Fallout (Lois Lane) (19 page)

CHAPTER 24

I made tracks as fast as I could,
striding with purpose and a jaunty wave past the security guard and off school grounds. And when I stopped to open the taxi door up the block, at the same spot where I’d met it the first time, I was surprised to find the same driver.

He waggled his eyebrows and wriggled fingers heavy with gold rings. “If it isn’t the excellent tipper. Thought it might be you, so I volunteered. Headed to the Daily Planet Building again?”

Great, a driver with a good memory who would expect me to empty my pockets to tip him. So it went. I climbed in.

“Not today—not yet, at least. I’m going back to Advanced Research Laboratories HQ.” I pulled out my phone so I could give him the address, but he screeched away from the curb.

“I know the place. Where you went the other day. You going inside this time?”

“You know it.”

I was prepared for a jittery ride spent staring out the window at the city gliding past.

I really did like Metropolis—all these people bustling around, so many stories waiting to be told. I logged on to the messenger app in case SmallvilleGuy reached out, and my phone immediately buzzed in my hand.

SmallvilleGuy:
You’re on your way?

I glanced around, even though that was pointless. He wasn’t anywhere nearby. He was in Kansas.

He just knew where I’d be roughly now because I sent him the details of the plan.

I decided to give him another reason to rethink not participating—the best reason, today’s reason.

I sent back:
Yep. And they have Devin.

SmallvilleGuy:
Wish there was more time. That I could be there in person.

SkepticGirl1:
Don’t worry about it. I’m the cavalry or a spy. Whichever works better.

SmallvilleGuy:
Listened to audio again, 5 beeps on elevator. Floor Hydra’s on must be 5.

And then another popped up:

SmallvilleGuy:
Been private messaging with researcher, told him we were journalists & trying to stop the experiment.

SkepticGirl1:
Nice cover story.

Funny that it was the truth. I was a journalist, and I was definitely trying to stop the experiment.

SmallvilleGuy:
Thought you’d like it. I think disrupting the signal how you plan will work.

Except the disruption wouldn’t be exactly how I planned. It would only be me, outside the real-sim.

The taxi screeched to a halt at the curb in front of the tall, mirrored column where ARL made its home.

“Here you are, big spender,” the driver said, “safe and sound.”

I tapped out a final response:
Thanks for the floor. I’ll try not to get hive minded.

SmallvilleGuy:
I’m here for you. Good luck.

The wish for luck was what I’d asked for before I signed off without warning the night before. But when he said he was here for me—he wasn’t. I was on my own for this part.

Knowing the floor did help, though. And maybe the research guy would be more likely to pitch in if he could.

“Sweetheart, you getting out?” The driver extended his hand, the other pointing at the meter.

“I’m no one’s sweetheart.” But I dug out the money and gave him a bigger tip than I could afford.

I got out of the cab and looked up at the sleek building. It was too bad SmallvilleGuy had wished me luck. I was going to need something more than that. We all were.

Fortune never had done me any favors. There was no reason to expect it to start today.

The building had no revolving doors, only a trio of entrances that reflected an image of me back as I approached. No preview of what waited inside.

I squared my shoulders and entered a lobby with white walls and floors and steel furniture. The entire pristine and cold effect evoked some sterile minimalist ideal of a laboratory.

A suited woman with her hair pulled back and bright red lipstick sat behind a desk that had a sign-in book on it. Beyond her was a bank of three elevators. She didn’t say a word of greeting as I approached.

Two could play the brusque game. I picked up the pen and leaned over the table to sign in. “I’m here to see the CEO,” I said, but as I looked at the sign-in book, I choked on my next words. Well, started to choke. I recovered with a cough.

A few lines above where I was about to write my own name was a familiar one.

A very familiar one: General Sam Lane.

My finger traced across the line. He’d signed out already. Two hours earlier.

“Whew,” I exhaled.

Then I remembered that the woman had been watching me the whole time. I put on the best innocent smile in my arsenal.

