“Contact them to make sure.”
“Negative. The explosion took down our internal comm link.”
“Don’t we have another sub?”
“It can’t dock with another one already locked in position.”
“What about securing the vent and staying here?”
Samuels let out a single sharp laugh. “If they can bash through a blast door, a few screws won’t be a problem. That hatch won’t hold and the vents have been compromised. There’s only one way out—with my help.”
“Forget it,” Reynolds said. “We’ve already got your weapons.”
“Good for you. Problem is you can’t operate them. Nobody can except me. Take a closer look at the grip of my gun. Tell me what you see.”
Munoz grabbed the futuristic-looking weapon from the desk. It weighed at least five times more than an average pistol. He checked it from a side view, in case Samuels had a sly way of remotely firing.
“It’s a fingerprint-activated laser,” Samuels said. “And it’s the only defense we’ve got against these creatures. Bullets are useless unless you get a lucky shot, and that’s without the methane problem. This, however”—he nodded at the gun—“will slice them up into pieces. If you’ve got my fingerprint, that is.”
“Who the hell are you?” Munoz asked incredulously. “And what the hell are these creatures?”
Samuels ignored the questions.
“This gun doesn’t ignite the methane?” Reynolds asked.
“It was designed with that in mind—it can fire at higher methane levels. I guarantee it’s enough to use in the tunnels, but only with me using it.”
“How can a gun know that?” Munoz said.
“It’s got an internal air sampler. Green light, the methane level is low enough to fire. Red light, the laser locks. Otherwise, you’ll blow yourself up. Remember, our weapons are specifically designed for dealing with these scenarios. But you didn’t think these scenarios actually existed, did you, Mr. President? So, about that deal . . .”
“I want answers first,” Reynolds snapped. “Why did you sell your country out for money?”
Samuels let out a dismissive grunt, but sure enough, he started talking. “Money? Yes, a lot of money. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I was ordered to be here. It’s my mission. It’s my firm belief in the project. Don’t think for a second I did this just for money. None of us do this for a financial reward. Our cause is greater than national governments.”
“You purposely ordered the rest of the Secret Service to stay outside the command center,” Reynolds said. “So the plan was to isolate me, kill me here, and hijack the sub?”
“Now you’re figuring things out. And I came within a Brownsville pimp of pulling it off.”
Munoz ignored the barb. Hell, where he grew up, being a pimp was considered a compliment. No matter what, though, he wasn’t going to let Samuels’ weak attempts at mind games bait him into doing something rash. The a-hole might underestimate me, but that’s his problem.
“Who does he work for?” Munoz asked. “And what the hell do creatures have to do with money?”
Samuels smiled coyly. “The president can tell you all about the Foundation for Human Advancement and our global fight against the creatures on his own time. Let the adults speak for a moment.”
Munoz resisted a strong urge to punch the big agent in his smarmy face. As much as he wanted to know more about the conspiracy, survival remained at the top of his agenda. Samuels being part of an escape plan wasn’t an option, regardless of what the president wanted, though he suspected Reynolds also had no intention of striking a deal. They didn’t need Samuels weighing them down.
“How did you know about the attack?” Reynolds asked.
“I guess you don’t actually get it. Know about the attack? I started the attack, asshole.”
“You piece of shit—”
“Spare me, Reynolds.” Samuels grimaced and repositioned himself in the chair. “I saw the signs of an imminent breach during my security sweeps. A small piece of carefully placed C-4, timed to go off at twelve-oh-three, ensured a path for the creatures.”
“You wanted the creatures to attack,” President Reynolds muttered to himself, as if trying to convince himself of the madness of that. He glared at Samuels, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. “The mayor didn’t invite me to this event—Van Ness did.”
“You’d be amazed how easy it was to forge your invitation. Van Ness knows all about your ego. Like he said, you couldn’t resist a chance to upstage Cafferty.”
Van Ness? Munoz thought once again. Who gives a shit about Van Ness, whoever he is. We need to get out of here. And if it means chopping off his finger to use the laser . . .
“No—it couldn’t be that simple, though,” Reynolds replied. “Van Ness needed help. Who else in my administration is involved?”
“Now, Mr. President, you know the Foundation has many friends. Why, you wouldn’t have won the election without the Foundation’s help.”
The president ignored that. “I want names. Who in the administration?”
“No,” Samuels said firmly. “This is where the talking stops. Creatures might be in here at any moment. If you want to know about the others and more about Van Ness’ plans, I help us escape and walk out of here a free man. I believe the Constitution is pretty clear about your power to pardon me.”
“You expect to be pardoned?”
“I expect this to never even come to public light . . . except when you pin a medal on me for bravery.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” Reynolds said.
“We leave with my help or we all die. It’s that simple. The sooner you realize that, the sooner I’ll get us out of here. Ever heard of the Australian prime minister Harold Holt?”
“No.”
“He talked like you. In 1967, twenty-two months into his leadership, he went for a swim off Cheviot Beach and never returned. Play the game or suffer the same fate.”
Reynolds scoffed. “Bullshit.”
