Linkage: The Narrows of Time (31 page)

“You won’t get a signal down here,” Kleezebee
said.

“Then I’ll just call Rafael from the surface.
I’m sure it won’t take his men long to find Lucas,” Larson said,
jerking the gun toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Kleezebee followed Drew out the door with
Larson trailing behind.

* * *

“Okay, it’s safe to return,” Billy Ray said,
pressing a series of orange buttons on his watch.

A split second later the two of them were
back in the QED lab, standing beside the open cabinet door. Lucas
motioned to Billy Ray to follow him to the lab door, where he
leaned around the corner to spy down the hallway; Drew and
Kleezebee were about thirty feet away, walking and rolling with
their backs to him, followed by a man with blond hair; Lucas
assumed he had a gun. When they turned the corner at the end of the
hall, Lucas recognized the gunman.

“Larson?!” he whispered. “How the hell—?” He
turned to Billy Ray and said, “We have to rescue them.”

“How?”

“We’ll have to improvise,” Lucas replied,
unhooking the three-foot-long fire extinguisher from the wall.

“Sorry, but I’m not trained for this,” Billy
Ray said, touching the buttons on his watch. The tech slipped back
into the subspace rift.

“Yeah, thanks for the help,” Lucas whispered
to the heavens, as if Billy Ray could somehow hear him.

Lucas lugged the fire extinguisher on his
right hip as he jogged down the hallway. Once he caught up to his
brother, he slowed his pace and crept along the walls to keep out
of sight until he was ready to strike.

He wondered what Larson’s plan was once they
reached the stairwell. There was no way Drew was going to be able
to climb the stairs by himself. Did Larson expect Kleezebee to
carry him? Or was Larson going to? It didn’t make much sense, but
then maybe Larson hadn’t thought that far ahead.

He was only ten feet behind Larson as they
neared the seating lounge next to the mangled elevator, when he saw
his opportunity. Just to the right of Larson was a four-foot-wide
cement column, where he could get the drop on Larson.

While Larson focused on his captives, Lucas
sneaked around to the right and hid behind the column. He waited
three seconds, then stepped out and swung the fire extinguisher
with all his might. The canister caught the right side of Larson’s
head, sending the attorney flying across the hallway. The gun
jettisoned out of Larson’s hand, landing several feet away from
him. It didn’t fire.

“Take that, you asshole,” Lucas yelled,
standing over Larson’s motionless body.

“Damn it, Lucas, I didn’t want anyone hurt,”
Kleezebee yelled.

“Sorry, Professor, but I couldn’t just let
him haul you away to God-knows-where.” Lucas put the dented fire
extinguisher on the ground. “I had to do something.”

“But not this. Especially since I had the
situation under control.”

“It didn’t look that way to me,” Lucas
replied, wondering what his boss meant.

Just then, Bruno and two other men came
running out of the stairwell door.

“What did we miss?” Bruno asked.

“You’re late,” Kleezebee said. “I needed you
here thirty seconds ago.”

“Sorry, boss. We came as quickly as we
could.”

“How the hell did Larson get past your guy on
the surface?” Lucas asked.

“He used to be a Marine, remember? I’m sure
it wasn’t difficult for him to take our man out,” Kleezebee said,
kneeling down next to Larson. He rubbed his hand through his
frazzled gray hair. “This is all my fault. I should have had more
men guarding the elevator shaft.”

Lucas looked at Bruno and the other two
security guards and suddenly understood what Kleezebee meant. “You
knew Bruno would be watching the video feed and would send
reinforcements the minute Larson took your guy out.”

Kleezebee nodded, touching the tips of his
fingers to Larson’s neck. “He’s still alive. Barely. We need to get
him to medical right away. Where’s Billy Ray?”

“The chicken-shit’s hiding in a rift,” Lucas
answered.

“Bruno, see if can you raise him.”

Bruno pressed a few buttons on his watch,
“Billy Ray, come in. Do you read me?” Bruno motioned to his two
guards to fan out and check the area.

Lucas walked over and picked up Larson’s
gun.

Bruno spoke into his watch again. “DL needs
you down here on the double. We’re by the elevator.” Bruno told
Kleezebee, “He’s on his way, boss.”

