Encrypted (57 page)

This concentric pattern was reflected everywhere in the architecture of the wing. The burnished hardwood floors must have been meticulously cut and shaped into sweeping half circles. Even the glass roof above was held together by curved metal.

No wonder his mom had been pestering him to take her.

“You’re losing too much, well
,
not altitude, but height!”

Quirk was right. The helicopter listed to the left until it finally hit a curved wall, bounced and landed on its rotors
,
which ground against
the
beautiful hardwood floor.

“I take it that wasn’t supposed to happen?” Zach asked.

Ronnie
looked away,
frown
ing
.
Clearly not.

Zach cocked an ear. He could hear
Helo’s
motor whine. It must have “landed” somewhere above them. He was about to ask why they couldn’t just blow the thing then remembered the whole directional thing. They needed the blast directed down, not up.

“Give it to me!” Quirk implored. “We have a connection.”

Ronnie didn’t seem too convinced.

“Fine, then you try to crab
-
walk
Helo
over.”

Despite her lack of conviction that Quirk could accomplish the task, clearly Ronnie didn’t want to try. She handed Quirk the controls. With the tip of his tongue sticking out, Quirk rocked the palmtop back and forth, his own body swaying almost like he was soothing a baby.

“Come on,” Quirk whispered to the screen. “You can do it,” He urged as the view tipped this way then that. “You don’t want the other
über
-
blinged
-
out mini-helicopters to call you turtle, do you?”

Whether it was Quirk’s finesse with the controls or the coaching, the chopper tilted over, skittered on its side,
and
then righted itself. A bit
of
wobbling, but
it
hover
ed
over the floor.

“That’s my boy!” Quirk announced as he guided
Helo
to land. He indicated the stone benches. “I’d suggest we take cover…”

Zach pretty much knew why
,
but felt forced to ask. “Because we aren’t sure how big the blast is going to be?” Ronnie looking down at her toes confirmed the fact. “Because you guys haven’t beta
-
tested it yet?”

Quirk waved him off. “Tomatoes. To
e-
ma
h
-
toes.”

No matter, they had to get to cover. Zach urged Ronnie down as Quirk scrambled under the other bench with Francois.

“Five. Four. Three,” Quirk counted down. “Three
and
a half.”

“Quirk…”

“Fine. Two. One.”

The ceiling shook as the overhead explosion shook the infrastructure. It
,
however
,
did not collapse. Ronnie went to crawl out from the bench, but Zach noted the hairline fractures running through the paint directly above them. Cracks the converged on the base of the chandelier. Cracks that were growing wider by the moment.

He put his hand on the back of her head and pulled her close just before the crystals in the chandelier tinkled
and
then
came
crashing toward them. Glass shattered everywhere as huge chunks of the ceiling slammed down, hitting the bench and bouncing off.

Zach tucked Ronnie’s head under his shoulder, using his back to deflect any debris. Finally
,
the avalanche of ceiling stopped, leaving a strange calm in the air. He looked out from the bench, the air choked with dust.

Ronnie untucked her head. Little specks of plaster coat
ed
her eyelashes. Zach brushed them gently with his fingertip
s,
and
the
n
dusted off her nose. Their eyes locked. Even before he could lean in, Ronnie put her finger on his lips.

He got it.

Not here
.

* * *

“I think I’ve
—
” Amanda started but then stopped when she realized that she was the only one awake. Jennifer was conked out beside her. Henderson had fallen asleep leaning back in his chair
,
and the rest of the scientists were well…gone.

Amanda hated to use that euphemism, but she honestly couldn’t even think of the harsh truth.

And where was Devlin, still contacting his superiors? Like she really cared.

Despite the fact that the numbers were becoming a blur, Amanda had narrowed over twenty thousand possible loci down to only a few hundred. Which still sucked. But what was a Chicken Little to do but forge on, believing there could be a way to hold the sky up?

A cough sounded behind her. She turned to find Anderson Cooper on the television screen. His presence had become almost natural. As if the reporter was in the room with them, living, and dying
,
through the plague with them.

Once his coughing fit was over, he looked back
at
the camera. “I don’t know how much longer I can stay on…” Another cough interrupted him. He must have the pneumatic strain of the plague. So he was right. Probably not much longer.

“I just wanted to tell you personally that it has been a privilege to be with you here, at the end. They didn’t want me to report this, but I feel like we have been through so much together, that I must be honest…”

His body wracked with a pneumatic cough, Anderson had to grip the chair
to keep
from falling over. After a few heaving breaths, he continued. “We have run out of antibiotics. Not just New York or the
t
ri
s
tate area, but across the country. Across the world.”

He gulped hard
,
and
then chuckled. “To be honest
,
they weren’t doing a whole hell of a lot of good anyway.” But then he sobered. “So please, be with the ones you love… and pray. That is all that is left to us.”

