Activate The Ravagers Ep1v2 (14 page)

“I don’t know. Tell someone?”

“Who?”

“Your supervisors. The media. Someone. We need to do something.”

“This isn’t a weapon you counter with additional manpower, Sheila.” He shook his head. “You can’t shoot a weapon like this. It won’t even…” His eyes went wide. “Oh, no…”

He grabbed the badge. “Let’s go. Now.”

“But—”

“
Now
, Sheila!”

She froze momentarily, stunned. He’d never shouted an order at her before. She had little time to worry about it, for the General raced from his office and down the hall at full speed. She shook herself and ran after him.

He was already at the end of the hallway, swiping his badge, opening the secret door, oblivious to the possibility someone might see. The door opened and he grabbed her arm and pulled her through before forcing the automated door closed more quickly than the machinery could move. His face was tight, his eyes wild, and whatever horrible revelation he’d uncovered during their conversation pushed him to sprint down the steps ahead of her.

She ran after him, still unclear why he’d run
toward
a weapon of a terrifying power he’d not detailed.

He paused at the doorway at the bottom as she labored after him, breathing heavily after sprinting down the stairs. He didn’t look fatigued as he swiped his badge and opened the door.

“The weapon has to be dormant for storage and shipment,” he muttered, pulling the door open and running toward the tank. “They can’t even rely on impact to start everything. They need something to activate it. A detonator.”

“A what?” Sheila asked.

“It needs a trigger,” he said. “They couldn’t put it in the box or they’d risk starting it before they were ready. Even with a timer or sensors, a single malfunction risks early activation. That’s what the spy did. He added the trigger after we put the weapon right where they wanted us to put it.”

“Why would you put it there anyway?”

“Because I have reason to believe that tank can contain the weapon, absent outside forces!” he snapped. “That tank is built of Diasteel. The weapon won’t get out unless the tank is compromised.”

“A bomb,” she whispered. “The intruder stole your badge to plant a bomb in the tank.”

“We have to find it and deactivate it,” Jamison said. “Look in the tank. It has to be there.”

“But if the weapon can’t get out—”

“They’d know where I’d store it,” he said by way of explanation. “Any bomb would be capable of damaging the tank, causing a breach, and the detonation would serve as the trigger to activate the weapon. The Ravagers.”

“Why do you refer to it in the plural?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, but merely pointed.

She saw it. The bomb was built of a material of a similar color and texture of the “Ravager” weapon—no, Ravagers—stored in the tank. If she’d not known to look, she wouldn’t have seen it.

“There’s a clock on it,” the General muttered, moving toward the “remote hands” used to maneuver material inside the tank. “Three o’clock. We have a few hours. We can deactivate the bomb without triggering the Ravagers. Once we’re done with that I’ll escalate to our defense, and—”

“Sir?” She felt rude interrupting. “Where are you seeing three o’clock?”

“It’s on the surface of the bomb,” he said.

“It’s not a clock, sir. It’s a countdown timer. It’s at two minutes and fifty seconds now.”

He was on her in an instant, seizing her arm and dragging her toward the exit faster than she thought possible.

…few businesses had the financial resources to support offices and production facilities in multiple cityplexes… basing those locations near the ends of the walled road spurs extending from each city was thought to expedite road travel between locations…

S
he’d known Roddy Light for
many years. But Deirdre had never seen that look on his face. It was a combination of shock and… disgust? She understood that he would be shocked at her presence. But was the disgust meant for her father?

Or for her?

Her presence would certainly be a surprise, for Roddy worked for and with Oswald Silver exclusively. The business trips to other Diasteel locations were dangerous endeavors, and required a man with Roddy’s fighting prowess and other skills for safe transport. No one else from Diasteel Headquarters accompanied the duo.

That restriction had far more to do with the means of transportation than the destinations. The latter were public knowledge. The former was something about which Roddy had been sworn to secrecy, not permitted to share with anyone. Not even his wife.

That didn’t mean
Oswald
couldn’t tell her, of course.

