Page 81 of Heir of Ashes

Rafael huffed, shaking his head. “No, Roxanne, they’d keep him isolated.”

“No,” I insisted. “Archer will be on the fourth floor, no matter how dangerous or different he is.”

Even Logan looked dubious. “Maybe things changed after you left. If the PSS is half as smart as they advertise, they’ll know to isolate Archer.”

“Not unless they’ve rewired everything and overhauled the entire security system. Trust me, the fourth floor is one of the most heavily secured places in the entire facility. Especially the east wing. If Archer is in this building, he’ll be there.”

“Then why isolate the one on the third floor?” Rafael asked, annoyed.

“Probably because he’s a volunteer who’s only staying for a short time.”

Rafael’s incredulity was laughable. “Why would anyone volunteer to be tortured?”

“They aren’t. They volunteer in exchange for money. Some for protection.”

Logan nodded once, still chewing gum. “The fourth floor it is,” he said, and that was that. He produced a small round device similar to a wristwatch from a pocket around his right thigh and looked at me. “Party time. Let’s rock this place.” Hepressed a button, and a yellow display lit up. Before I could make any sense of it, he pocketed it again.

When I met his gaze, it was empty. There was no longer anyone—any conscience—home. The killer was back again. As if to confirm my assessment, he unhooked a small-barreled gun from one of the side hoops on his suit, inserted a small cylinder over it—a silencer—and ushered us forward before disappearing into the lobby.

The lobby, unlike the rest of the building, was adorned with mosaic tiles. It was a big, rectangular space devoid of windows save for two square, bulletproof panes embedded in the reinforced steel front doors. Cameras and sensors were placed in strategic corners and niches, silently recording every inch of the room. No one passed through this room without high clearance. Metal chairs, bolted to the floor and softened by cushioned pillows, were arranged in a sitting area to one side for guest scientists. On the opposite side of the entrance was the guard post. Directly behind it, covering the entire wall from top to bottom, was the PSS’s emblem: a hawk’s head with wings encircling a long sword. No one entering this room could miss it. On one side of the guard post was the double door we had come through and on the other side, the bank of secured elevators. A potted tree near the entrance was the only new addition I could see.

We crossed to the bank of elevators, passing the low murmur of a baseball game coming from a tablet left on the desk. My attention was drawn to the guard who’d been on duty. His nametag read O’Neil. I remembered him. He had a ready smile that turned nasty every time I passed by. Rafael didn’t break his neck. There was a small, neat hole between the guard’s eyes that marked the entrance of Rafael’s bullet. That was the only neat thing, though. Both eyes were open, though one was nothing but a gory hole, the eyeball missing. Blood and brainmatter covered the back of his chair, as well as splattered the wall behind him. Both of the guard’s thumbs were missing, something Rafael had displayed by leaving the guard’s hands propped on top of the desk.

I tore my gaze away from the mutilated guard, swallowing back bile, and motioned to the right elevator, since the left one only went to the west wing. He accessed the elevator with O’Neil’s key—along with his thumb. Before we stepped inside the car, an explosion shook the building. The floor beneath us, the elevator car, and the potted tree all trembled with the force. Neither Logan nor Rafael looked surprised. This was part of their plan.

“We have five minutes,” Logan said as we entered the car.

“What was that?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Our distraction.”

“But—umm—why? Now the guards on the fourth floor will be on full alert.”

Everything had been going so well. The thought had just crossed my mind when the alarms began blaring.

Logan gave me an empty smile. As we rode to the fourth floor, he and Rafael each unhooked a grenade, waiting for the doors to part. When the doors opened, Logan threw a smoke grenade to the left, Rafael threw another to the right, their motions synchronized. The explosions were deafening, filling the space with smoke, confusing the guards long enough to be dispatched. Before the explosion had stopped echoing, Logan was taking down the nearest guards, while Rafael dealt with the farthest.

All seven guards were down in less than a minute. I tried not to dwell on the fact that Logan moved as if he were strolling through a park on a sunny day, so casual was his disposal of human lives. I felt a hit on my Kevlar vest, but aside fromfeeling like I’d been nudged, nothing happened. Still, seeing a tranquilizer dart sticking out of my chest was terrifying.

