Lorien Legacies: The Lost Files (102 page)

I PACK EVERYTHING UP AND GET BACK ON THE
highway—I'm only a few hours from Dulce, and now that I have a bunch of weird gadgets and cash, the last place I want to be is parked out in the open under the lights of a gas station. So I drive, fighting the urge to go over all the notes on the smartphone. Once I get close to where the secret Dulce base is supposed to be located, I give in and pull off to the side of the road to get my shit together. I can't exactly charge into a secret government base and demand to talk to Sarah Hart. I start by taking a full inventory of the stuff GUARD sent me, carefully reading the notes on the new phone, which I'm supposed to use to communicate with my unseen partner now.

Most of the stuff in the box seems to be computer related. There's a little netbook that's got a stealthy Wi-Fi hotspot installed inside that will bounce my location
to satellites around the world, making anything I do impossible to track. That way I'll be able to communicate with people and upload stuff to They Walk Among Us without worrying about a bunch of black helicopters swooping in on me. There's also a USB drive that's supposed to help get the FBI computer I swiped up and running again—GUARD thinks that the files I saw disappearing before the screen went black may still be hidden somewhere on the hard drive. The trigger-looking thing covered in weird symbols
is
some kind of cutting-edge grenade. GUARD says it should only be used in a life-or-death situation. All I have to do is press the button on top and throw. There's no explanation as to what it actually
does
or what the symbols mean. They don't look like any alphabet I've ever seen, and I can't help but wonder if GUARD somehow managed to snag an alien weapon.

I kind of wish he'd also sent along a laser pistol or something.

The cash is self-explanatory. Well, not really. The fact that GUARD would just up and send fifteen hundred dollars—I counted—to someone he
sorta
knows makes me wonder if he's actually some kind of hacker billionaire operating out of a secret lair that looks like something out of
The Matrix
.

I shove everything into the messenger bag, including my old burner phone. As cool as all the gadgets are,
the most helpful thing in the box for me right now is the stack of satellite images and blueprints of the Dulce base. All the maps I found online showed nothing but desert where it should have been, but the stuff GUARD sent is comprehensive, laying out the big-ass complex and giving me a good idea of the size of the thing and where I might be able to sneak in. There are even blueprints of what the underground levels of the place might look like.

It's intimidating as hell.

Flipping through the maps, I don't know how I'm going to be able to find Sarah in this mess. She could be anywhere. She might not even
be
there anymore. My body feels like it's sinking in on itself as I consider how impossible this mission is. How stupid I am for thinking I can just waltz in and rescue her.

I crack open another energy drink, guzzling it.

Man up, Mark.

I put my truck into gear and get back on the road. I'll have a better idea of what my plan should be once I get there. Surely.

After about fifteen minutes of driving, I take an unmarked side road that's circled on the maps GUARD sent. The base shouldn't be that far now. I turn off my lights and drive slowly. There's just enough moonlight for me to sort of be able to see. For a few minutes, I see nothing but hilly desert in front of me, but then I
finally spot a tall chain-link fence in the distance that's topped in razor wire.

That's got to be it.

There doesn't appear to be any gate or path leading to the base perimeter, so I say a quick prayer, blow a kiss to the dashboard of my truck and off-road through the desert, trying my best to avoid any big shrubs or rocks and pretending not to worry about the fact that, for all I know, there could be mines and stuff all around out here.

But there aren't any. Or at least I don't hit any of them. Instead, I get within a few yards of the fence and park. Just in case there are hidden cameras around, I fish a baseball cap out of the back of my truck and pull it down low, trying to hide my face as much as I can.

The fence is at least three times as tall as I am, and I can't see most of the base because of a mesa or hill or whatever that hides it. There aren't any lights on—or at least not outside. I wish I'd thought to buy night-vision goggles or that GUARD had sent some along. I squint, trying to make out what all the dark shapes are in the moonlight. It looks like there are burned-out Humvees and other kinds of military vehicles littering the desert around the base. From what I can tell, something crazy definitely went down here recently. Something
epic
.

It reminds me of Paradise and the way my school looked after John, Henri, Six—after we'd
all
fought and
escaped from the Mogs. This is the kind of shit that happens when good aliens and bad aliens collide. Were the Garde here? Was John Smith here? Maybe Sarah doesn't even need saving anymore.

But she would have contacted me if she were free, right? And what if dumbass John and his other ET friends
did
try to save Sarah but got captured?

What if I'm the only person left to bail
them
out?

I have to get in there. Now.

“Okay, Mark,” I say. “Time to save the day.”

I walk beside the fence for a few minutes, trying to see more of the base while at the same time wondering if I've got anything in my truck that might be able to snip a hole in the chain length. But I luck out, because I get to a section of the fence that's been knocked down—maybe even blown apart, judging by the mangled little pieces of metal littering the ground.

That's my entrance.

I think about going back to the truck to grab the grenade thing GUARD sent with me, but I'm kind of scared that it'd go off in my pocket accidentally since its trigger is apparently just a
button
. Probably the lamest possible outcome of the night would be me trying to be a hero and blowing myself up instead, leaving Sarah all alone in a cell.

