The Reckoning (19 page)

The outside of the building was mostly lined with stones of varying shapes and sizes, dirty and worn now, and in many places overgrown with vines. Directly next to the house was a stone pathway, and circles of rocks set off trees and other decorative vegetation that was now mostly weeds. One of the trees had fallen over, crashing into a short flight of stone stairs that led to an elevated patio. I suspected the place had started out as a home belonging to some plantation owner. There had once been windows on the lower floor in the back, but these had long ago been replaced with brown-painted metal. I crept over the stones, steering clear of the moonlit patches that would make me visible to anyone watching from the building.

Reaching the back wall of the house, I pulled out one of my knives from my thigh sheath, and slipped the flat of the blade between my teeth. I might arrive at a point where I couldn’t reach the knife, and since my teeth certainly weren’t going to help me climb, I might as well put them to good use.

It was easy going, the rough, mismatched stone offering plenty of handholds. Even so, my heartbeat elevated and I couldn’t help thinking about the height.
Not really that high,
I tried to tell myself. The building was short for two stories and the eaves were wide and sloping. I could probably jump from the upper window without hurting myself. It wasn’t as if I could die if I fell. Well, provided the guard on the roof didn’t hear me hit the ground.

My fear was locked away tightly in my mind, but thinking about it reminded me of the snake, ever feeding on my strength. Could the presence of that growing monstrosity somehow release my fear? A sense of danger hummed through me at the thought, and for an instant my vision grew blurry.

Don’t look down.

I refocused on the window above and reached it with little effort, encountering nothing more harrowing than my increased heartbeat. I extended my ability, double-checking that no life forces were inside the room we’d chosen. Then I secured myself against the low-hanging eaves, spit the knife from my mouth, and began prying at the tiny window. The muffled sounds were loud in my ears, and I hoped the guy on the roof didn’t come to investigate.

Ritter was right that I didn’t need the crowbar or to channel his ability. After cleaning off the caked paint, I popped the lock without difficulty and began to ease up the window.

The knife in my hand slipped.

I grabbed for it, knowing the clatter on the stones below would attract the guard’s attention. My hand closed about the knife, but my stomach twisted with the ever-present vertigo.

I slipped.

As I started to fall, I scrabbled desperately to launch myself forward. It wasn’t going to be enough. Then I felt a push, and the next second my face slammed none too gently against the window.
What?

My fingers locked around the edges of the window. Heart racing, I waited for something more. Nothing happened. I sent out my thoughts, but the guard was on the front side of the roof, so he hadn’t heard anything.

Had I imagined the push?

A feeling of dread washed over me. Maybe I was losing it. Maybe that snake—now feeding eagerly judging by the brightness of the twin blue lights coming from the outer box—was doing something else to me. If so, could I trust myself to finish this op?

Instinctively, my thoughts reached for Ritter, finding his mind without a barrier. He was thinking of me, urging me to go inside. He knew I would complete the job, that I was the only one who could.

Shaking myself back to my senses, I squeezed through the window and into a dark room. The flick of my penlight showed me that double bunk beds lined each of the side walls, leaving a narrow path in the middle. Two metal lockers followed the beds and the door loomed beyond. Smaller than any dorm room I’d ever seen. More like a prison.

I crept to the door, pushing out my thoughts. No one in the immediate hallway, but I could see glowing life forces on both sides of the hall—probably belonging to other workers who were in their own cramped cubicles.

Extending further, I felt for any blocked thoughts, but all of them were downstairs. Peering into the hallway, I eased out. The corridor was dim, lit only by the pale wisps of light coming from under the doors. I started down the hall on high alert, checking to make sure none of the life forces were near the doors. Their thoughts rushed at me like loud voices from dozens of television sets. Many words I didn’t recognize, but the abundant images were clear. They were scared.

No, not just scared but completely and utterly terrified. They didn’t understand why they’d been brought here. They were especially worried about seeing their families again once the project was over. At least a few were contemplating escape, despite the guards’ guns.

But if the plutonium was ready for transport, wasn’t the job almost over? Or was the Emporium planning on also supplying another country with nuclear weapons? Maybe bloodthirsty Syria or Pakistan? At this point, I wouldn’t put anything past the Emporium.

I eased down the short, narrow staircase. The stairway opened immediately into a spacious living room, where four men lounged on a couple of couches and an easy chair. One of the couches looked new, but the second one and the chair seemed decades old. All the men were Unbounded. Their gazes were fixed on a TV that was blaring in some Arabic language, but they’d kept their assault rifles within easy reach. Beyond the living room, I sensed two more people in what I assumed was the kitchen. They were chatting and laughing in another language I didn’t recognize. But I knew it wasn’t Arabic or Spanish.

Could one of them be Habid?

Hugging the stair wall closest to the living room, I pushed at the shields of the people in the kitchen. One felt like black granite, but the other was softer. I pushed against it harder. And then with even more effort. I could feel it weakening. I conjured my mental machete, sliced open a tiny hole, and slid inside.

The man I entered was not Habid but an Emporium guard, and he sat at a table across from another guard, playing cards. I watched the sand stream of the man’s mind, but nothing useful appeared. His thoughts were on the card play and on the Venezuelan hooker he planned to visit the next day.

If the six blocked minds were all Emporium guards, where was Habid? Either he wasn’t here or they’d beaten him to a point where blocking was the least of his concerns. None of these men were likely to be sensing Unbounded anyway, and Habid would be able to determine that. So, back upstairs or down to the left where I sensed yet a few more life forces?