When the chaos and shouts subsided and everything lay quiet—or as quiet as it could be with the blaring claxons—Rafael and Logan moved to the double-glass doors. Rafael pulled out the device he’d used to gain access to the building on the pad beside the door. When the lock flashed orange, he pressed O’Neil’s thumb to the small screen beside it. The light on the pad turned green and the doors parted silently. Logan dragged one of the bodies from the floor and propped it against the door to keep it open, then moved to the first locked room. Rafael headed in the opposite direction, to keep watch over the emergency staircase.

My heart skipped a beat, and my stomach churned. I wished I had another stick of gum to occupy me. Instead, I fidgeted from one foot to the other, my arms hanging uselessly at my sides. As Logan worked on the door of the first room, I bit my already bitten nails. How many rooms were on this side of the building? Eighteen? Twenty? I was almost sure there were eighteen, but I could be mistaken. But whether it was eighteen or twenty, that wasn’t the issue. What if Archer wasn’t here? What if he was that lonely person on the third floor? What if, after Logan checked all the rooms and didn’t find him, we backtracked to the lobby to take the second elevator and were ambushed by The Elite? Even if a second trip was possible, Rafael said the fourth floor was packed. We still had to check the other wing before going down a level. Checking the third floor first would’ve been faster and easier—and more sensible by process of elimination.

Too much was unknown. Too much hinged on luck … and luck had never been a friend of mine. I bit down harder on my nail. Already the smoke was clearing, being sucked into the ventilation system and, out of the seven dead guards, Irecognized five. My head pounded in rhythm with the claxons, and my heart raced, both from fear and anticipation of finally meeting one of my kind. What did Archer’s aura look like? Had I ever seen one before? Was this the real reason I had insisted on coming? Was I afraid that by staying behind, Archer would have avoided the face-to-face, so I wouldn’t be able to identify him later?

“Three minutes,” Rafael called from where he stood guard by the emergency stairs. I had no idea if he could hear any approach with the screaming alarm.

By the door of Room 411, Logan crouched, inserting something yellow and thin between the doorframe and lock—where the tumblers would be—then followed it with something metallic and wiry. As soon as half of it disappeared into the paper-thin crack, he let go and took a step back, just as a muffled boom slightly bent the doorjamb inward. A few well-aimed kicks later, the door flew open, revealing the room within. From where I stood by the elevator, I could see inside the room and what I saw chilled me to the bone. It wasn’t the usual utilitarian, bolted-down furnished suite. No, there wasn’t even a bed in there. Instead, a black recliner took up half of the room. A bunch of machines, intertwined with tubes and glowing cylinders, took up the other half. Dark liquid filled some of the tubes, and a deep blue stream of laser light moved from one box-sized square to another, connecting both sides. But the most chilling sight, the one that paralyzed me with icy fear, was the half-naked man lying in the recliner, his chest covered with wires that disappeared into the machines above and behind him. His head, shaved and covered in round rubber disks, was visible through a small gap between a square machine and a sloping fluorescent tube.

He looked so pale, so thin, and so … helpless.

Logan took one look at the prone figure and moved to the next room, repeating the same process with the lock. Not Archer, therefore no one of his concern, I thought, sickened by his coldhearted dismissal. I took a step forward, ready to help the stranger, but when the elevator door began closing, I jolted back to my senses and returned to my post. We couldn’t help everyone. I knew that coming in. Besides, the man was barely alive, as the shallow rise and fall of his chest proved.

Logan moved to the third room, working quickly but calmly, still chewing gum. My gaze returned to the man on the recliner, and as if sensing my eyes on him, his head moved, his eyes fluttering open. Deep, dark blue eyes met mine through the gap between the tube and the machine, framing his face in fluorescent light. The pain, despair, and sorrow I saw there hit me like a punch to the gut, so familiar was I with the helplessness he was feeling. I had been there once, not long ago, though never with this many machines, never with that precise—or even similar—system.

How long? I wondered. How long had he been here? The pain and despair in his eyes told me it had been far too long. All the experiments done on me had been inside a lab, never in my rooms.

“Two minutes,” Rafael called.

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