The Search for Artemis (The Chronicles of Landon Wicker) (26 page)

He escorted Landon to the first floor of the Gymnasium and soon came up to the secure steel door leading into the Restricted Tower. Landon’s mouth went dry. For months he’d wondered what was behind the large steel door. The thief’s question had plagued his thoughts and forced a plethora of theories to conjure themselves in his mind, but now he was going to learn the truth.

Save for that hint of anticipation, Landon felt nothing. As he stood in front of the door, Landon was numb. He had run the gamut of emotions within a short period of time and was exhausted. Concurrently, Dr. Brighton hadn’t done anything to even hint at what to expect beyond the secured enclosure. Dr. Brighton turned to him, grabbed him firmly by the shoulders, and bent down to look Landon in the eyes.

Landon jumped slightly, but Dr. Brighton’s forceful grip kept him in place. Dr. Brighton’s gaze was so piercing that it felt as if he was peering deep into Landon’s soul. But as Landon looked back into the professor’s deep green eyes, Landon noticed his mentor, not the hardened man from before, staring back at him. His eyes were strong, deep and compassionate—those of the man he’d grown to admire. For the first time in the day, Dr. Brighton’s face had broken from its cold expression.

“Landon, this is your last chance,” Dr. Brighton said, breaking the silence. His voice trembled slightly. Landon looked uncertainly back at his teacher. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes looked at Landon with a sense of concern. What had suddenly drawn out the true nature of the teacher he’d grown to look up to? “It’s not too late. You can turn around and return to your studies . . . no questions asked. All you’ll have to do is hold true to your promise and not tell anyone about the Pantheon. Right now, I’m the only one who knows you accepted our offer, but the second you walk through this door, it’s final. There’s no turning back.”

“I understand,” Landon replied. He diverted his eyes from his professor, turning them down as he weighed the decision in his mind. What had prompted Dr. Brighton to suddenly shift into the concerned teacher? Why did he appear so worried? Landon asked himself,
What am I getting into?
What could be wrong about joining a group of students who dedicated themselves to helping people? What was really locked away in the Restricted Tower? What was Dr. Brighton not telling him?
What’s behind that door?

Before he could find answers to his many questions, Dr. Brighton continued hurriedly, emphasizing his concerns before some unknown deadline had passed. “Landon, what the Pantheon does is dangerous. You’d be risking your life! Are you sure you want that kind of responsibility? Just think about it. I have to open the door at nine o’clock on the second, so you must choose now. There’s no looking back after that. Whatever you decide, I will respect your decision, but I would not feel right without giving you a second chance.”

Landon looked back at his teacher. He’d never seen him appear so worried and shaken. Dr. Brighton always seemed so strong and rational; what was it about this organization that made him so unnerved? Landon didn’t know what to do. He’d agreed to become a member of the Pantheon, to fight to protect the United States. His brain kept telling him to turn back, that there was no reason to risk his life, but his heart kept reminding him that he needed redemption, a way to assuage his guilt. To make matters worse, Dr. Brighton’s shift in attitude had spiked Landon’s curiosities, which had been piqued the moment they’d headed toward the Restricted Tower. He knew he would finally get to know what was going on inside, and he always had a difficult time resisting his need to know.

“Dr. Brighton, I appreciate the concern,” Landon started, “but I told you in your office I would do it. Growing up, my mom always told me to trust my gut. I’m supposed to do this. She would want me to do this, and now that I know it exists, there’s no way I can go back to the way things were before. I
need
this.”

Dr. Brighton dropped his gaze and lowered his head. His grip on Landon’s shoulders slacked, and then his arms fell to his sides. After an extended moment, Dr. Brighton stood upright, and with a quick breath through his nose, shook himself back into the stoic professional Landon had interacted with throughout the morning.

He stepped up to the large steel door and placed his hand on a black panel to the right of it. A thin, glowing blue line oscillated up and down the screen a few times, scanning Dr. Brighton’s hand, and left a luminescent blue residual print on the screen as it processed. After a moment, a vibrant green bar stretched across the center of the scanner with the words “ACCESS GRANTED” visible in black type. Then, a loud metallic sound resonated from the steel door, followed by a high-pitched hiss as the airlock depressurized.