“When he gets here, you two take Larson back
to the silo and get him to sick bay. Leave the other two down here
to guard the stairwell.” Kleezebee pulled out a slightly used
handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to Bruno. “And
triple the guard up top. I don’t want any more surprises.”

“Already done, Chief.”

“Do you think that’s wise? Larson knows we’re
alive,” Lucas said, wondering why Kleezebee felt compelled to help
a man who, if given another chance, would sell them out in a
heartbeat. “I say we let the prick bleed to death. Serves him
right.”

“Hey, I can’t stand him, either, but we can’t
leave him here to die.”

Billy Ray arrived in a full sprint from down
the hall. He and Bruno each grabbed an end of Larson and carried
him into the stairway on their way to the surface.

“So what’s the plan, Professor?” Drew
asked.

“First, you and I need to finish those
equations. Then we should find the equipment NASA used that caused
the power surge.”

“I have an idea where their equipment might
be,” Drew said.

“Okay, explain.”

Drew sat up slightly in his chair. “We felt
the ground shake in our E-121 lab every now and then, which we
assumed was NASA running one of their experiments. It’s not much of
a leap to figure they were testing a massive power source. I’d bet
it’s somewhere close to our corner of the building, possibly
directly under our lab.”

“There’re twenty floors. Where do you suggest
we start looking?” Lucas asked.

“Since their equations are on this floor, we
should start here.”

“Agreed,” Kleezebee said.

“If I remember correctly, our lab should be
directly above the far end of this hallway, down by the conference
room,” Drew said.

“Lucas, you search that section of the floor
and report back anything you find. Drew and I will return to the
QED lab to complete the equations.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.” Lucas slid Larson’s gun
inside the waistline of his pants. Ten feet down the hallway, he
turned around. “Uh, what exactly am I looking for?”

“A Quantum Foam Generator,” Drew said. “It’s
probably huge, like a power plant or reactor. There should also be
high-tech equipment connected to it, like in our lab.”

“Got it,” Lucas said, jogging down the
hallway, sidestepping the debris littering the corridors.

Lucas decided to check the lab closest to
NASA’s high-tech conference room first, but its door was locked. As
before, he used a flying, double-leg kick to try to force open the
door. It flew open on the very first attempt, but again, he fell to
the floor, hurting his already bruised hip. He winced in pain.

When he sat up, he found that Larson’s gun
had fallen out of his pants and landed on the floor with its barrel
pointing directly at his crotch. Lucas picked up the gun with two
fingers, being careful to avoid the trigger. He apologized to his
genitals. “Sorry, boys. You two almost became extinct.”

He stood up, rubbed his sore hip, and walked
off the soreness. “Damn it. There’s got to be a better way than
this.”

The first lab contained very little
equipment. It looked more like a chemistry lab with several rows of
tables, gas burners, beakers, and measuring instruments. Certainly,
nothing in the room could generate any significant level of power.
He wasn’t sure what a Quantum Foam Generator looked like, but it
clearly wasn’t in this room.

On his way out to the hallway, he saw a wad
of keys hanging next to a white, melamine cabinet by the door. He
inspected the ring and found that most of the keys looked the same,
except one. The odd key was red with shallow-cut ridges. Written on
it were the letters
MAST
in indelible ink.

“A master key?” Lucas mumbled. The lab doors
were protected by keycards and digital codes, meaning a master key
would be useless for them. Then he remembered passing a utility
room a few doors back. “Worth a try,” he said, thinking his chances
of finding something to help him, like a crowbar, were slim.
Nevertheless, it was worth a look. If nothing else, it would give
his sore hip a chance to recover.

He ran back down the hallway to the utility
room, and inserted the red master key into the deadbolt lock. The
key was bent slightly, probably from extensive use, but he managed
to jiggle it all the way into the keyway. He turned the cylinder
and walked inside.

Directly in front of him were two stacks of
blue paper towels, a roll of gray duct tape, a wooden-handled push
broom with bristles bent sharply to one side, a black Shop-Vac
covered in drywall dust, and a wall shelf neatly stocked with
chemical bottles and a plethora of cleaning supplies. A
Chippendales male revue calendar from two years ago was hanging on
the back of the door behind him. Lucas tore off three connected
sheets of paper towel and draped it over the calendar to cover up
the muscle-bound beefcake staring at him. He used the duct tape to
secure the sheets to the door.