“Do you seriously believe it’s all over if you make it out of here alive? Once you’ve been greenlit by Van Ness, it’s game over. Let me provide a little more localized clarity. No president has defied him or his father since 1963. You don’t need to be Columbo to figure that one out.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“If I were in your shoes, I’d start drinking the Kool-Aid.”
“We’ll get everything out of you. I’m sure you already realize that—”
“Mr. President, I ran a black site and know every trick we’ve got. I cannot be broken. And wherever you take me, you’ll put everyone’s lives in danger. Nobody’s beyond the Foundation’s grasp. They’ll come for me. They’ll come for you. They’ll even snuff out poor little Diego here. Whoever stands in their way dies.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“When will it sink into your thick skull? What do you think happened to Michael Rockefeller? His family resumed their payments after Otto Van Ness sanctioned his murder. It was that or be picked off one by one.”
“That’s a lie. You’ll be telling me they whacked Jimmy Hoffa next.”
“No, but Van Ness thought about it.”
A decade ago, Munoz had been mildly obsessed with Rockefeller’s disappearance and had visited the Peabody Museum to flick through pictures of his New Guinea expedition before the young man mysteriously vanished. Still, with their planned escape in ruins and creatures in the ventilation system, the overall conspiracy was the least of his worries. The talking had to stop, and fast.
“Believe what you want, Mr. President,” Samuels said. “You’re a dead man walking. Like it or not, I’m the only person who can stop your wife weeping over your casket.”
Munoz grabbed the futuristic-looking pistol from Reynolds and inspected it again. He found an almost imperceptible small switch at the top of the trigger guard and flicked it. The weapon hummed to life, the grip glowed around his fingers, and the smug expression disappe
ared from Samuels’ face.
“It seems you’ve lost your only bargaining chip,” Reynolds said. “Thanks for the information, but we don’t need an injured traitor slowing us down.”
“The laser alone isn’t enough,” Samuels interjected, looking desperate for the first time. “I can guarantee you safe passage!”
Reynolds motioned his head toward the injured agent. “Frisk him. Let’s see what else he’s hiding.”
Munoz patted down Samuels’ trousers, retrieved an oval-shaped black device, and pocketed it.
“Nice to see you’ve finally shown your true colors, homey,” Samuels said sarcastically. “How many of those have you stolen in the subway?”
“Shut the fuck up.” Munoz unbuttoned the big agent’s jacket, revealing two bandoliers strapped around his chest holding lines of golf ball–sized silver orbs. “What the hell are these?”
“We get out using these and my laser. I’ll show you how to operate everything, giving us our only guaranteed shot at freedom. Deal?”
“That depends on how much you tell me,” Reynolds said. “Keep talking, or I swear I’ll leave you here to die.”
Munoz plucked one free of the bandolier. Just like the laser, it weighed more than he expected and tiny black holes covered its surface at uniform intervals.
“The Foundation calls them strobe grenades,” Samuels said, “or strobes for short. The creatures hate flashing light. Between these and the laser, we’ll still probably die if you keep me tied up. Cut me loose and I’ll take everything down.”
“Am I missing something here?” Munoz said. “Again, what’s the deal with the creatures? What are they capable of and what do they want?”
“They exist worldwide and are your immediate problem. A big problem that’ll tear you to pieces. Like I said, though, Reynolds can explain once we get out of here. I won’t waste my breath.”
Reynolds didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed several silver spheres from the big agent’s bandolier and pocketed them.
Munoz twisted a strobe in front of his eyes, not quite believing he held a specially designed weapon created by a clandestine organization. His podcast guys would think this kind of information was a dream, but they weren’t living through the actual nightmare.
“How does it work?” Reynolds asked.
“Squeeze the sides and throw it. If you’re epileptic, close your eyes.”
Munoz gently crushed it with his finger and thumb. The strobe clicked, let out a high-pitched whistle, and vibrated.
“It’s armed. As soon as you release the pressure of your grip it activates.”
“Hold on a second,” Reynolds said. “What if this blows up in Diego’s face? What if it blows all of us up?”
Samuels smirked.
Munoz took a step back and threw the strobe between Samuels’ legs. If it were a bomb, at least it’d take the big agent’s balls off first.
Blinding flashes engulfed the docking station, like they were stuck inside a giant camera bulb.
“Shut the damned thing off,” Reynolds shouted.
Munoz grabbed the strobe grenade and squeezed again, and it deactivated. “How long do they last?” he asked.
“Long enough,” Samuels said. “But I wouldn’t hang around much after two minutes.”
Munoz grabbed six of the strobe grenades from the bandolier and stuffed them into his pockets.
An electronic beep echoed in the air lock.
Then another.
The digits 2 and 1, instantly recognizable to Munoz’s audiophile nature. He spun to face the hatch and froze. A creature’s snarling black face peered at him through the window. Water had flooded into the chamber, and the level rose around the creature’s body, meaning they had damaged the DSRV’s seal. It bellowed, baring its bloodstained teeth, and smashed its claws against the glass, leaving tiny white shatter marks.
