Vapor (23 page)

Ed Hooper clutched his armrests as the weightlessness sensation fled his body. Gradually, he felt heavier and heavier, until he was at roughly one hundred and fifty percent his normal weight. Then his weight reversed course. His grip loosened as he grew lighter and lighter.

Hooper wasn’t especially fond of flying. He liked his feet on the ground, where he could control them. But if he had to be airborne, he supposed the HyperMax was the way to go. Simply put, it was the fastest plane available to the U.S. military.

In fact, it was the fastest plane in the entire world.

Just a half hour earlier, he and a small team of Delta Force operators had been ushered into a top-secret hangar in a remote part of Northern Virginia. They’d quickly been introduced to Major Kevin Ford, a pilot with the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, or DARPA. Ford was a tall, broad-shouldered man who spoke with a Boston accent. His eyes were soft around the edges, hinting at a career spent testing equipment rather than fighting with it.

After a brief explanation of the flight, Ford had taken them aboard the strange-looking HyperMax aircraft. Within five minutes, it was roaring down a runway and lifting into the sky.

With the aid of special rocket-based engines, the HyperMax had quickly ascended above the outer limit of Earth’s atmosphere, which was approximately twenty-five miles off the ground. Then Major Ford had shut off the engines and the plane began to coast.

Hooper shook his head as he remembered how Major Ford had described the flight. It was, the Major had explained, like skipping a stone along the top layer of the atmosphere. First, the plane would climb gently to a height of forty miles. Then it would lose altitude. Upon falling to a height of twenty miles, the denser air would cause an increase in aerodynamic lift. Coupled with a quick fire of the engines, the plane would be sent upward again. The entire skip, from start to finish, took about two and a half minutes.

Since the HyperMax only required occasional use of its engines, it burned an incredibly small amount of fuel. And because it spent so much time out of the atmosphere, it was able to safely redirect heat build-up into space. This allowed the plane to make do with a lighter airframe and thus, even less fuel.

According to Ford, the trip from northern Virginia to the tiny island of Pagan—an eight thousand mile ride—would take about 23 skips. Adding in the ascent and descent, he’d estimated the entire flight would be about eighty-two minutes.

Eight thousand miles.

Eighty-two minutes.

All on a single tank of gas.

Yes, if one had to fly, the HyperMax was the way to go.

Hooper picked up a thick file on the seat next to him. He turned to a packet of classified satellite images. They showed the island of Pagan, along with Eco-Trek’s research station, at various magnifications.

He flipped through the images, studying each one. The island had undergone a drastic ecological change over the last eighteen months, transforming from a lush paradise into a desolate landscape. What kind of environmental group did that to their own base of operations?

He flipped through more images, examining every piece of the island. Then he paused. A furrow creased his brow.

Staring hard, he inspected a close-up of Pagan Bay. A large object was situated on the hillside overlooking the water. It appeared to be metallic.

In the rush to get him to Pagan, he’d had little time to question the Separative. But he wondered if they’d provided more than just stolen taxpayer dollars to Simona. More specifically, had Secretary Bane provided any special defensive capabilities to Eco-Trek?

He squinted. The object was too blurry for a positive identification. But now that he looked at it—really looked at it—he began to question his initial observation. Maybe it wasn’t a defensive installation.

Maybe it was just an animal.

“Looks like we hit the jackpot.” I took off my goggles and pulled a jumpsuit over my clothes.

Graham frowned. “Some jackpot.”

“These aren’t just ordinary jumpsuits.” Beverly pulled on a garment and tied her hair into a ponytail. “They’re authentic, field-tested coats from Hell Island.”

“Ugh.” Graham grimaced as he zipped up his jumpsuit. “Whoever used this last didn’t believe in deodorant.”

She winked at him. “That’s part of the authenticity.”

Benigno shook the dust out of his hair after donning a slightly soiled jumpsuit. His eyes were hollow, yet glowed with a deep inner fire.

“What’s the priority?” Carrie asked. “Taking down the model?”

“First, we find Rizzalyn.” Benigno’s jaw twisted in anger. “Then we start killing people.”

“If we do that, none of us will make it out of here alive,” I replied. “And that includes Rizzalyn.”

His jaw twisted a little more. Then he shot me a quick nod.

“So, here’s the plan,” I said. “We find Rizzalyn and the reliquary. Then we secure a boat. After we shut down the model, we head for Saipan.”

The gleaming drone rolled forward. We stepped closer to the wall and watched as it moved out of the hangar. It quickly picked up speed and raced down the runway. With a loud whooshing noise, it lifted into the air.

Slowly, the hangar gate closed over. The commotion died down a little. Eco-Trek employees started to leave the hangar through doors in the back, heading off to other parts of the research station.

Carrie donned a cap. Keeping her head low, she walked across the hangar.

