Dissidence (38 page)

I race along the hall as quietly as my feet will carry me, stopping just long enough to check around each corner as I come to it, searching for a vacant hallway. I do my best to keep track of my location on my mental map. The last thing I need is to get lost in here, but it’s difficult to think straight with my heart pounding so loudly
that
I’m surprised
it
isn’t echoing off the walls.

It takes much longer than it should, and some ludicrous roundabout route, but I finally find myself lined up with the center beam, only two corridors away. I don’t know how precisely this explosive has to be placed, but I’m not taking any chances. I’ve got to get closer.
Twelve minutes.

Pressing myself firmly against the wall, I peek around the corner into the hallway that should take me where I need to be. Of course there’s a pair of soldi
ers in it. Why not? But
their backs are to me, and they’re headed in the direction I need to go. If I’m
quiet
enough, maybe I can just follow them without them noticing? It sounds crazy even in my own head, but I’m running out of options here . . . not to mention
,
time.

I let
them get a little further ahead w
hile I take the time to pull the explosive from my pocket. I’m only going to get one shot at this. Luckily, this shot doesn’t require a gun. The soldiers are about thirty feet ahead of me when I finally slip around the corner and follow after them. My nerves are so fried that my brain is threatening to shut down all together. At least my feet fall back
into an old reliable pattern.
O
ne foot in front of the other.

The soldiers reach the center corridor, where I need to go, and turn into it. I really should have seen that coming because clearly the entire universe is against me. Shaking off my frustration, I risk a glance around the corner. I watch the
ir
backs as they wander past
what I am
pretty certain is
the center beam I’m looking for. So now what? Am I really going to have to plant this explosive with a couple of soldiers in the same freaking hallway? This is completely insane.

I linger around the bend a few more seconds to allow a little more space to build up between us, but I have no idea when another set of soldiers will turn a corner somewhere else in this flipping maze of corridors and spot me, so I can’t stay put long. Drawing in a determined breath, I step into the center corridor just in time to see the two soldiers I’ve been stalking disappear into a side room. My relieved sigh takes with it a solid ton of stress that had been weighing on my shoulders, and I run as quickly as I can to the center beam, which protrudes just slightly from the smooth wall.

I glance dubiously at the metal ball in my hand and back to the beam. There really isn’t anywhere to put it besides the floor. Cautiously tucking it as close to the beam as I can get it, I step back and take a look at it. It’s fairly obvious. I mean, it’s a random metal ball just sitting on the floor, but what can I really do about it?

Across the hall
is a four foot tall flowe
ry, decorative vase. Apparently
someone decided to spruce the place up a bit. They failed, but in a moment of
pure genius,
I decide that it will work to hide the explosive. I grab it by the lip and try tugging it, but it’s heavier than it looks. I end up having to roll the stupid thing across the hallway and then right it again.

Once again, I step back and take a look at my handy work.
Perfect
, as long as the troops are completely blind
,
they’ll never notice I’ve been here. That’s really the best I can hope for because I’m running out of time.
Ten minutes.
It’s time to get the hell out of here.

The positioning of the vase turns out not to matter in the slightest
,
because when the soldiers reenter the corridor
,
they don’t notice a thing . . . except the girl standing next to it, of course.

Chapter 36

“Get her!”

There’s a chorus of shouting and pounding feet, but I don’t stick around long enough to find out where they’re coming from
,
or how many. Maybe I should have instead of running full speed for the closest exit in a terror fueled panic, because
then
I may have noticed the telltale sound of footsteps coming from ahead of me as well as behind me.
Then
maybe I wouldn’t have run smack into
a whole troop of soldiers. But
I didn’t, and I did, and now it’s too late.

Two or three of them have me by the arms. I don’t know why I’m bothering to s
truggle anymore, but I am. Chalk
it up to stubbornness. Stupid, stubborn
me
struggles all the way up three flights of stairs, and down another corridor.
Eight minutes
. All I’m really getting for my trouble are tighter grips that are sure to leave bruises. At the end of the hall is a large oak door with an enormous cursive P inscribed on it. One of the soldiers pounds a quick beat on it before pushing it open and shoving me inside the most fantastic office I’ve ever seen.

The dark wood floor is ornately littered with decorative pieces of pottery, a few more vases like the one downstairs, and even a sculpture or two of something I can’t quite make out. All of it looks incredibly old, and incredibly expensive. Even the walls are covered in artwork. It’s like a museum in here. The place of honor, on the wall behind an ornately carved desk, belongs to a portrait of a man with graying hair. A pla
q
ue reading ‘William
Perman
’ hangs just below
it,
and William isn’t the only
Perman
behind the desk. Sitting in a plush chair, wearing a suit fit for a meeting with the President, is Robert
Perman
himself.

