Page 80 of Heir of Ashes

“Keeps the mind sharp,” he said.

I pointed at where Rafael went. “What was that?”

“Scramblers. Something to mess up the cameras and buy us some time.”

“All of them?” I asked, impressed.

“If Rafael manages to upload it to the mainframe. For a brief time, anyway.”

“What if he can’t?”

“He will.”

I paused. “And then?”

“We’ll rock ‘n’ roll.”

“Won’t they notice something is wrong?” I persisted, chewing the fruity gum.

“Eventually, yes.”

“What about the sensors and the guards?”

“You’ll see.” He motioned me forward, and we both stood watching the nearest guardhouse, waiting for some signal that something was happening.

A few minutes later, Rafael’s shimmer materialized behind the guard in the nearest post. From this distance, I couldn’t see the guard’s aura, though I was almost sure it would be blue and somewhat blurry. Back in my time at the PSS, guards on patrol duty had almost always been members of The Elite Team. A rapid move of Rafael’s hands and the guardslumped. I froze. Dead or unconscious? The crooked angle of the guard’s neck before he’d gone limp answered that question. Beside me, Logan stood, unmoved by his friend’s cold-blooded actions. Another shimmer in another guardhouse, another figure slumped. The process was repeated over and over, and I was glad I could no longer see it. It was like being doused with icy water. But I shouldn’t have been surprised. With their job description, I bet they’ve done all kinds of assassinations, breaking and entering, hacking, and God knew what. I’d gotten so involved, I had forgotten—no, I had deliberately avoided—seeing what they did for a living. But who was I to judge? I had done the same, if not worse, for the sake of freedom.

About half an hour later, Rafael returned, though he came not as a rodent, but in the form of a crow—and shimmered back to his hulking form. He didn’t materialize into a naked man, and I realized the vibe emanating from their suit was some sort of energy field that enabled their clothes—and weapons—to shift when they did. Rafael motioned us to go, snapping me out of it. The coast was clear.

I scaled the fifteen feet wall in a more dignified way than when I’d escaped Remo Drammen’s penthouse in Vegas. The wall’s smooth stone, slick from the previous rain, made for a slippery climb. Barbed electric wires crowned the top, adding another seven feet. Rafael had disabled the charge and cut a path for us through the wire, and although I had never done this kind of thing before, I didn’t slow them down or embarrass myself.

Inside the PSS’s grounds, I was the expert. Both Rafael and Logan stepped back a pace, ready to follow my lead. We crossed a good fifty feet in the open, the sky a dark moonless sky, to the back entrance of Building A, hidden behind a corner of the structure, disguised by the same white-washed color present everywhere. We moved purposefully, my heart beating an erratic drum. Every step we took, I expected the alarm to sound or aspotlight to catch us in its glare. But we reached the metal door undetected, the only sound the occasional rustle of wind through the trees we left behind.

We clustered around the door and waited while Rafael bypassed the security code with a small electronic lock-pick, a device no bigger than a small pocket calculator. I looked around us, breathless and scared shitless. I had to get a grip of myself or I’d give us away with some clumsy move. It was a sterile place, built for maximum security, with no life or color. White cement floors, white painted buildings with the occasional bulletproof glass window. On the other side of Building A, near the double gates—though not visible from where we stood—was a small but well-guarded parking facility for staff and visitors. It was manned by two guards, one outside and one inside, with an electronic-coded gate that could be unlocked by either of the two. Other than that, the only signs of life on a typical day were the guards stationed in each guardhouse. Today, inside most if not all of these houses, the guards lay dead. The small device in Rafael’s hand beeped, disengaging the locks. The red display turned green, and the quiet sound of tumblers and a mechanical whir sounded from the door. The red eye of the camera above stayed aimed at us. No alarms blared.

Soon—too soon—we were standing inside the brightly lit corridor of Building A. The white tiled floor gleamed under the strong fluorescent lights and although we couldn’t see them, from every fixture, we were being monitored by cameras and sensors. Ten feet ahead, the corridor branched left and right. There would be nowhere to take cover from this point on. The offices we passed—few in number and primarily given for guest researchers—were locked, both manually and electronically. There were no signs to guide us, no labels to indicate what lay behind the closed doors. No shadows to hide us, no convenient crates for cover. We would be sitting ducks for any guard thatcame upon us. There we were, dressed all in black, contrasting starkly with the whites of the PSS’s hallways. And the cameras.

Oh God, the cameras. Any moment now, the alarms would sound. Any moment now. Logan touched my elbow gently, and I had to swallow a terrified squeak. As it was, down went the fruity gum. He motioned ahead, and I realized I was wasting time, paralyzed by terror. There was no guard waiting to shoot us, and the cameras weren’t broadcasting our presence. For the moment, anyway.

With that in mind, I took the lead, veering right into a broader, longer corridor. We passed two more guest office doors before I cautiously turned left, stepping into another empty corridor that ended by the kitchens and employee bathrooms. Midway to the kitchens, I turned right again, passing locked maintenance and closet rooms, to where we’d find the lobby, along with the bank of elevators, and the guard on duty.

I didn’t know what Rafael did to the cameras and monitors, but so far, they held. We passed the back door to the cafeteria, thankfully closed for the night. I paused at the next intersection and pointed ahead toward a set of closed double doors and mouthed, “lobby”. Rafael detached from the group and moved forward silently. From where we stood, I could hear the muffled sounds of an ongoing game. Across the lobby double doors was the entrance to the auditorium, where scientists discussed their findings, gave lectures, and convened for significant meetings. Many times, I was the main topic of the conversation in that room.

A few minutes later, Rafael returned with the all-clear, and I knew someone else had died.

“There’s a WZ 34-567 in room 305,” he said quietly. “That’s the only room occupied on the third floor. We’ll start there. If they know Archer at all, they’ll know to keep him isolated.”

Logan nodded, but I took hold of his arm before he could pull out whatever it was from his pocket.

“What about the fourth floor?” I asked Rafael.

“No time to check.”

“Were there rooms occupied on the fourth floor?” I insisted.

Rafael glanced briefly at Logan, who waited beside me for his reply. “There’s a whole bunch of occupied rooms there. In fact, I think they all are.”

“Archer will be among them,” I said with certainty.

---