As he followed her, Graham nodded at a mechanical contraption. Long hoses connected to it. “What’s that? A refueling station?”

“Close. It’s an aerosol station.” Carrie kept her voice soft, her face tipped to the ground. “That’s how workers load CN-46 into the drones.”

“Where do the aerosols come from?”

“From what I’ve heard, there’s a basement beneath us.” She shrugged. “I’ve never seen it though.”

“How many of these people know what’s really going on here?” Beverly asked.

“Probably none of them. When I started, I was told the aerosols were for weather experiments. That was it. No details, no specifics.”

Carrie headed for the rear of the hangar, passing numerous people along the way. A few of them cast glances in our direction, but no one seemed to recognize we weren’t part of the work force.

The back of the hangar was divided into five areas. Each area consisted of metal tables, lined up in perfect rows and columns. Large monitors sat on the tables. A wireless keyboard and a mouse sat in front of each monitor.

Carrie walked to the leftmost area. She marched past some workers and took up position at an isolated computer. Without hesitation, she began typing on the keyboard.

The rest of us lingered near her. Graham pretended to type on a nearby computer. Benigno, head held low, strode to the back wall and scanned some environmental posters. Beverly knelt in front of the tables and worked her laces as if retying her boots. Meanwhile, I sidled up to Carrie.

“These computers oversee non-flight operations.” She pecked at the keyboard. The screen shifted and I saw information about inner temperature, maintenance requests, cleaning schedules, and pantry inventories. “Just give me a minute.”

Doors banged. Twisting my head, I saw a number of guards march into the hangar. My brow tightened. “Hurry up,” I whispered.

“Almost done.” Carrie hit more keys. The screen changed. A floor plan appeared. “Okay, this is the first level. Hang on.”

She typed furiously, opening up a series of boxes. As she typed commands into the boxes, I scanned the plan, memorizing it. The hangar took up roughly two-thirds of the floor space. Adjoining it, I saw a separate section lined with hallways. Bunk areas, conference rooms, a maintenance room, a kitchen, a cafeteria, a recreational room, and numerous other spaces occupied it.

The screen changed again and a second floor plan appeared above the first one. “Okay, this is the second level,” she said.

Again, the hangar took up the majority of the space. The rest of it was devoted to offices and conference rooms. One office, which overlooked the hangar’s northwest section, was exceptionally large.

I studied the plans. “If you were Simona, where would you hide prisoners and stolen items?”

“The basement, assuming it exists. Everywhere else would be too accessible.”

“Find it.”

“I’m trying. There’s just one problem.” She frowned. “According to this, there is no basement.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hang on.”

Carrie typed faster, opening still more boxes and typing still more commands.

Rotating my neck, I watched a guard leave the others. He walked to the edge of the computer banks and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Gather around, everyone,” he shouted. “We have a security update.”

“That’s our cue.” Gritting my teeth, I turned to Carrie. “Time to leave before someone realizes we don’t actually work here.”

“One …” She typed in another set of commands. “… second.”

A third level popped up on the screen, just below the first floor. It was labeled
Basement
. Scanning it, I saw two large cylinders and a boxed-off area. A door rested roughly in the middle of the northeast wall. “Not much detail.” I frowned. “How do we get down there?”

She scanned the screen. “See that?”

I followed her finger to a box. Filled with wavy lines, it sat along the northwest wall. “A stairwell?”

“No. Stairwells are marked with straight lines.” To prove her point, she stabbed her finger at a stairwell on the first floor. “I think it’s an elevator.”

“How do we access it?”

“Well, it’s located here.” She placed her finger on the elevator. Then she moved it to the exact same location on the first floor. “Which matches up to here.”

I arched an eyebrow. “That’s close by.”

She followed my gaze to a giant pillar in the northwest corner. It extended from the ground to the ceiling. “That looks thick enough to hide an elevator.” Glancing at the maps, she shifted her finger to the same spot on the second floor. “The entrance must be here.”

I peered closely at the screen. The gigantic space was marked
Office
. I didn’t see an elevator, but the room was large enough to fit one. “Simona’s office?”

She nodded.

“Perfect. Let’s go.” I turned to leave.

“Attention, everyone.” A commanding voice, one I hadn’t heard before, rang out. “I need you here right now.”

People rushed toward the voice. Following their movements, I saw Jeremy Pascal. He was short and husky. His hair was tied into a ponytail. Old cuts, healed and recut again, lined his body.

Anger ripped through me. As the head of Simona’s security forces, he was at least partly responsible for countless deaths, including those of Lila, Milt, and Akolo. Their blood was on his hands.

“Hey.” Pascal’s voice dripped with venom. “You guys, the ones in Section A. Get over here or I’ll put you out with the Grueler.”