The creature’s claw tapped against the keypad and input a 0, 8, and 9. The code to open the door—except for the last digit. Munoz had never pressed the final digit after seeing Samuels raise his gun in the reflection.
“It knows the code,” Munoz said. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”
“Are you serious?” Reynolds said.
“It listened to you typing earlier,” Samuels said. “They’re more intelligent than you think. They aren’t dumb animals and won’t stop once they have you in their sights. I know how they think. You need that knowledge to stay alive.”
The creature input a 1.
A negative tone replied.
It started again with a 2, 1, 0, 8, 9, and a 2.
A negative tone again. Only eight more possibilities and the hatch would fly open, unless the fail-safe locked the pad after ten incorrect attempts.
Munoz’s heart raced as he practically dove for the keypad by the internal entrance. He input the code to get back into the emergency passage. It seemed like an eternity, but finally the locking bolts thudded out and the door whined open.
The creature repeated the sequence of numbers.
“Untie me, now!” Samuels shouted, for the first time with a sound and look that matched the desperation of their situation, which wasn’t good.
“You’re staying right in here,” Reynolds said to Samuels, and shoved him and the rolling chair he was tied to back toward the air lock. “I’d like to wish you luck when the air lock opens, but . . .”
“Wait!” Samuels shouted at the president. “You’ll never make it out of this tunnel without me!”
“We’ll take our chances, asshole.”
Even as the president was moving toward the door, keeping his aim on Samuels, Munoz had started to key in the digits to close the docking station. But his hand quivered so hard that he hit the wrong number. He tried again, pressing slower, trying not to make the same mistake.
In the chamber, the creature input the numbers again . . .
The air lock hatch fanned open.
Keeping calm, Munoz hit the last digit. As the inner door started to close, water gushed into the room from the outer hatch and spilled down the passage.
The creature shrieked, raised its claws over the screaming figure of Samuels, and jumped up and smashed the overhead lighting, leaving only the lights from the screens casting a thin glow across the cylindrical room.
Samuels fell on his side and wriggled toward the door, pleading for his life.
“Reynolds!!!” Samuels shouted futilely, as the door slammed shut and the steel bolts thudded into place, leaving him behind to face the devil.
Reynolds let out a deep breath and sunk to a crouch. “Thank God . . .”
“I think it’s safe to say that’s the last we’ll be seeing of him.”
“Excuse me if I don’t shed a tear.”
“You won’t see any on my face.”
A shuddering boom rocked the docking station door. It held firm but was quickly struck with another blow. This time, leaks sprang from around the edges. Munoz staggered back a few steps and turned to face the descending passage.
“What now?” Reynolds asked.
Munoz weighed their options. He couldn’t take them back to the command center if creatures had smashed the blast door. But they also couldn’t stay here, or they risked being torn to shreds or drowned by millions of gallons of the filthy Hudson.
That left only one option.
A door forty yards down the passage led to the docking station’s engineering bay. From there, they could descend the subway system levels to the Jersey City maintenance tunnel. He had little doubt they’d face more creatures down there, but it was the only way to avoid certain death.
“We fucking run.” Munoz checked his newly acquired laser again and nodded at the president. “Follow me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sarah Bowcut shifted her beam of light between the passage entrances as she attempted to process the recent events. A vague recollection about a tunnel-boring accident explained the corpse and the mangled wreckage at the foot of the vast cavern. She
had no frame of reference for the rest of the scene.
Door-smashing drug raids were one thing, but creatures . . . and scores of them living right below New York City. The attacks and the perfect mimicking of Christiansen’s and Dumont’s voices showed this species had intelligence and cunning, and they treated humanity as their enemy.
As prey.
In her mind’s eye, she pictured herself on the cavern ledge with the other six women, unarmed and surrounded by a terrifying force. It chilled her to the core. She had to dismiss her fears, like her father and brother had done during the last major attack on New York City, and rescue the hostages.
Dumont groaned and strained to a sitting position. “I feel like shit,” he said. “How long was I out?”
“Not long. You must have taken off your mask and passed out. Don’t do it again.”
“I guess I owe you twice. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Not exactly. Brace yourself.”
“For what?”
“For something I can’t explain.”
Bowcut cupped her hand over her lens, transforming the cavern into blackness.
A second later, growling figures thrust out of the passages and hurtled directly for them. Their feet crashed over rocks and their tails whipped through the air.
Dumont lurched back and drew his knife.
She swung up her Commando, washing five creatures’ scaly bodies with a ray of bright light. They halted in their tracks, contorting and thrashing as she rapidly switched her focus between each one.
Shrieks filled the cavern.
A tail lashed the stalactites, slicing three clean off.
Dumont raised his rifle, twisted his light to full strength, and assisted her in forcing the creatures back inside the passages.
Bowcut remained silent, allowing him time to comprehend what he had seen while they maintained their aim on the dark entrances.
“What the fuck?” he eventually said.
“Exactly. What. The. Holy. Fuck.”
“What the hell was that?”
“Creatures. Insects. I don’t know. These are what attacked the Z Train, what attacked us in the tunnel.”
“Seriously? Tell me I’m having a nightmare.”
Awakened Page 14