“You feeling okay?” the woman asked. “I don’t have any more appointments noted for Mr. Jenkins today except the one he’s in now. And none with a child.”

I blinked. I’d half expected this.

“Oh no,” I said, letting my face fall in as exaggerated a manner as possible. If Superior Sally here wanted to think of me as a child, I could run with that. “I’m going to be in so much trouble if this doesn’t happen. I emailed him to set it up. The principal got so so
so
mad at me for just a slight mistake, and I was assigned to do this article to get back in his good graces. I’m new in town. I just need to write this glowing profile. But I can’t do it without interviewing Mr. Jenkins. My dad even asked him for me too, when he was here today.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, and her lack of sympathy was both frustrating and—I had to grudgingly admit—impressive. “Your dad?”

Everything goes in the heat of battle
. It was his own rule.

I wished I knew what he’d been doing here.

I pointed at the line with his name. “He was here earlier. General Lane?”

“Yes, he was, a meet and greet,” the woman admitted, not sounding happy to have to concede the point. “And he wants you to see Mr. Jenkins?”

“I have to write this story. Then the principal and my dad will be off my back. Can you point me in the right direction?” I batted my eyelashes, keeping my expression wide open. “I’m such a screw-up. I swear I sent him an email about all this.”

“Sign in,” the woman said, picking up the phone. “I’ll buzz his assistant to come down for you.”

I didn’t bother to argue that I could make it on my own. The silver roman numerals on the clock behind the woman told me that my lead on the Warheads was ticking away by the moment. I couldn’t afford another delay or they’d spot me way too early. Without protest, I scribbled my name on the line, embracing a sloppy penmanship so that none of the Warheads would be able to read it if they had to sign in too.

Devin only knew that he was inside to observe and report back as an eyewitness source. I’d been counting on him to also come to my aid if needed once I found the experiment and attempted to disrupt it. But I hadn’t spelled out that was what I planned to do. All Devin, James, and Maddy knew was that I had scheduled a visit with the CEO for this afternoon.

If the Warheads had Devin as completely as I suspected from the salute, the last thing I needed was for him to see me and tip them off to my presence here and now. As long as I stayed out of sight, they might not realize I was here until it was too late.

But a glance back at the entrance made it clear that I might well be discovered. No one outside could see into the mirrored entrance of the lobby, but I could see out. The van had pulled up at the curb and the Warheads were filing out, black-clad form after black-clad form.

Crappity crap crap.

Now what was I supposed to do?

“She’s coming down on the elevator?” I asked the intense disapproving woman in my bubbliest ditz voice. “I can go over to meet her?”

“Knock yourself out.” The woman sighed at the sight of the Warheads coming toward the building in their synchronized mass. “Little creeps are here.”

Maybe the front desk lady
was
as smart as she thought she was.

The nearest elevator
bing
ed open as I approached, and I bolted for it. The doors slid apart to reveal an inside designed in the style of the high-fantasy portions of
Worlds War Three
. A dragon’s wings dominated the sides, emerald green scales edged in gold, and a trio of elves with pointy ears wielded menacing weaponry along the back wall. One had a tiara banded across her forehead like some long-lost princess from my elvish royal family.

There were three elevators, so I’d have laid down my last ten bucks that the other two were done up in the alien and military motifs from
Worlds
. And the service elevator would feature sparkly unicorns.

An older woman with a lined face stood in front of the panel of buttons inside the elevator. She yawned, wrinkles deepening around her eyes, and then said, “Miss Lane?”

Looking over my shoulder, I saw the front door opening to admit my classmates—and did my best not to leap into the elevator and startle the CEO’s sleepy assistant.

“That’s me,” I said, when the woman’s eyebrows slowly rose. “I can’t wait to meet Mr. Jenkins.”

“About that,” the woman said, reaching past me to turn a key that was inserted above the rows of numbers and punch the top button, which lit in response, showing the number 70. The doors closed and we sailed up. Fast. The low beeps that signaled each floor were the only way to track our progress. “He’s in a meeting, so you’ll have to wait.”