Once again
,
the man does not meet the expectations. I hadn’t really considered what Robert
Perman
would look like, but after all I’ve learned about him
,
it’s strange to see him as just a man. Weirder still, he’s a younger man.
Not nearly a
s old as the geezer on the wall,
mid-thirties
, at the latest.
H
e’s frustratingly good l
ooking with his dark, wavy hair
and eyes like the summer sky. Even if he wasn’t evil incarnate, I would hate him
,
anyway
,
just for looking like some ridiculous billionaire playboy.

“You’re not
Syms
.
Kaleigh
Matthews
,
I presume?” He sounds every bit the pompous jerk he is, sitting here surrounded by all of his fine things while people are dying just outside his front door. “What are you doing here?”

I don’t both
er
with a reply. The answer should be fairly obvious if he could peel himself away from that comfy looking chair long enough to take a peek out his window.

“Let me guess,
Syms
sent you.”

The thought of carrying out a conversation with this man makes me physically ill, but if I can just keep him talking for another
seven minutes,
then I can end all of this once and for all. I try to force myself to focus, but find it nearly impossible as my thoughts keep drifting back outside to everyone I’ll be leaving behind.
A certain someone in particular.

It’s funny. I thought that once all of this was over, choosing between Connor and Peter would be the hardest t
hing I’d ever have to do. N
ow that it’s too late to matter anymore, the choice seems so glaringly obvious that I can’t believe I ever stressed a
bout it at all. T
here’s only ever been one person I’ve felt that way about, and I’ve felt that way about him for all of my life. I just wish I could have told him.

“Yes, President
Syms
sent us. He told us all about you and your company, the deals you made, and what it’s cost everyone. We’re here to get it all back.”

“And what, pray tell, did
President
,” he spits the word out like it tastes foul in his mouth, “
Syms
tell you?”

I weave an extended tale of everything we’ve learned from the time the bombs went off, right up until today. I may have also included a few of my own personal thoughts regarding some of the events. It’s not like
he needed the history lesson—
or
my own private commentary—
but every second I spend talking brings us one second closer to the end.
Five minutes.

“Is that what he said?” He looks almost amused, but I’m having a hard time finding the humor in any of this. “Well, let me tell you a little secret.
Syms
is a liar. He’s using all of you to fight
his
war.”

No, really? We showed up at the front door with guns a blazing. I’m pretty sure we know we’re fighting a war for the guy, only the thing is . . . “It’s our war
,
too.”

“It is, but you’re fighting on the wrong side of it.”

He must think I’m a real moron. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why don’t you tell your friends out there to just put their weapons down, and we can talk about it.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they’d really go for that.”

“We don’t want to hurt you.
You
are not our enemy.”

I’m dying to know just who it is he seems to think we should be teaming up against, but before I can ask
,
the sound of gunfire from out in the hallway distracts us both. The remaining two guards race for the door, drawing their weapons as they go. That leaves
Perman
and me alone in his office. The door is roughly fifteen feet behind me, but it’s at least another five from
Perman
,
and he’s got that pretty desk in his way. The clock is ticking, it’s now or never.

Before my face can give away what I’m about to do, I jump to my feet and sprint for the
door. I’ve almost made it when his hand clamps down on my arm, pulling me to an abrupt stop.

“Don’t do this. I’m urging you to hear me out. We can help you.”

Do I have naïve tattooed on my forehead? I don’t think so. I yank my arm, but he refuses to release his crushing grip. He’s unarmed as far as I can see, but he’s obviously a hell of a lot stronger than I am, and he’s got at least eighty pounds on me. I may not be a kung-
fu
ninja, but I do have one trick up my sleeve. Something Peter taught me back when we were twelve and some guys were giving me a hard time at school.

Four minutes.
Fighting back the urge to vomit, I step into
Perman
, angling my body against his. His face flashes confusion just before I bring my knee up. Then it shows nothing but in
tense pain, just like that jerk
s did back in school. A solid knee to the groin can be a girl’s best friend. His groans follow me out into the hallway. Above them
,
I can hear the guards shouting at the person who arranged this nice little distraction for me. As if I don’t already know who that is. There’s only one person on this planet idiot enough to try something like this. And, said idiot is currently headed in the wrong direction.

He’s obviously trying to draw the soldiers away from
Perman’s
office, but he’s going to end up trapping himself in a corner with no exit. Mentally regarding the map of
Permatech
, I cast about for the nearest staircase. There’s one in the southeast corner. If he hasn’t already gotten himself caught, we should be able to make it there. I tear down another hall following the loud voices and wishing I didn’t hav
e to waste time looking for him
when my wish is granted. Peter flies around a corner, slamming right into me.

“This way.”
He follows my lead without question.

When we duck into the stairwell
,
all of the voices fade away. The thick metal door blocks out any sounds of pursuit, and my pounding heart breathes a sigh of relief for the momentary reprieve.

“What are you doing in here?”  I’m torn between wanting to kiss him
,
and wanting to slap him upside the head as we take our time descending the stairs so that our footsteps won’t echo and give us away.

“You were taking too long.”

“So you came into the building with the explosive
about to go off?  Brilliant.”

“What, you can bust into a work camp for me, but I can’t bust into a building for you?”