The Enclave (52 page)

Back in his apartment he showered, then doused the slice in his palm with hydrogen peroxide and antibiotic ointment and closed it up with superglue and butterfly bandages. He brewed up some coffee in the machine in his room as he dressed, then poured himself a cup and went to stand at the window, staring down at the campus as he reflected.

He knew he should go down to breakfast soon. That was why he’ d cut off the conversation with Zowan, after all. But now that the prospect loomed before him, he didn’t think he could face all those people and maintain the façade that nothing had changed. The immensity of what they had done—were
doing
—overwhelmed him.

Poe was right. They
were
playing God. Or at least Swain was, creating his own little world, populating it with people who had no normal family ties and relationships, who had no choice but to believe whatever he told them was true. They were his slaves. Worse than slaves, if Gen’s remark about their not being human was indicative of the attitudes of most of those in the Inner Circle Were
they
Zowan’s vaunted Elders? Was this the fold Swain yearned for Cam to join?

For a moment he was so angry he couldn’t breathe, and it shamed him that he’d ever responded to any of Swain’s offers. In it he saw his own arrogance, not just in thinking he could come to Kendall-Jakes and be above it all, but in his desires for success and approbation, and in his frustration with the constant hindrances of the academic bureaucracy. He’ d chafed at their pettiness, their small-minded rules and silly procedures. Swain had offered him deliverance from all that, or so he thought—even knowing the old adage that whenever something seemed too good to be true, it usually was.

And yet . . . and yet he didn’t believe he was entirely out of God’s will in all this. He’ d asked for guidance, after all, the doors had opened, and it seemed pretty clear now God had brought him here, in part, at least, to free Zowan and his friends—and not just from Swain, apparently. Zowan’s self-initiated desire for God in a place where no one had ever mentioned God’s name amazed him, and the story of how he came to have the fragment of Genesis amazed him even more.
Almost
as if there is a God,
he thought wryly.

There was the matter of the warriors in the sarcophagi, as well: beings at least 4000 years old whom he believed to be the Nephilim referenced in Genesis six, the unlawful offspring of fallen angels and human women.

He stood there, fear fluttering up in him as he touched again the notion that God really did want him to face them. . . . He could almost consider it now, knowing that if it were the case, God would see him through it.

And if he could face the Nephilim, he could surely face those people in the dining room. Which, seeing as he’ d finished his coffee, he’d better get to before it was too late.

Still, it wasn’t easy. His first sight of Swain—looking exactly like Zowan—ignited his outrage all over again. And having to sit there as if nothing was wrong—giving civil answers to Gen’s questions about the day’s schedule, watching the director chat lightheartedly with his subordinates—took every shred of self-control he possessed. Then it got even harder when Swain addressed him directly, asking about his Sunday run, mocking him with suggestions that his injury was a sign of God’s displeasure for Cam’s having neglected Him, and finally getting round to ragging on his obsession regarding his daily Bible studies.

“I mean, do you have to listen
every
day? Do you ever actually take a break?”

Cam scraped up the remains of his cheese omelet and piled it onto his fork, then looked up at Swain. “Do you ever take a break from eating?”

Swain’s blue eyes flashed. “Is that supposed to be some sort of equivalent?”

“Food for the soul and spirit.” Cam slid the forkful of omelet into his mouth.

Swain held his gaze levelly, and Cam knew he’ d succeeded in irritating the man, even as he wondered why he did so. Or was he simply not seeking to avoid it anymore?

“You’re a fanatic, Doctor,” Swain snapped.

“It goes with my paranoia.” Again the words just popped out. Maybe it was the shock of having a man he’ d admired for years exposed for the monster he really was.

“Indeed it does,” Swain said. “What? Are you afraid you’re going to forget what you believe?” He paused as the others snickered. “Or is it your only hedge against all those terrors and disappointments of your past?” He smiled smugly, for he’ d certainly nailed part of the situation. “You keep trying to convince yourself that God won’t let those haunting inner voices touch you, when what you really need to do is just listen to what they’re trying to tell you!”

