Crux Page 11

  “How do you know they’re scared?”

  “Because paying somebody off is the second to last thing you do if you’re scared.”

  “What’s the last?”

  “Kill them.”

  Amanda paused before asking, “So Cynthia is really … gone?”

  Isaiah’s drew his lips back. Then, with obvious reluctance, he stated, “Amanda, listen to me carefully. I’ve already told you that this machine is designed to open portals to alternate dimensions. But like I said, that door swings both ways. So it’s possible that nobody died in what they’re calling an accident.”

  “It’s possible?” Amanda gaped before shaking her head and raising a hand. “What’s not possible, Isaiah? It’s ‘possible’ that my next-door neighbors are aliens! And I think they are! It’s possible that you and me don’t even exist! It’s—”

  “Yeah, I got it,” Isaiah motioned. “But what I’m saying is that it’s more than theoretically possible. I’m saying it’s likely that these fools opened a portal to another dimension. Only, it didn’t work out like they planned. Instead of getting a good glimpse into the next world, the next world got a good glimpse into them. And I think that when they opened that portal, whatever was on the other side reached into our world and snatched up a few things. Like people.”

  “But wouldn’t that mean Cynthia is dead?”

  “Not necessarily,” Isaiah replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’s not good, either.” He glanced along the smoke-singed wall. “If whatever is on the other side of that portal can exist long enough in our world to grab people and retreat to its own universe, then maybe we can exist in their universe, too. And, if that’s true, then Cynthia might still be alive.”

  “But for how long?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know if anything I’m saying makes sense. I’m just spitballing, here. But you asked me what I think, and that’s it.” Isaiah paused. “They built a machine they can’t control and now they’re playing with forces they don’t understand. But what they’ve actually done is open some kind of gateway and whatever beings exist on the other side of that portal are spectacularly hostile and outrageously dangerous.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Isaiah raised a dead stare. “We’ve almost taken this as far as we can go without killing somebody to defend ourselves. So we’re going to get concrete records of what happened that day and turn them over to Interpol.” He shook his head. “Interpol can’t do anything with wild speculation. They have to have proof.”

  “You mean we kidnap Blanchard and force him to give us blueprints to the experiment that made Cynthia disappear? And how are we going to do that?” She placed hands on the table. “Did you not see all those guards?”

  “Do you want to find your sister or not?”

  “Yeah! But getting killed isn’t gonna get the job done! I mean, do you think Blanchard is going to just cooperate with us? I don’t!”

  “We need to get to Blanchard, but not at his office. We’d have to beat too many guards. And that’s not possible.”

  Amanda lifted an arm. “He lives at that office, Isaiah. And we’d have to get below the surface. Without clearance! And that place is guarded by god! I mean, what did we have to pass through? Three guard gates? And there was a dog patrol or something around that fence, wasn’t there?” She looked emptily around the room. “It looked like a dog patrol to me. There were two guys with German shepherds. I mean, I’m no security expert but—”

  “You’re right,” Isaiah said with a calming gesture. “But there’s a way in. We just have to catch the bus.”

  Amanda hesitated. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that we catch a tour bus. They still keep up appearances for the rest of the world to make it look like they’re doing something legitimate with that multibillion-dollar time machine. Of course, they don’t show people what they’re really doing, but it’s good public relations. We’ll just buy two tickets. Hitch a ride.”

  Amanda leaned back and laughed. “And then? You think they don’t count heads on the bus before it leaves? Oops! We’ve got two heads missing! Then what are we gonna do? Hide? Where? We don’t have IDs. We won’t last five seconds in there, Isaiah, before we’re detained and arrested and probably shot dead. God only knows how many people are already dead in those hills. It’s probably everybody who’s ever quit or retired because nobody quits that place. Not after they really know what’s going on. They get ‘disappeared,’ or commit suicide or get run over by a car. At least, that’s the vibe I get. Once you go in, you never come out. What do gangs say? Blood in, blood out? Well, that place is even worse. Even your soul doesn’t get out. It gets snatched up by demonic entities from some kind of hell.”

  Isaiah grimaced as he said, “Well, I think this is where you should get off the bus, anyway. I’m going in alone. You’re staying here.”

  Amanda straightened in her chair.

  “The hell I am.”

  “Amanda,” Isaiah said, raising a hand, “there is just the wildest, craziest chance that even I can get in there and stay in there without being detected. I can’t do this with you tagging along. No offense, but you’re not made for this. You might not make it impossible, but you’ll make it damn near impossible.”

  “You’re not going in there without me, Isaiah.” Amanda stood, hands on hips. “I hired you for this.”

  “You’re not paying me, Amanda.”

  “Forget that! You’re a man of honor! And I didn’t come all this way just for you to tell me that my sister got sucked into a demonic black hole and I can go get some Swiss coffee that sucks, anyway! I want some … some …”

  “Closure?”

  “Justice!”

  “For what?” Isaiah waited. “You don’t even know what happened! You don’t even know if it was Blanchard’s fault! Who are you gonna blame? The people who built the place? Fifty thousand of them? The people who work inside it? How many is that? Seven thousand? The people who give the orders to turn that machine on and off? Who’s first? Who’s last? Give me a name, Amanda, and I’ll kill him for you if justice is all you want.”

