The Overseer (67 page)

Lundsdorf sat at a desk, the area slightly elevated, though tucked under the balcony and secured behind thick glass walls, his eyes closed, his hands folded gently in his lap. A message flashed across the large screen. Five minutes to code initialization. Votapek sat at a smaller desk to Lundsdorf’s left, far less comfortable amid the preparations.

“And if they
do
find a way through?”

“They will not,” answered Lundsdorf. “There
a re
no other ways through, except for the elevator, and that has been disconnected and sealed.”

“Yes, but—”

“Even if they do come, Anton, they will be too late.” A curious smile spread across his lips as his eyes opened. “It is quite possible that both you and I will be killed. Oh, yes. It is often the response of the violent to lash out when they are forced to recognize their own failure.” He turned to Votapek. “And yet they would not touch Xander. They would save him”—the smile grew wide—“thus forcing him to witness the chaos to come. Only then would he be granted his treasured choice: watch a world destroy itself, or make use of the structure I have set in place. Ironic, no? By saving him, it is
they
who will have made the choice for him. In the end, he will not be able to deny the force of the manuscript. This I know, Anton. And for this I am willing to die.” Votapek could only nod, unable to find the words. Lundsdorf glanced at the clock on the wall. “Four minutes before the final codes.” He looked back at Votapek. “Mark my words. Xander will thank me. One day, he will thank me.”

 

 The smallest of the five men crouched by the elevator, pressing his thumbs into a thick claylike mound, making sure to smear the entire lower-
right-hand
corner of the door with the substance. He then pulled a thin metal strip no bigger than a stick of gum from his pocket, shaped a tiny hillock within the mound, and wedged the strip into it. “Step back,” he said.

Sarah watched as the mound began to heat up, soon bubbling into a red mass, a lick of a flame at its center. In a sudden flash, a spark ignited and began to race up the length of the elevator, a fuse seemingly in search of explosives; halfway to the ceiling, the spark darted right, momentarily gone, then reappeared as a pulsing dot coursing behind the wall’s plaster.

“Locates the source of power,” said O’Connell. “All very much in the experimental stages.”

About three feet from the door, the dot flared bright and then vanished, the man already at the point of implosion to chisel out a section of the wall. The sound of steel on steel forced him to stop; he began to apply another wad of clay to the area, this time, though, much thicker. The man worked far more delicately, careful to leave a thin border of steel untouched. He then pulled several wafer-thin strips of something resembling dried mud from his pack and placed each one in the mound in a little rectangle. Again, he produced a strip of metal, sunk it into the clay, and stepped back. This time, there was no spark, only intense heat, a blue flame that literally ate into the steel. Within seconds, it had cut through to open air; almost at once, the flame fizzled out, for some reason uninterested in the wires it had just revealed. Scraping out the excess with his knife, he explained, “Only eats through metals.”

The electronics man now stepped in and stripped the casing from the wires; he pulled what looked to be a voltage meter from his pack and tested each line. Then, removing yet another box, he clamped it to two of the exposed wires and flicked a switch on its side; a moment later, the elevator door released and slid about two inches from the wall. “Magnetics reversed,” he said. Immediately, the man with the clay wedged two cylinders into the opening, placing them about four inches from the ceiling and floor. Very slowly, the tiny objects began to expand, pushing the door farther and farther from the wall; locking in placing, they created just enough room for a single body to slip through. O’Connell peered down the shaft.

“It’s about a hundred feet,” he said, scrutinizing the area with his flashlight. “Bad news is, the cables have been cut.”

He stepped to the side as two of the other men now removed long coils of nylon line, clipped them to the top cylinder, and tossed the lines into the shaft. One by one they rappelled down. The remaining six watched as the cords stretched taut, twin lines beating out the descent in contrapuntal intervals. Half a minute passed before a voice came through. “Solid steel, boys, the whole way down.” The twang was Deep South. “No chance of gettin’ into that car. It looks like we’re goin’ to have to go huntin’ for
hollows
.” Sarah turned to O’Connell for explanation.

“Ducts or vents behind the shaft,” he answered. “Another toy we’re using these days. A little device that sends out a high-pitched tone, then checks for resonance. Determines location and size. We’ll see if we get lucky.”

Two minutes into the search, he had his answer. “We got us one about twenty feet from the base,” came the voice from below. “By the sound of it, might even be wide enough for you, O’Connell.” No sooner had the information piped through than the man with the clay reached for a line and disappeared into the shaft. Within a minute, a blue glow began to emanate from the darkness.