Landon felt like he had walked into the Pentagon. The entire tower seemed to be a single room. Desks were scattered with papers, and people worked diligently on computers. The walls were lined in massive concave screens. Some appeared to be performing some sort of complex search as images flashed at an incomprehensible speed. Others were broken up into a series of squares, each playing a different news station from around the world. The room was massive; the ceilings must have reached to the second, if not the third, floor, and the sound of typing fingers and multiple news anchors mixed with the bright video images, causing Landon to go into sensory overload. He didn’t know where to look. He never expected anything like this to be hidden within the tower.

He followed behind Dr. Brighton as he walked down a path toward the center of the room. Scanning the people at the desks, he recognized people he’d seen for the first time at Thanksgiving and in the First Frost Frenzy stands.

They reached a massive circular console at the center of the room. Landon paused beside Dr. Brighton, but he failed to notice why they’d stopped. He was too preoccupied scanning the room, attempting to soak in every last bit of stimuli that his brain hadn’t synced up with his body.

“Landon Wicker!” a voice exclaimed that jolted Landon back into reality. He spun his head around and found Dr. Wells standing before him with an excited look on his face and his arms outstretched like he was preparing to pull Landon into an uncomfortable hug. Luckily, a second later, he dropped his arms and turned his face up, as if he’d realized he needed to be a bit more professional in their current setting. “Welcome to the Olympic Tower. I’m pleased to find out that you’ve decided to accept our invitation to become a tactical agent in the Pantheon.” Without pausing, he turned his attention to Dr. Brighton, who was standing silently beside Landon, and said in a stern, authoritative manner, “Zeus, the others are awaiting your arrival at the Palaestra. You’re dismissed.”

Landon looked curiously at Dr. Brighton.
Zeus?
Is that why Sofia called him king of the gods.
He was surprised when Dr. Brighton nodded and headed toward a staircase along the back wall. He couldn’t believe he accepted being dismissed.

“Well, Landon, shall we get started?” Dr. Wells asked, but before Landon even had time to give any gesture of affirmation, he continued. “This room is the Temple. It’s the command center of the Pantheon—the base of operations. Here we have analysts working around the clock to gather information, process it, then use it to develop and organize missions that the operatives will carry out.

“Right now, we have people scouring all forms of communications, both encrypted and open frequencies, for any potential threats to our national security. If something is flagged, it’s brought to logistics, which will work the case and determine if it requires action. They will work through the basics of the operation.” Dr. Wells circled around the room, pointing out the areas where these functions took place. “Now, if a mission is approved, the operatives will be brought to where we’re standing. We call it the Altar.”

Dr. Wells turned to the console and pressed a series of buttons. Suddenly, frosted glass walls rose out of a wide ring in the floor, secluding Dr. Wells and Landon. The glass made it impossible to discern anything outside of the Altar except for the dark silhouettes of people who passed near the glass. It also cut off all sounds, leaving them in a silent tube amidst the chaos on the other side.

Once sealed, Dr. Wells proceeded to enter a series of numbers into a keypad. As he input the appropriate commands, a large holographic image of an eagle holding an arrow projected up out of the console. He pushed a final button and a holographic map replaced the eagle, but Landon couldn’t determine what the map was of. It showed a building resting on a cliff side, and the details were astounding. It called out variations in elevation, foliage and roads, as well as a detailed schematic of the compound. Landon was entranced by it. He’d only ever seen things like this in movies. He never thought it could actually exist. Before he realized it, he was pressed up against the cylindrical console, his gaze never breaking from the projection.

“With the help of this system, you will be briefed on the mission and objectives to be carried out.” Dr. Wells pressed another few buttons, and a series of dots and arrows appeared on the map and an image of a grisly-looking man materialized above it. “We will detail the op, beginning to end, and then tech will come and take you through any necessary equipment that you will need to use to complete the mission. And then you’re off to carry out the op. It’s that simple.”