It was as if Swain had physically pushed Cam into another reality. Suddenly he could
smell
the pump room again, hear the hum of the motors as the Nephilim’s words whispered through his mind.
“Come
down now, little mouse. . . . ”

With a gasp he slammed his mental doors against the voice, fumbling his fork into his plate as he tried to set it down.

Everyone at the table watched him wide-eyed. Except Swain, whose gaze had turned intent, the smugness gone, blue eyes glittering.
He did
that on purpose,
Cam thought.
Does he know I’ve heard them here?
He recalled Rudy’s theory that Swain believed Cam knew how to open his pods and shuddered.
But I don’t know. And even if I did, I’d never do it
for him. I’d never do it for anyone. . . .

To Cam’s relief, Swain’s cell phone beeped and he was pulled away from the table. A moment later, Cam left, too, not caring if the others saw him as a dog fleeing with his tail between his legs. As he walked out of the dining hall, he checked his voice mail. Rudy had responded to his request to meet face-to-face; he should go to the library after breakfast and wait near the books on wind power. Someone would contact him. He was texting a response that it needed to be Rudy, not “someone,” when he nearly ran down Lacey McHenry in the hallway.

“Oh, excuse me, Doctor!” she exclaimed as she bounced off him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted simultaneously, stopping to face her. “I didn’t see you.”

She didn’t look terribly unhappy about their collision. For a moment they stood staring at each other. And though he sought desperately for something to say in order to prolong the moment, nothing came. She glanced over his shoulder, then gave him a smile and said, “See you tonight.”

He watched her walk away, transfixed, fire rushing up from the soles of his feet to the top of the head. He had not been so strongly attracted to a woman in years. Maybe ever. Was it the bonding they’d experienced through the ordeal with Frogeater? Or was it more than that? He’ d read her file. There were many parallels in their lives, many areas of rapport, even beyond their mutual interest and training in genetics. . . . And her courage on Friday night had impressed him greatly.

“Geez, Reinhardt, you could at least try not to drool openmouthed,” came Fred Slattery’s voice at his shoulder. “Everyone knows she’s the director’s, anyway.”

And in that moment Cam realized—they no longer needed Lacey to penetrate Swain’s operation. She could get out. She should get out. He should go and tell her to leave now. . . . No, he’ d meet with Rudy first.

Fifteen minutes later, Cam was on station near the wind power books at the back of the fourth-floor library when the lights went out. Rudy arrived shortly thereafter wearing a baseball cap and rimless glasses. He opened a door in the wall and they crowded into the small electrical closet behind it. With the door closed and latched, Rudy set a portable lamp on the floor and switched it on. “We have ten minutes,” he said as the lamp buzzed and flickered to life. “What do you have?”

As Cam related the morning’s events, he showed Rudy the pictures on his BlackBerry. He finished with a shake of his head. “I’m still struggling to get my mind around it. Especially how Swain could have constructed an enclave that extensive and no one know of it.”

“Well, that I
can
answer,” Rudy said. “After you brought up the possibility of there being additional levels beneath the zig’s official floors last week, I put out some feelers. Something came in last night: Seems old Mr. Kendall purchased this property back in the sixties during the nuclear scare and built a bomb shelter on it. Designed it to support thirty people, with means of processing air, water, sewage—even had some rooms to grow food hydroponically. He kept it secret because he didn’t want others trying to get in when disaster hit and because he’ d spent a
lot
of his company’s money on it.

“When he died, they closed it down—moved out the useful stuff and left the rest. All the info’s here—pics, blueprints, etc.” He dropped a flash drive onto Cam’s palm. “This is huge, Cam. After all this time, we finally have our in.”

Cam grinned. “I figured you’d be happy. Before you send your guys in, though, I want to go back and get those kids out. They’re meeting me in the hole tonight, so I’ll need a vehicle and supplies—food, water, clothes. You saw what they’re wear—”

“Cam—”

“Oh, and I want Lacey out of here, too, since we don’t need her anymore. This afternoon, if you can swing it.”

“She’s all set to attend the reception tonight. We can’t just pull her out.”

“Then pull her when it’s over.”

“And if Swain means to take her to the penthouse afterward?”

“All the more reason to get her out before he can act.”

Rudy frowned at him.