It wasn’t long before the southerner once again broke the silence. “We got us an openin’, folks. Time to go huntin’.”

 

 “Reverse the last two in the sequence, then reenter,” said Lundsdorf, his eyes scanning the three terminals directly in front of him. He removed his finger from the intercom and sat back. “You see how simple it is, Anton. How simple a thing it is to alter the very name of supremacy.”

“Yes, I … can see that,” answered Votapek. He had grown far less comfortable in the last four minutes. “I thought Jonas would be joining us. And Alison. That everything had been … cleared up.”

“Do you think we should have Jaspers here when it engages?” Votapek said nothing. “You know, it suddenly strikes me, Anton, Xander has never seen all three of the manuscripts together.” Lundsdorf caressed the ancient volumes on the desk in front of him. “What a treat that will be.” He pressed down on the intercom. “Paolo, would you be so kind as to fetch Dr. Jaspers?”

There was a pause before the Italian responded. “Do you think that would be … wise, to have him out in the open while—”

“Are you questioning me, Paolo?” Lundsdorf waited. “Good. Then bring him.” He turned again to Votapek, a quizzical smile in his eyes. “You look troubled, Anton. Am I wrong to think you would prefer not to be here? Is the prospect of death so frightening?” Votapek remained silent. Lundsdorf nodded. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you should go.” Lundsdorf reached under the desk. Before Votapek could react, a door cracked open behind the old man, a sudden burst of cold air streaming into the booth. “So you see, there was another way through. Paolo’s idea. I never understood, but now, of course, I see it does serve a purpose. A tunnel. A car waits at the other end.” Votapek hesitated, then stood. “Do not run too far away, Anton. I will need you in the weeks to come.” Votapek moved to the door. “What a shame, though. To have come all this way and to miss such a perfect moment.”

 

Sarah was the last into the vent, the aluminum casing leaving her about four inches to maneuver on either side. To make things easier, the man at the front had been greasing the duct as he went; even so, she could feel each metal seam as she pulled herself along, her ribs throbbing. The grease, though, had been more for O’Connell, the Irishman having taken several stabs at entry before squeezing himself in. Amused by it all, Toby had chosen that moment to describe his strict aversion to tight spaces, prompting O’Connell to say something about
other
tight spaces. Toby had quickly taken the line, hoisted himself up, and had slipped quietly into the vent.

About thirty feet in, the small convoy stopped. “It splits off,” said the lead man. “Looks like six different tunnels.”

“Slice out a look,” ordered O’Connell, his breathing already heavy from the jaunt. Lying on her stomach, Sarah pressed her fingers into the metallic walls and understood what he had meant. A sharp knife would be able to penetrate the casing and give the man a view of the area below.

“It’s insulation strips and a lot of wiring,” came the response, “most of it heading along one of the left-hand branches, back the way we came.”

“Is there any green coiled wire?” It was Toby who spoke, his tone more serious than Sarah expected. “Anything that looks … like a thick Slinky?”

Silence. “Yeah. Wrapped in something like Saran Wrap. It runs separately, but in the same direction as most of the wires.”

“That’s it,” answered Toby. “It’s what they’re using for the satellite hookups. Whichever way it goes, that’s where you’ll find the op center.”

“Then we go the other way,” O’Connell cut in. “Some place nice and quiet to get out of these vents. Pick another tunnel, then move your ass.”

 

Paolo clutched Xander’s arm as he led him down the corridor, neither saying a word, no explanations of Stein or Tieg. The request had been curt, the gun an unnecessary inducement. Now, as they neared the elevator, the Italian suddenly stopped. No warning as the grip on Xander’s arm grew tighter. For a moment, Paolo stared into the distance; he then cocked his head to the left, eyes lost in concentration. He spun quickly to his right, his expression far more animated as he began to sniff at the air. A moment later, the radio was at his lips. As the Italian spoke, he stared at his captive.

“Professor. … Yes, I have him. … No, but traces of the gas are coming in through the vents. … Exactly. I suggest— Yes, of course.” Paolo pulled the radio from his mouth, flicked a switch on its side, and spoke again. “Seal the vents. … Fine, then open up the auxiliaries. I’m also going to need men. … No, they could be anywhere. … Start wide, pull to the center. … And lock down the lab. I’ll be with the professor.” Paolo returned the radio to his belt and ushered Xander down the hall. A moment later, the fluorescents disappeared and the blue lights reengaged, Paolo’s grip on his arm having grown considerably tighter. “Your friends are making this more entertaining than I expected. Don’t worry. The fun’s about to come to an end.”