With the click of a button, the map and the image of the man disappeared from above the console, and the glass began to recede into the floor. As it did, Landon never took his eyes off the Altar; he scoured the panels and monitors trying to understand the mechanics and procedures necessary to operate it.

“Now, if you’ll come with me, I’ll show you the other areas of the Olympic Tower.”

Dr. Wells turned to the side and ushered Landon to walk beside him. They made their way to the back of the Temple and onto a wide platform. After both were settled, Dr. Wells unexpectedly said, “Forge,” and the platform began to rise. Landon hadn’t realized he was standing on a voice-activated lift.

They passed through the thick steel barrier separating the floors and stopped on the second level. The Forge was quite different from the Temple. Rather than noise and manic activity, this place was quiet, and Landon saw people sporadically walking the halls. Dr. Wells stepped off the lift and motioned for Landon to do the same.

“This is the Forge, the center for research and developent. Here, engineers work to develop efficient and practical equipment to help ensure the successful completion of a mission as well as study and experiment on some of the items we acquire during ops.”

A man emerged from one of the nearby offices and headed straight for Dr. Wells and Landon.

“Ah, here comes Verne. He’s head of the technology development program,” Dr. Wells informed him.

In no time, Verne was standing before Dr. Wells and Landon. He first shook Dr. Wells’ hand and gave him a warm salutation before turning to Landon to introduce himself.

“So you’re Landon Wicker, I presume,” Verne stated matter-of-factly as he extended his hand.

Landon was surprised by him. He was personable, charming and pleasant, not socially awkward like he would have imagined, and he appeared to be perfectly kempt. His dirty blond hair was cut short and neatly combed. He wore a pair of thick-framed, black-rimmed glasses and a dark button-up vest over a crisp white oxford shirt, which was tucked into a pair of well-tailored tweed pants. He was also surprisingly young looking. Mid-twenties, Landon thought.

After realizing he’d been staring at Verne for an awkward amount of time, Landon grabbed hold of Verne’s hand and shook it.

“Yes. Sorry. I’m Landon.”

“Great! Come with me. I’ll show you around.”

The tour of the Forge was quick and to the point. Verne traveled at an alarming speed. His gait was long and swift. Landon almost had to jog next to him to keep up. The main part of the Forge was a series of large rooms, each with a single expansive worktable and a small desk for a computer crammed into a corner. They reminded Landon of a zoo, or an aquarium, as each had a front-facing pane of glass that allowed the passersby to see exactly on what the lone engineer was working. As they walked through, most of them never even looked up from their work. Landon wondered if they were just so engrossed in their projects that they hadn’t noticed their presence, or if they had just gotten used to being watched. Landon felt awkward as he peered in on an older man who seemed to be having difficulty getting a set of wires to cooperate. He felt voyeuristic, like he was violating some unspoken law of privacy.

Soon they had made it around the R&D portion of the Forge and stopped before an office. On the door, a plaque with “Alexandre Verne – Ops Tech Director” printed on it let Landon know they had arrived at their escort’s office.

Before they could protest, Verne opened the door and ushered them inside, a proud smile beaming on his face. As Landon entered, he was comforted by the familiarity of Verne’s chaotic workspace. The room was a mess of spare parts, loose wires and papers. The walls were covered with photographs and strange, blueprint-looking drawings that Landon imagined were schematics for devices Verne was in the process of developing. His desk was covered with tools, a collection of empty, coffee-stained mugs, and a plethora of clear plastic wrap and crumbs from vending machine fare. It was what the office of a director of technology development should look like.

Verne shut the door behind him, pushed through to get to his workstation and began clearing away loose debris and food particles until an area of the tabletop was clear. Something small still remained at its center. Landon couldn’t help but move in closer to get a peek at what Verne had left for them to see. It was infinitesimally small, around the size of a pencil eraser, and wafer-thin—a black dot on the stark white surface.

“What is it?” Landon asked.

Verne’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I’m so glad you asked. I call it Janus. This is my greatest accomplishment since the A.R.G.O.S. system.”