To his left was a six-foot-tall aluminum
storage cabinet with a pair of side-by-side doors, which he
unlatched and opened. Hiding on the bottom shelf was a faded-red
steel toolbox, covered in scratches, about the size of a four-slice
toaster oven. He slid it out, nearly injuring his back when gravity
pulled it hard to the floor. It almost crushed the toes on his left
foot.

“A gorilla must have used this damn thing.”
Then he looked up at the blue paper towels hanging on the back of
the door and said, “And the gorilla’s gay, or this belongs to one
freakishly strong female.”

Lucas assumed the solid metal toolbox was
full of hand tools: wrenches, screwdrivers, sockets, pliers, and
the like, which would account for its heaviness. Maybe there was a
pry bar inside. He spun the toolbox around, finding a heavy padlock
protecting its center latch.

“Damn it. Another lock,” he muttered,
flipping through the mass of keys on the key ring. He tried a few
of them, but they were all too big for the lock’s keyhole. None of
them looked small enough to fit.

He straightened his back and bent his knees
before picking up the toolbox. When he jerked the box off the
floor, he heard something pop, sending a twinge of pain through his
lower back. He tried to slide the toolbox back onto the bottom
shelf, but his aim was off by at least an inch. The front edge
rammed into the cabinet’s lower edge, making a noticeable dent in
its metal frame. “I can fix that,” he said just in case anyone was
monitoring his activity. He checked the front edge of the toolbox,
but it wasn’t dented; at least not where it had hit the shelf. But
it did give him an idea.

He picked up the toolbox with both hands and
waddled down the hallway with the box hanging between his legs. His
knees and thighs occasionally banged into its metal sides, making
him wish his annoying lab neighbor Griffith was on hand to help
with his dolly.

When he arrived at the next lab to search, he
turned its door handle—it was locked—just as he expected. He turned
sideways and swung the toolbox back as far as he could, then
brought it forward, slamming it into the door. A vibrating pain
shot through his hands and up his arms, making him drop the
toolbox, which scraped several layers of paint off the doorframe on
its way to the floor.

His choice to use the toolbox as a battering
ram wasn’t an elegant solution, but he accomplished his goal—the
door was open. He checked the condition of the toolbox, including
its welds. Everything appeared to be intact, meaning he should be
able to use it several more times or until his hands or back gave
out. He slid the box to one side and walked inside.

The lab was at least triple the size of the
previous room, with a few dozen empty cages stacked up three-high
down the center. He could smell the distinct odor of musty fur,
making him believe he was in an animal training center, which
seemed odd given he was twenty floors down in a secure bunker. He
assumed NASA must have been training monkeys for their upcoming
space mission to Mars. Fresh bananas were lying in two of the
cages. “Hmmm. Must have been evacuated along with everyone else
when Mary’s pager went off,” he mumbled.

* * *

He returned to the doorway, picked up the
toolbox, and lugged it down the hallway to the next lab door.
Again, he forced open the door with a single, powerful swing. This
time, he didn’t lose his grip on the handle.

“Yahtzee!” he said after getting a glimpse of
the lab’s contents. He almost threw the box down before going
inside.

The immense room was a high-tech laboratory
with four active banks of equipment to his left, and an enormous
test chamber straight in front of him. The chamber stretched all
the way up to the room’s ceiling, which had to be at least sixty
feet high. He ran to its viewing window and looked inside.

“That’s got to be it,” he said, seeing a
three-story, silver-colored reactor with four high-voltage Tesla
transformer coils surrounding it. The swirling electrical coils
were taller than the reactor and shaped like giant mushroom stools.
To his right was the missing grease board from the QED lab, with
half-erased equations written in red and blue marker ink.

He sprinted out of the lab and ran full steam
back to the QED Lab. “Guys, I found it,” he said, nearly stumbling
through the doorway when the toe of his sneaker caught the corner
of the doorjamb. Obviously, his body was still recovering from the
hundred-meter dash, not to mention the round of toolbox hockey.