Prisoner.
I formed the thought in my imaginary hand and held it near the guard’s thought stream. In a blink the mental nudge was sucked inside. Not two seconds later, he thought about their prisoner. Main floor, down the hall, last room.

I pulled away from his mind, refocusing on the living room. I’d risk being seen when I crossed the space to the hallway where the additional rooms were located, but I could minimize my chances of being spotted by timing my movements with the television plot. Before moving, I waited until the volume rose and the hero was fighting off a dozen gruesome aliens.

I paused after reaching the hallway, my gun drawn. Not much against six assault rifles, even with Mari’s ability for backup. Thankfully, the men didn’t see me. I moved silently, glad that my soft-soled shoes were as good as bare feet for slinking around. Only two of the rooms here were occupied, one with four life forces and the other with only one. I assumed the other rooms were for the guards themselves.

The door with the one life force was locked, and I pondered for a moment what I should do. The keyhole looked like one of those old kind that I’d seen in the eastern US, where one skeleton key opened every room in a house. Mari could probably pick it in an instant, but I couldn’t waste the time or trust that the prisoner himself wouldn’t alert the guards by reacting.

No, I needed Mari. I reached for her. Better that I stay connected with her now anyway. At any moment the guards might decide to come this way.

I’m here,
I told Mari.
Almost finished.

I hoped. A lot depended upon what I found behind the door.

MARI’S THOUGHTS WERE FULL OF
questions, but I couldn’t answer them now. Just by linking with her, I felt the drain on my energy increase.

Channeling her ability, numbers filled my head, and I instinctively chose the right ones that would help me fold space. Not too far. Just inside the door. Shifting, I reappeared with my gun ready. The dark room stank like blood, sweat, and human waste, making me gag. The only light came from a dimly glowing clown that had probably once been a child’s nightlight. The illumination barely extended beyond the upturned plastic bucket it sat upon, but the room appeared to be the same size as the one upstairs, minus the bunk beds.

I heard a gasp from the corner near the faint light and then, “Who’s there?” The words came in English, which surprised me.

I flicked my penlight in the man’s direction. He lay on a cot with a thin mattress and one blanket. He was blond with an unshaven face and hair that was plastered to his head with dried blood. His face was cut and bruised so deeply that even if I’d known him, I might not have recognized him. But the blond hair and pale skin told me he was definitely not Habid.

“Sh.” I put my finger to my lips. Now, I’d have to remove his memory of me. First, I might as well get some information from him. “Where’s Habid Salemi?”

“Can you get me out of here?” he asked, holding up his tied hands. “Please. They’re going to kill me. They’re going to kill all of us. As soon as they don’t need us anymore.”

“Who are you?” I kept the light on his face but pulled my gun closer to my body so he wouldn’t see it. His terror was already evident, and even if he attacked me, he couldn’t do much damage with those tied hands.

“My name is Crandall. Dr. Francis Crandall. I was hired to oversee the development of some plutonium which I thought was going to be used for a power plant. But I was wrong.”

I frowned. Another innocent. “Look, tell me where they took Habid.”

Crandall’s head shook back and forth. “He’s not here. They took him yesterday. I think they may be going back to Iran.”

Iran? Why drag him all the way there, unless they had some other use for him? Or unless they wanted more information from him. “What about the plutonium?”

“It’ll be finished in the morning, and then that’s it—for all of us. Please, I heard them talking. They’re going to kill all of us because of Habid. We didn’t even know he was talking to someone.”

“Why aren’t you with the others?”

He made a face. “Habid approached me. He told me what the plutonium was really meant for. I tried . . . I tried to stop them.” His face crumpled. “Please, I have a wife and a two-year-old daughter back in the States. I was just a consultant. I was only supposed to be here two months.”

I felt sick for him and for the fact that I would have to leave him behind. “I need to know about the plutonium. Tell me everything, and I’ll try to come back for you. But you understand that I can’t do anything now, right? If they realize you’re gone, they’ll know we’re here and we’ll miss our chance to stop this.”

“Who are you working for?”

“I can’t tell you that, but we are the good guys.”

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” Despair oozed from him in waves.

“You don’t. But I’m not the one who did this to you. You know they’re terrorists. Isn’t that enough?”

He gave a sharp nod and then winced. “After Habid told me what was going on, I did some checking.” He choked, coughing with a wet hoarseness that sounded painful. “I found a schedule. I think they’re moving it in the morning. If . . . if I figured the days right.” He paused, turning his head toward the wall where several fat dark lines marked the plaster, lines I suspected were made with his blood. “A boat is picking it up near the factory. There’s another boat offshore. From there, I think a plane or something.” Again the hacking cough and one of his fists clutched his chest as he struggled for breath. “No transport approval—nothing like you need for this stuff. That’s how I knew Habid was telling the truth.”

“Thank you.” As he’d talked, I saw in his mind the documents he’d found, including a map. I wished I could take a picture of it with the little camera I carried, but I satisfied myself by memorizing a few landmarks.

He pulled out a letter from under his thin mattress, holding it out with a shaky hand. “Please, if you can’t make it . . . if you can’t get back to us in time . . . will you see that my wife gets this?”

I took the letter, trying to block his despair before it consumed me. “I will.”

“Habid was going to meet with a reporter, you know.” His voice was barely audible now, and I realized that when he’d given me the letter, he’d also given up most of his hope.

“I know.” I leaned in and touched his arm, wanting to give him something to hold onto. “I talked to the reporter a few hours ago.”

A flash of optimism momentarily drowned out his fear, but it was accompanied by a thought of his little daughter that filled me with deep sorrow.