I clenched my jaw. Shared a glance with Beverly. “We’ll be there in a minute,” I called out.

“Now.”

“We’re just finishing something.”

A short pause followed. “Who the hell are you?”

I reached for my pistol. Took a deep breath.

Let’s do this.

I whirled around. Workers surrounded Pascal, so I aimed my gun above their heads. “The name is Cy Reed.” My jaw hardened. “And I’m about to ruin your day.”

Still aiming high, I squeezed the trigger. My pistol jerked. A loud bang sounded out. A bullet shot into the air and pinged off the ceiling.

Havoc erupted. Shouting and screaming, people ran for their lives. Many headed deeper into the hangar, taking cover behind the drones. Others aimed for the doors, pushing each other out of the way and creating a small bottleneck.

Peering into the crowd, I saw Pascal. He was pointing and shouting orders to his guards.

Waving at the others, I slipped to the back of the hangar and led the others to the bottleneck. Without hesitating, I slammed into it.

Elbows struck my side. Boots kicked my legs. Waving hands struck my head.

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Pascal and his men. They were aiming guns, but couldn’t get a clear shot amidst the chaos.

I fought my way into the doorframe and made room for the others. They slipped by me and then we sprinted down a hallway. The concrete walls, painted metallic silver, looked sleek. They reminded me of a minimalist 1960s version of the future, one filled with automated kitchen devices, pointy spaceships, and flying cars.

Other employees, many dressed in identical jumpsuits, ran alongside us. Their faces were tight. Their eyes were cold. They didn’t give any of us—even me—a second look.

Bullets chewed the air. More screams sounded out. Carrie took the lead and swerved into a corridor.

The gunshots turned louder, more frantic. People threw themselves to the floor. Covered their heads with their hands.

I dove into the corridor. My palms struck smooth concrete. Tucking my head, I rolled and regained my footing.

The gunfire ceased. Footsteps pounded behind us. Other footsteps, a bit softer, slapped the floor somewhere ahead of us. Shouts—full of anger, confusion, and pain—sounded out from all directions.

I recalled the floor plans, the rooms and the access points. Looking ahead, I spotted a door. I was almost positive it led to the stairwell.

Faster. You’ve got to go faster.

Abruptly, the door opened wide. A man, dressed in a guard uniform, emerged from the doorway. He gave me a confused look. “What the—?”

My fist slammed into his jaw. He crumpled to the ground.

I jumped over him and grabbed hold of the door. “In here,” I said.

Guards rushed into the corridor. Rifles lifted in our direction.

Carrie ran into the stairwell. While the others followed her, I twisted around and fired a few shots. As the guards took cover, I hustled into the stairwell and shut the door. Exhaling, I studied the metal surface. But I didn’t see a lock.

I sprinted up the staircase. Beverly edged the door open and we peered outside. The second floor was brightly lit and surprisingly empty.

I listened for the first floor door to open wide, for footsteps to pound up the stairs. But all I heard was silence.

Beverly cleared her throat. “Where to?”

“Simona’s office,” I said. “We’ll use her elevator to access the basement. Then we’ll disable the elevator.”

“That’s not much of a plan.”

“It’s better than staying here.”

“Good point.”

Carrie darted forward. As she led us down a hallway, my mind worked in overdrive. With any luck, we’d find Simona in her office. We could capture her, use her for leverage. If not, we’d go straight to the elevator. I was fairly certain the basement connected to the old tunnel system. If so, we just needed to find Rizzalyn and the reliquary and then head for Pagan Bay.

We ran into a reception area. It was empty. Taking a deep breath, Carrie walked to a closed door. She placed her ear against the metal surface. Then she opened the door.

“It’s clear,” she whispered.

I took a quick glimpse down the hallway, making sure no one was behind us. Then I joined the others in Simona’s office. Graham closed the door and engaged the lock.

Frosted glass walls, which overlooked the hangar portion of the research station, allowed a bit of light into the office. Squinting, I saw a couple of leather-backed steel chairs in front of a long aluminum desk. Another chair, outfitted with padded leather, sat behind the desk.

Graham hurried to the elevator and hit the call button. A few moments passed. Then the doors opened and we stepped into the car. Reaching out, he pressed the
B
button.

Nothing happened.

“What’s that?” Benigno pointed at a lower panel.

“It’s a keyhole.” Graham frowned. “And an electronic keypad.”

“Can you bypass it?” Beverly asked.

“Give me a minute.” Using a small knife, he pried the keypad open. Then he began to fiddle with some wires.

“Cy.” A voice, strong and masculine, rumbled from the hallway. “Get out here!”

Immediately, I recognized the speaker.

Pascal.

I stepped out of the elevator.

“Where are you going?” Graham asked.

“You need time, right?” I took a deep breath. “Well, I’m going to buy you some.”