The screen went static as tears streamed down Amanda’s cheek
s
. She leaned over Jennifer and wrapped her arms around her friend. The woman wasn’t even coughing now. A sure sign
that
the body was giving in
to the plague. It didn’t even have the energy to repulse the bacterium.

Amanda
sent
a swift prayer to the heavens, but then went back to her computer. She was possibly the only person in the world who had something other than prayer to offer. She had the cure.

If she could just find the damn thing.

CHAPTER 26

Metropolitan Museum of Art

11:18
a
.
m
.,
E
ST

Quirk watched Francois’ feet disappear through the hole in the ceiling. They had left Quirk for last
,
since he was the slightest. See? Not going to the gym could be a positive thing.

He teetered on the edge of the bench that
was
turned on
its
end. Zach’s hand emerged from the hole.

“Grab hold.”

Then an exactly opposite order came from the other side of the gates. “Freeze!”

Three cops. No
,
four. Make it five
—
were at the gate. “Police! Get down!”

Get down? Did they not realize everything they had just done was to get
up
?

Quirk grabbed hold of Zach’s hand. Thank goodness the FBI agent did go to the gym as he lifted him through the breach in the ceiling. The poor late-to-the-party police fired and fired away, but the acrylic guard held.

Once
on
the second floor, Quirk gained his feet.

“This way!” Ronnie yelled
,
running toward the stairs that led to the roof garden café.

As he hurried to catch up
,
Quirk noticed a painting. Sargent’s infamous
Madame X
. The subject’s porcelain skin nearly glowed against the warm brown backdrop. Her hand pressed against the mahogany table.

“Give me that,” he urged Zach. The FBI agent raised an eyebrow, but
he
must have learned not to bother questioning Quirk’s evil genius. Zach handed over the torch
, and
then headed after Ronnie.

Quirk turned the torch on the ever-elegant
Madame X.
She always seemed to hold a secret, but now she revealed it in the form of a glittering
,
gold symbol.

Francois was already carving it into his arm when the shouts carried from the stairwell. Time to haul ass. Putting the injured Frenchman’s arm around his neck, Quirk urged Francois up the stairs.

They hit the door at a run and stumbled out onto the roof garden. From the darkened museum, the early
-
morning sun seemed surreal. Everything seemed so pristine up here. The striking sculptures. The lovely garden. The refined café. Almost as if the brutality of the world had not yet made its presence known up here.

“We’ve got to contact the pilot,” Ronnie said.

Quirk rolled his eyes as their chopper floated up between the buildings and flew straight toward them.

* * *

Zach would never again doubt the pilot’s devotion to Quirk. They seemed to have a connection that did
,
in fact
,
defy the time and space continuum. Zach wedged a chair under the roof’s doorknob
,
knowing it would
not
hold long, but perhaps long enough for all of them to get on the chopper.

The pilot expertly hovered the helicopter only inches off the roof as Ronnie helped Francois into the
chopper
. Quirk was next
,
and
Zach joined them. Ronnie was only halfway in when the roof door burst open.

“Stop!”

So that’s what it sounded like to be on the other end of a law enforcement proclamation. Zach hoped he didn’t sound quite so nervous. As shots whizzed by, Zach pulled his weapon. Even shooting cover fire could accidently injure a poor cop who was just trying to do his job. Who had risked his life just by stepping out onto the plague
-
filled streets. Zach couldn’t risk one of these bullets hitting the chopper
,
though.

As chairs blew across the open-air café in the wake of the chopper’s rotors
,
Zach had a way better idea. “Land the chopper!”

The pilot shook his head. “No can do.”

“The roof can’t support the weight,” Ronnie added.

“Exactly.”

Ronnie must have caught on to Zach’s plan
O
as she turned to the pilot. “Put her down!”

“Your dime,” the pilot grumbled as he lowed the chopper onto the roof.

Within moments
,
telltale cracks formed under the helicopter’s struts. With a tight grin, the pilot ti
lt
ed the chopper just a bit forward, forcing their weight onto the tip of the struts. Cracks became crevices
, which
became full-on fracture lines. The cement broke apart as the underlying wooden beams cracked under the weight. Soon
,
the entire roof listed
,
forcing the cops to flock back to the stairwell.

Zach hopped in the chopper as it took off, just as the roof collapsed inward. Below them
,
Zach could see the interior to
the
previously resplendent American Wing. Now
it
look
ed
like a bombed
-
out shelter.

Yeah
. He was never getting invited to Thanksgiving ever again.

CHAPTER 27

Skies over New York

11:56
a.m., E
ST

Ronnie studied the new symbols. They had gathered so much information at the Met that it actually
caused her to have a headache
. Were there too many symbols
,
or too few? With each new symbol came a hundred variables. Where each one fit in the intricate sequence that was angelic script, still a mystery.