  “What do you want!” Amanda demanded. “What the hell are we even doing here, Isaiah, if it’s not to find the truth about my sister and do something about it? This is not what Deborah told me about you!”

  “That’s the third time you brought that up,” Isaiah said, exasperated. “Just what did Deborah tell you about me?”

  “She said you killed everyone who was involved in her father’s death.”

  “Did she also tell you that we were being held prisoner by seven heavily armed men who had every intention of killing us?” Isaiah bent forward. “Or did she fail to mention that little detail?”

  Amanda impatiently swept back her hair. “She didn’t give me all the details, no. She just said you handled it.”

  “Yeah,” Isaiah agreed, a tragic shake of his head. “I handled it, all right. I got shot twice and stabbed three times, but I handled it.” He paused. “That’s the thing about using violence. Everybody gets hurt. Even if you win, you get hurt. Nobody comes out of a throw down like that unharmed.”

  Amanda lifted her face and both hands toward the ceiling before lowering them to stare tiredly at Isaiah. “So what’s the plan, Isaiah? I am not letting you go in there alone. In the first place, I feel responsible for you, for my sister, for this whole mess. I’m the one that got you into this and I am not going to let you suffer the consequences alone. Call it a Catholic conscience. I just don’t want to call it regret. I’ve got too many, already.”

  “If you go in there with me, you could get us both killed.”

  “Live or die, we do it together. It’s your choice.”

  Isaiah sighed. “All right. My plan is to make Blanchard give us whatever records he has. Then we’re going to deliver the records, along w
ith a list of the missing personnel, to the Geneva office of Interpol. And then we’re out of it. Interpol can take it from there. Or there could be … a doomsday option … if that plan goes south.”

  “There’s a worse plan?”

  “If we can get in, but can’t get out, we’ll probably be trapped inside the Observation Room, so we’ll lock the door from the inside. I’m sure that room is damn near impregnable. Then we’ll make Blanchard repeat the experiment. But this time I’ll go into the ATLAS myself and cross over into this unknown dimension and bring Cynthia back. After that I’ll set off every alarm in the place and we’ll wait for the Swiss police to get there. And with Cynthia’s explanation, and records proving what happened, maybe Interpol will listen to us and escort us out of there alive.”

  “What if those guys break down the door before you get back?”

  “Then they’ll kill you and shut down the machine leaving me marooned in whatever dimension took Cynthia. Case closed. Put a fork in it. We’re done.”

  Amanda’s shock could not have been more distressing; her hair seemed to rise on end, her eyes were wide with horror. “What are the chances that you can bring her back?”

  Isaiah frowned, “I don’t know. But if Cynthia is alive, and that’s a big if, I’ll do everything I can to bring her back.”

  “But you don’t have the foggiest what you’re walking into.”

  “Yeah,” Isaiah sighed, “I might run into a glitch or two.”

  “A glitch or two?” Amanda’s face went white. “If seven people got sucked into a black hole and have never been seen again what makes you think you can go into it and come back with Cynthia?”

  Isaiah didn’t blink as he stared. “Like I said: It’s a doomsday option.”

  Leaning back, Amanda felt her jaw tighten.

  “Good thing you brought the katana, huh?”

  ***

  It hovered at the edge of darkness, watching.

  Seven men worked along the pipes that connected the collider to the ATLAS, as they called it, and were diligently wrapping thick black material around new electrical lines. With narrow, black eyes it studied their movements and then one worker dropped insulation, muttered something, and walked toward it.

  It had no intention to slow their progress, here, and so it moved further into shadow.

  The man continued casually until he reached the part where this subterranean structure emerged into the collider corridor and stepped without hesitation into the darkness. He removed his tool belt and began to …

  Abruptly the man lifted his face, staring at the wall.

  It was standing less than ten strides from his position, but it did not move. Nor would it move unless there was no longer a reason to conceal itself. And then, faintly, the man’s head began to turn, his eyes searching beneath a brow hard as flint. He looked further into the connecting corridor and continued his search before his gaze settled on the gigantic form beside him.

  His eyes and mouth opened—

  It took a single huge stride, like a leap, and delivered a downward blow upon the maintenance worker’s helmeted head—a single hammer-fist that liquefied skull and brains and flesh so that nothing but crimson slush flowed over the torso and soundlessly downward to the cement; the man’s body stood for a moment before it fell forward.

  With the same gorilla-arm he caught the body and quietly lowered it so that it made no sound. He laid it haphazardly, without reverence, and strode across it to stare down the corridor once more with bright blood descending from its hand, a stark contrast to the black palm, fingers, and talons.

  Because the remainder of the work crew had heard nothing and were acutely occupied with their own appointed task, no one yet revealed any suspicions. In time, yes, they would notice one of their crew missing, and begin to search. And they would find the dead man. But it would be gone long before then.

  It bared fangs, for you were created only slightly less than angels …

  It spat.