She studied his eyes. Normally a friendly, if intense, deep shade of green, she saw in them a fire she’d never seen before, and as his eyes flicked at her that fire deepened into something more.

Pain.

She thought of her times with Stephen during the long working hours, of the times she’d spent—or not spent—with Roddy in recent months. She thought of his unparalleled ability to read people, a skill she’d seen amply demonstrated as he’d walked the streets of the cityplex and discerned the growing unrest and unease without knowing why it happened. And when she saw the deep hurt in the brief glimpse into his eyes as he’d looked at her, she realized the implications.

He knew.

He might not know the specifics, the name, the timing, or the locations. But her husband had realized that she’d broken her marital vow of fidelity, and only recently.

This would be an awkward trip.

More awkward if her separate plan worked.

Roddy turned his gaze and attention to Oswald. “Why is she going?” Roddy asked. She caught the slight inflection on “she,” which only solidified her belief that he’d figured out her deepest secret. Well, one of them.

Oswald arched an eyebrow, and Roddy gave a faint nod. “Why is she going, sir?”

“The nature of this specific trip requires the presence of my director of research and development, Light.” He paused, and his tone turned icy. “I wasn’t aware you were responsible for approving travel destinations… or the identities of the travelers.”

Roddy’s face twitched, and she could feel the temperature in the room drop. “My comment was not intended to suggest an approval role, sir. It was merely a statement of surprise at the revelation of a variable not normally part of preparations.”

Oswald smirked. “Conjugal visits while in transit are never part of trip preparations or executions, Light. That detail will not change regardless of the passenger list.”

“Of course, sir.” Roddy’s face turned stony. She felt the unstated words: he’d not touch her even after they arrived, let alone risk their safety to fulfilling his needs during transit.

A nagging thought tickled her mind at the wording of Oswald’s rude comment, though. Had Roddy sought company during previous journeys while waiting for the conclusion of Oswald’s business?

She’d need to consider
that
possibility in trying to assess the level of guilt she ought to feel over her own actions.

Oswald glanced her way. “While Light and I finalize trip logistics, you’re to head directly to the transport bay. And I do mean
directly
, Deirdre. No… detours.”

Roddy glanced at both of them, confusion etched on his face. She imagined her expression matched his. It was an odd demand.

Unless…

Oswald had figured out her plan. And if he’d figured out her plan, and the motivation behind it… it meant he’d just taunted her with his comment about conjugal visits on the journey.

She felt a chill down her spine as she rose from her seat. “I… I’ll see both of you. Soon.” She turned and walked to the door before pausing to turn to face her father. “I’ll need to make a quick stop in my office to collect a few personal effects—”

“Already taken care of, Deirdre.” Oswald’s gaze bore into her. “To the ship. No detours. We need to leave in very short order.”

She caught the unspoken message. Activation was being moved up, possibly to thwart any “foolishness” on her part. “Of… of course.”

If Roddy understood the hidden messages passed from father to daughter, that understanding didn’t register on his face.

Deirdre exited, the room, closed the door… and then sprinted for the elevator car, slamming the call button repeatedly.

“It won’t work, Mrs. Light.”

Audrey. Deirdre ignored her and pressed the button again, pressing her ear against the door, hoping to hear the engines turning and lifting the car.

“Mr. Silver’s orders were explicit, Mrs. Light. You are to head upstairs, and upstairs only.”

“I’m leaving with them, Audrey. I need supplies. They’re men.” She jabbed the button again. “They wouldn’t understand.”

“I fetched your supplies and changes of clothing for just that reason, Mrs. Light. Please. Head upstairs.”

Deirdre heard the click and froze before turning slowly.

The gun pointed directly at her chest. Audrey’s grip was firm, confident, her aim steady, her stance that of one well-accustomed to firing the weapon.

Her eyes, normally light and airy, had turned dark. Audrey had killed before.

Deirdre held up her hands, moving slowly from the elevator doors. “You aren’t going to shoot me, Audrey.”

