. She licked suddenly dry lips. No, no, this can’t be happening. He’s FBI. This is a government-run facility.…

  Yeah, and you should always trust the government, right? She could almost hear Joe Fideli’s lightly sarcastic response in her head. They’re always so damn trustworthy.

  “Mr. Zaragosa has delegated responsibility for this particular operation to me,” Jane said. “You won’t be seeing him again, which is probably a blessing, right? Boring man. Accountant, you know, all about the numbers. The funny thing is, nobody blames the accountants; they seem so unthreatening. But I guarantee you, accountants have killed more people in this world than soldiers.” She read the sudden wild impulse to fight in Bryn’s shift of body weight, and shifted her own to match, going from languid to feral in a second. “Don’t.” It was a blunt, cold word. No smile this time, no sweetie. “You’re both Revived, and so am I. You might be able to take me, Bryn—I’ll give you credit for your ferocity, if not your skills. But the fact is you can’t take me and make it out the door before one of my friends here shoots you dead. So let’s not play. If I was you, I’d bide my time, wait it out.”