  Slightly less than angels!

  Their strength was nothing! They were pitiful, weak, cowardly, ignorant, and arrogant! Even their senses were dulled to where they could not feel Death standing beside them. Instead, these humans placidly continued in their work as if knowing the sun would rise again.

  But the day was close upon them when the sun would not rise again, a day when his dark army would see to the end of this world and the beginning of a new firmament far above this wretched wasteland already cloaked with more graves than lives.

  And, then, the final conflict would begin.

  It inhaled deeply and exhaled with strength.

  For this moment, alone, he would leave them to their task. Their work was necessary, and he was not yet so hungry. And that was a new limitation, he’d quickly discovered, to this world. Here, he must eat. But he could not eat of the black manna of the world he’d departed, nor that manna he remembered from long ago.

  Here, he must eat flesh.

  He was limited in this form, yes, but he was still far more than the inhabitants of this cursed earth. And although he could not continue without food forever, he could last far longer than them. If necessary, he could starve for a thousand years. But he was confident it would not come to that. And, meanwhile, these carrion would provide him with ample food until he fulfilled his purpose by seizing control of that room and beginning what these fools were not intelligent enough to begin.

  Slightly less than angels …

  The words, written so long ago, caused a frown to bend the edges of its mouth. How it had always hated that term delivered so certainly, joyously, and victoriously. It was an insult that the lesser should rule over the greater, that the weakest should tread down the strongest, or that the sheep should be made the shepherds.

  All of it was an abomination. But what was theirs would soon be his.

  But not now—not yet.

  Its black lips parted.

  “Soon,” it whispered.

  Silently it turned and walked into darkness.

  ***

  There was a mild knock on the door and Janet answered.

  Roy stood leaning on the frame, a bottle of wine in hand. He smiled wryly, “I thought we might celebrate our last night together.”

  “Our last night?” Janet smiled. “You don’t expect us to come out of it?”

  “Well, let’s celebrate, anyway.” Roy entered as she stepped aside. “Wow,” he added, “I’m glad they got us all separate rooms but, your suite is a helluva lot nicer than mine.” He tossed his coat. “Anyway, to answer your question, I don’t go on any mission hoping I’ll survive. I find worrying about living or dying to be distracting and distractions can get you killed. You can find yourself worrying about surviving when you should be concentrating on your job.”

  “The Army teach you that?”

  “Nah, I learned that from an old book on samurais. Those guys were tough. They didn’t expect victory. They didn’t expect defeat. They expected nothing. A lot of modern operators use the same mentality. Keeps your mind on your mission. Keeps you from thinking about the wife, the kids, or living or dying.” He gazed down. “All you got is what’s in front of you, so empty your mind. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Just do your job and leave. Then you can get back to where you worry about distractions. Get back to the wife.”

  “But you don’t have a wife,” said Janet. “Or did you lie about that?”

  “I used to have a wife,” Roy half-lifted a shoulder. He carefully opened the bottle and just as carefully filled two glasses. “It didn’t take. About like everybody else’s marriage.” A pause. “I’m not totally cynical. Some guys make it work. I just wasn’t one of them. But the divorce rate in my unit is ninety-seven percent and I think it’s easy for you to understand why. So, I live by another system now.”

  “What system?”

  “As l
ong as I’m doing this cowboy stuff I’m not gonna have a relationship. I’m not even gonna have a whore.”

  “That sounds lonely,” Janet accepted the glass and reclined on the couch. “I’m CIA and even I’m not that cold. At least I bring my emotions to the table.”

  “I thought spies didn’t have emotions.”

  “I’m not a spy, Roy. I’m—”

  “A computer whiz. Yeah. I remember.”

  “So what do you really think our chances are tomorrow?”

  “If you and Susan can crack the door and let us in, I’d say our chances are as good as they ever get in a covert op. If not, we’ll have to go loud. And if we do that, we’ll have an entire army down on us. I don’t think we’ll even finish setting the Semtex. Basically, if Plan A doesn’t work, we don’t stand a chance of getting out of there alive or accomplishing the mission or denying American guilt behind this operation or anything else.” He gazed steadily into Janet’s eyes. “We’ll just have to blow the satchels with us down there. This mission will be a one-way trip and the good ol’ USA will take all the blame.”

  Janet was silent.

  “Frankly,” he continued, “it all depends on whether you and Susan can put the mainframe offline. Then Tanto and the general better haul ass, grab both of you, and get back to the escape corridor with time to spare. By then the charges will be set and we’d better be making some swift tracks because nothing can stop the detonation.”

  “Nothing?” asked Janet.

  “Nope,” Roy shook his head. “Once they’re charges are set, the satchels are tamper-proof. It’s all but impossible to disarm them.” He sighed. “I mean, it’s possible if you have a week and a truckload of circuit breakers. But it’s not possible if you’ve only got a few minutes and seven satchels spread over a mile. The only people that can stop them then will be me or Tanto. We’ll each have a remote. It’s called redundancy.”

  “Yeah, I’m familiar with that. I think Stonewall Jackson invented it. So how long have you been doing this cowboy stuff?”