“I’d rather not,” Audrey agreed. “But that choice belongs to you.” She gestured Deirdre toward the stairwell on the opposite side of the room, toward the steps leading up. “Go where you’ve been instructed, Deirdre. And keep your distance from me.”

Deirdre tried not to blink, tried to avoid any threatening moves. Roddy had walked through a situation he’d faced, similar to this, years ago. She tried to remember what he’d done. Her eyes flicked toward her father’s office.

Of course.

“I don’t think so, Audrey.”

Audrey cocked the hammer and aimed the gun once more. “Care to test that theory?”

“I don’t think you’ve considered the ramifications of shooting me, Audrey.” Deirdre kept her hands high, her eyes on Audrey’s face, moving toward her inches at a time. “You
do
know who my father is, don’t you?”

Audrey snorted. “I know him intimately, Deirdre.” Deirdre fought the urge to gag. “And I’ll remind you that Daddy won’t rescue you from this one. He’s the one who gave the order and provided me the gun.”

“What happens if you shoot me, Audrey?”

She shrugged. “Lots of noise, powdery residue, and a lot of blood over a perfectly good outfit and body.” She motioned with the gun. “You’re getting too close, Deirdre.”

She’d ceased with formalities at this point. “No, Audrey. Think of what happens to
you.
”

Audrey snorted. “I won’t shoot to kill, Deirdre. You can be carried aboard if necessary. I suspect that husband of yours can handle the weight.” She tilted her head to the side, as if reconsidering her impression of Deirdre’s weight based upon the size of her backside, but said nothing.

“You think that’s the end of it, Audrey?” Deirdre slowed her pace even more. “My father may act like the tough guy, but I’m still his little girl. If he finds me bloodied and incapacitated, he’s not going to forget it. Even if he gave the order… you’re still the one who shot his little girl. How will that affect you? And your…
intimate
relationship?”

Audrey flinched.

She moved a fraction of an inch, just enough for the barrel to move toward a harmless target.

Deirdre dove at her, reaching for the gun.

She saw nothing but the barrel sweeping back up from the floor, back toward Audrey’s intended target.

Seconds later, the thunderous report of a fired bullet reverberated throughout the penthouse level.

…the secretive locations of military bases, known to exist in generalities but not specifics, raised safety concerns among military and civilians alive of safety features and precautions available in the event of internal disasters requiring immediate evacuation of the facilities…

He could think of nothing but escape.

Behind him, the numbers ticked down, each change sounding a deafening reverberation through his imagination. He’d become only vaguely aware that he gripped something as he raced to and through the door and began to move up the stairs. He’d gotten up a dozen before a voice brought him back to the present.

“General!”

Sheila was petrified, less at the situation—which she didn’t understand—than at his seemingly crazed behavior. He had to make her understand. Quickly.

He stopped and released her arm as he turned to face her. With her on a lower step, their height difference was more greatly exaggerated than usual.

“You left your badge behind!” she snapped, breathless, rubbing her wrist where he’d held her.

“It doesn’t matter. Listen—”

“Doesn’t matter?” she shrieked. “You summoned me out of bed with a text message that left my husband thinking I’m having an affair over the fact that badge had been moved, that you knew that only because that badge is so massively important, and now it
doesn’t matter
?” She screamed. “It matters a hell of a lot to me now!”

“We don’t have time, Sheila. I have to get to my desk and sound the evacuation before—”

“We can’t get back out of here without your badge, Micah.” She tried to keep the strain from her voice, but succeeded only in getting her voice to a minor squeaking tone. “We need to go back for it.”

The clock in his head told him they had only a minute left before the bomb detonated and all hell broke loose. He looked at Sheila and realized the awful truth. “It’s too late.” His voice barely cracked a whisper. She was the only one he could save now. And he would.

“It’s too late for
what
?”

He grabbed her arm again. “Run!” He tried to sprint up the steps, pulling her along, but she seized the railing and didn’t let go. “Run
now
, Clarke! That is an
order
.”