“No problem. I’m just so grateful to you for fitting me in. Mr. Jenkins must be very busy—so many projects to oversee.”

The woman didn’t bother to respond, except to yawn again.

The elevator stopped at the top floor much sooner than I had expected, sensation of flying through the air or not. Seventy was a long way from five.

And then the assistant removed the tiny key above the rows of numbers and palmed it, and it seemed even farther.

“This way,” she said, edging out, confident that I would follow.

I did. Measuring each footstep so I didn’t lap the woman, and considering my options in dealing with this unexpected problem.

Using the elevator apparently required a key. Which was good to know, if more than a little inconvenient.

It was also inconvenient that the sleepy assistant had remembered to take the key with her, since I was going to need to get my hands on it pronto. While fire codes meant there’d be stairs, going from floor seventy to floor five without getting caught—yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.

The woman tottered at the negative version of warp-speed until she was behind a futuristic white desk. I took a seat on a white leather couch in the waiting area opposite it. As I watched, the woman set the key right beside her desk phone. Leaving it highly visible, if too far from the edge to reach out and snatch without getting busted immediately. Even by a woman who clearly needed to develop a caffeine habit.

Behind her desk, there was a long white hall. One side was a row of silver doors. The other wall was glass and offered a view of Metropolis as stunning as my daydream version from the top of the Daily Planet Building that first day on the job. Not so much as a speck of dust or a spot from a fingerprint marred the window to the world below.

I barely spared it more than a glance. Thinking . . . Thinking . . .

“How long have you worked here?” I asked, keeping the same innocently obnoxious perky tone I used downstairs. “Have you been with Mr. Dir—”
Oops, probably shouldn’t call him Dirtbag here.
“—Jenkins long?”

The woman blinked heavy lids at me. Finally, she said, “You could say that. I’m his mother.”

Not chatty then. Also, not someone I could use the Ronda method on. Mothers loved their sons.

“How long do you think he’ll be?” I asked.

The woman lifted one shoulder in an exaggerated shrug. “Some time.”

I cannot take this
.

I didn’t have “some time” to waste. I didn’t even need to see Mr. Dirtbag Jenkins, CEO. Not when I knew which floor was my destination. And it might be better if I didn’t see him, not until I was leaving at the earliest.

The older woman blinked at me again, still giving every impression that she was a few seconds from naptime . . . or perhaps bored with life at the top of her son’s world. Boredom could make anyone lazy.

That realization brought me an idea, one that could work. I snapped my fingers and said, “Oh, shoot! I’m such a dumb bunny!”

The woman looked at me like
I can’t believe you just called yourself that
. I wanted to say
Me neither
. But that wouldn’t get the job done.

And this was a job. If I didn’t execute my part of the plan, none of the rest mattered. Devin was probably down there getting initiated into the experiment right this second.

The thought spurred me into motion. I stood and crossed to the desk, messenger bag still looped over my shoulder.

“I left my notebook downstairs in the lobby. I’ll just hop down there in the elevator and get it. I’m so glad I realized now and not when I’d have to keep Mr. Jenkins waiting. Good thing he’s going to be awhile. I just need that key, and I’ll be right back.”

Only then, so as not to appear over-eager, did I let my hand dart out to grab the key from the desk.

“I don’t—” the woman started.

I brandished it. Triumphant. “I’ll be right back. You stay here. Don’t move a muscle. Rest. I wouldn’t dream of making you go back down. I can tell this is an exhausting job.”

I closed the key into my fist and backed away, going slowly at first, then speeding up and turning around to hit the call button. The elevator
bing
ed and opened in an instant, eager to please its master.

And I was inside, jamming the key into the opening above the rows of buttons and tracing my hands down the rows in tandem to push the fifth floor and the door close buttons at the same time.

The doors whisked shut and the car dropped rapidly, with beep after beep as it flew past floors. I raised my hand to salute my fellow elvish warrior princess.