Page 85 of Shadow Blind

What had they been talking about? Oh, right. Benioko and his visions. Fuck, he hoped Wolf knew what he was doing, trusting the shaman’s intel like this.

After using the bottom of his t-shirt to swipe at the sweat trickling into his eyes, he opened the stairway door to the first floor. The blood whooshed through his head in a rapid, sickening throb. The corridor in front of him was empty. Thank Christ. He turned right, the gray walls and floor bleeding into an endless, shimmering tunnel.

His head went light and started spinning. He stopped, leaning against the wall for stability, vaguely aware of Wolf’s demanding voice calling his name. He swallowed hard, fought to force the vomit back into his lurching gut, and pressed the phone harder against his ear.

“You sound like a dying buffalo. Do I need to send medical to you?”

Even with the phone pressed tight to his ear, Wolf's voice sounded tinny and distant. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

The next wave of nausea hit so hard and fast he couldn’t keep it down. He leaned over and vomited, twice, in quick succession. After a few seconds of nothing, he straightened and used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his mouth. When he slumped back against the wall again, his legs gave out. Slowly, his t-shirt rasping against the wall, he slid down until his ass hit the hot floor. Of course, floors weren’t hot. The heat was coming from him.

Was Wolf still on the line? He didn’t ask, just started talking.

“I’m in the main corridor, twenty feet from the stairs.” So far, he hadn’t run into anyone, but that was pure dumb luck. “Tell everyone to steer clear of me. No clue what I have. But it hits hard and fast. If this shit goes through your boys…”

Out of breath, he let the warning trail off. Wolf would’ve gotten the message. His big bro wasn’t stupid. Distantly, he heard the rumble of his brother’s voice, although he couldn’t decipher the words, just the tone. A comforting rumble of worry. It sounded like his dad’s voice, which was strange. Until now, he’d never thought Wolf and Dad sounded the same.

He latched onto that familiar, comforting rumble as the gray tunnel sucked him in and swallowed him whole.

Day 16

Washington, D.C.

With a heavy sigh and slumped shoulders, Lovett rolled his chair away from the computer monitor. “It’s clear that an acid bath does not render the NNB26 prototype inert.” His white hair a crazy, tousled mess thanks to the countless times he’d raked his fingers through it, he swiveled to stare at Clark. “It’s time to explore other options.”

“Agreed.” Clark dragged his gaze from the magnified view inside the NNB26 tank. The bots were scurrying around like an angry colony of ants. The last acid bath had pissed them off rather than destroying them. It had also mutated them. They were no longer black and round, they were almost translucent and oval.

So far, all acid options had failed. Yet their other fail-safe options were a logistical nightmare. An EMP blast wouldn’t affect them. An MRI was questionable. Still, it was hard to argue against Lovett’s advice when every acid they’d dumped over the bots had failed to permanently dissolve them.

He stood, arched his back, and wandered over to the small Osmium tank sitting on the stainless-steel table. The container, which had been specially designed and manufactured to hold the prototype, while withstanding an acid wash, currently housed millions of the nanobots—somewhere around ten percent of his supply. The bots had been transferred to the chamber before he’d programmed them, when they’d been safe to handle. A larger vat made of osmium housed the rest in a secure clean room down the hall.

On paper, hydrofluoric acid should have dissolved the nanobots. And dousing them with the acid had worked…at first. They’d been a melted, charred mess for a couple of hours. But then some had revived. Then more. Then the rest of them. The damn things had used the acid as material to rebuild themselves. Lovett hit them with more hydrofluoric acid. The bots were active again within the hour. On the third dose, they didn’t dissolve at all. That same pattern had followed with each acid they’d tried. Except the revival times shortened with each test.

It was the damnedest thing. His organic prodigies were learning how to protect themselves. Clark felt simultaneously impressed with their ingenuity—like a proud papa—and thoroughly terrified.

If they couldn’t deactivate the damn things with the kill switch or destroy them with acid, how would they stop them if they escaped their tanks?

Not gonna happen…those tanks are bot proof. Acid proof. Disaster proof. They’ve held the little bastards for years. They’ll hold them for an eternity. You need to focus on matters of more concern.

The silent reassurance might have been comforting if the bots weren’t changing. Evolving. Who knew what trouble the microscopic monsters were heading toward?

“Look into alternative methods to shut them down.” Clark returned to the desk his laptop was on and picked up his phone. The nanobots weren’t the only uncertainty plaguing him.

Kuznetsov still hadn’t returned his phone calls. The silence from the arms dealer was almost as unnerving as the situation with the NNB26 prototype.

“As you wish,” Lovett frowned, fingering his chin. His mouth pursed—which gave him the look of an overly thoughtful bass. “Perhaps liquid nitrogen would do the trick.”

In other words, the fool didn’t know what would kill the bots for good.

“Keep me apprised.” Before he said something he’d regret, Clark stuffed his phone in his pocket, tucked his laptop under his arm and headed across the cold, white tile to the cold, white door. All this white on white was giving him a headache.

“Of course.” Lovett sounded appropriately chagrined.

As he rode the elevator back up to his office, Clark turned his attention to his other problem. Five days now with no return call.

Something was wrong.

There were plenty of reasons Kuznetsov might not be answering his phone. But only two of them concerned him. Someone had captured the bastard, or, hell, the arms dealer had double-crossed him.

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