“Come on,” said Cam. “If this little episode hadn’t destroyed my car, I wouldn’t be asking. But it did. So I am. Why are you still frowning at me?”

“Because we can’t just blow our whole operation for a few innocents.”

“I promised them.”

“You’re not responsible for them. And we have other considerations. This mission was never about rescuing kidnappees, nor the illegality of Swain’s experiments. There’s something far greater at stake.”

All of Cam’s forward-racing thoughts halted. “The sarcs,” he murmured.

Rudy nodded. “You say you were inside. Did you sense anything? Have another flashback?”

Cam said nothing.

His friend went very still. “They spoke to you?”

Cam released a long, resigned sigh and nodded. “At least three.”

“They spoke to you?!” Rudy frowned, stepped half away, then turned to face him again. “You’ve got to go in.”

“You said I was eyes and ears only! You said you have a team.”

“I just want you to find them, Cam, not open them. We need recon before we can send the team. And we have a window here that’s going to close very soon.”

“Your team doesn’t have its own recon?”

“The team’s not all here yet. It’ll take a day or two to assemble.”

“A day or two? I thought you said last Sunday that your team was in place! We’ve suspected since Monday that Swain could move on Lacey anytime.”

Rudy looked perturbed. “First of all, as I said, rescuing McHenry was never part of the mission objective. And second, I didn’t expect an underground installation of this magnitude. I thought it would be a single lab, maybe multiple rooms, but this . . . from what you’ve learned today it obviously taps into the network of old mine shafts, so we’d have no idea of its configuration.
You
not only have a way in, you have some tour guides. Which you’ll surely need, since I doubt those old plans will reflect the reality.”

“I promised those ‘tour guides’ I’d get them out tonight,” Cam said.

“They’ll be out by morning. I’m only asking you to take advantage of the situation that’s presented itself. Just go down and check things out.”

Cam scowled at him. “You said eyes and ears only,” he repeated stubbornly.

“You know how this business is!” Rudy muttered. “Flexibility is the name of the game. You know what’s at stake, too. Are you really going to just walk away?”

Cam said nothing as the inevitability of the moment overtook him. Finally he sighed again. “I’ll do it on one condition: that you get Lacey out of here tonight.
Before
I go in.”

Rudy sighed, massaged his temples with thumb and fingers for a time, then dropped his hand with a grimace. “That’s gonna be problematic, Cam.”

“Then deal with it. It’s the only way I’ll do it.”

“All right. In the meantime get me a list of the things you’ll need. Tools, ammo, clothes, whatever. You should have a lot of it already. . . .”

Chapter Forty

Dressed in her borrowed finery, Lacey came to a stop at the edge of the reception patio in the Institute’s famed tenth-floor open-air garden. Somewhere an unseen string quartet played Mozart as monkeys and parrots shrieked in raucous accompaniment from the surrounding trees. On the patio before her, a throng of elegantly dressed people mingled around white linen–draped tables, a lighted white obelisk spearing dramatically into the dark heavens behind them. Stunning in its own right, the obelisk was nevertheless dwarfed by the formidable glass-and-granite edifice of Swain’s two-storied penthouse rising out of the garden’s jungle to the right.

Abandoned in Gen’s apartment half an hour ago when the assistant director left to attend to some last-minute details, Lacey had arrived unattended and self-conscious. And while looking at the other ladies’ gowns made her more thankful than ever for her lovely dress and the diamond necklace and earrings she’ d received this afternoon, she still couldn’t shake the sense of being a doll someone else had dressed for their amusement.

A sense which only added to the dread she’ d carried with her since it had awakened her at 5:30 that morning. Quivering in her belly like a hive of angry bees and flooding her mind with various dreadful endings to this evening’s festivities, it had eventually driven her out of bed and up to her darkened sixth-floor office. There she not only read her Bible for the first time in months but listened to the message Cam’s online pastor had given that very morning—on the faithfulness of God.

That couldn’t have been an accident, and while listening she’d been terribly excited. It was as if God himself assured her He knew exactly what was going on and would protect her. But later, at the salon, and then as she’ d dressed in Gen’s apartment, and especially now as she stood alone, trying to think what to do, He seemed as indifferent and far away as ever.