So instead, I take a deep breath and step through the hole in the fence.

Once I'm inside the perimeter of the base, I jog towards some of the wreckage dotting the desert hills and look for a way to access the main facility, which, according to GUARD's maps, is mostly located underground. I try to stay low and out of sight, hiding behind half-crumbled walls and wishing I'd thought to buy darker clothes since my white T-shirt probably makes me stand out in the darkness. But I keep moving, eventually crouching behind what looks like a collapsed watchtower.

What the hell happened here?

Some of the buildings and vehicles around the main facility look like they've exploded—all scorched and burned-out—while others appear to have been blown apart by some other force. Maybe telekinesis? Maybe John or the other Garde really were here? The place looks completely vacant. Decommissioned. Half of my brain says I should just forget about trying to find a way inside and go back to my truck since it looks like there's no way a major FBI or Mog operation could still be working out of this broken-down base. But I can't do that. I've come too far. And if there's any chance that Sarah is still inside . . .

I think I see a shadow move out of the corner of my eye. I hold my breath and stand frozen for what feels like a long time, trying to figure out if there's anyone around—squinting in the moonlight. But there's
nothing. The wind whistles, and I exhale.

I run to one of the charred Humvees, staying close to the ground, and roll behind it. In movies, spies and badass cops are always rolling behind cover, but all this does is get sand all over me and in my eyes. I try not to cough as I blink for half a minute, telling myself not to be a douche bag and try to pull any fancy moves anymore. I just have to get in, find Sarah and get out.

I spot my entry point. There's a bunch of debris lying around a pit about twenty yards away from me where it looks like the ground has collapsed into some kind of sinkhole. I can just make out a few walls and stuff below—the hole must lead straight down into the facility. All I have to do is jump down and I'm in, no locks to try to get past or anything.

Whatever battle took place here has given me a perfect way into the facility.

I start for the hole, keeping my eyes peeled for any movement. I'm halfway between it and the Humvee when a blinding light appears from somewhere to my right.

Shit.

My eyes burn, and I can barely see as I try to run back to the Humvee to take cover. But then there's another light that looks like it's coming from on top of the wreckage. And then there are lights everywhere, stunning me, making it impossible for me to even know
which direction I'm facing anymore. I'm not sure if this is some kind of defense system or if I'm about to be beamed up to a Mog ship or something. My head spins, and I start to hyperventilate, completely regretting not bringing the grenade with me.

A figure emerges from the light, silhouetted. I can't make out a face or anything. Can't tell if it's even a human or a Mog. I plant my feet and clench my fists.

If this is my last stand, I have to make it count for something. I shout the first thing that comes to my mind.

“I've come for Sa—”

But before I can finish the sentence, someone attacks me from behind, and there's fabric over my head. Everything goes dark. I swing around, flailing wildly, but I'm struggling against a bunch of people, and before I know it, my hands are cuffed in front of me.

I've made a big mistake.

I'm dragged through the sand until I'm inside some kind of building, my feet kicking against a hard floor. I struggle and shout the whole time, but no one says anything to me. It's like they can't even hear me. Not until they start pushing me down some stairs and one of them threatens to Tase me if I don't shut up. So I do.

The bag over my head is scratchy against my face, and the air inside is thick with my rapid breathing. The more I think about what's happening, the faster
and deeper my breath gets, until I'm sucking a bunch of fabric into my mouth every time I inhale.

I'm afraid I'm going to die here. I'm going to be Mog food. Or I'm going to end up a human lab rat. My parents will never know what happened to me. I'm going to become an unsolved case, just some good-looking dude with an all-American past as Ohio's greatest quarterback that ends up on a bunch of
MISSING
posters for a while.

You're an idiot, Mark.

Someone forces me into a chair and rips the bag off my head. The lights are way too bright, and I wince. I try to cover my eyes with my cuffed hands when I realize they've been chained to the center of a metal desk in front of me. I pull against them with all my strength, but there's no way I'm breaking free.

I am in way over my head.

I look around frantically. The room is small and looks empty except for the high-powered lamp shining right in my face. There's nothing in here but me, the desk and the light.

And a voice.

“Mark James,” a woman says.

It's a voice I sort of recognize but can't really place. I hear a few footsteps from somewhere behind the light and squint as the woman comes into view.

And then I realize why I know her. She has red hair
pulled back in a severe ponytail. One of her arms is in a sling, peeking out from underneath her black jacket. She couldn't look more pissed off.

“Agent Walker?” I ask.

She sighs and raises her good arm to her face. She closes her eyes and rubs one temple.

“You're a real pain in the ass, kid,” she says, shaking her head.

IT'S ODDLY COMFORTING TO SEE AGENT WALKER
instead of a Mog, but I'm not sure how much of a lucky break it is since she's sneering at me. After being dragged into the base with a bag over my head, I can't stop my hands from shaking. The chains around my wrists keep jingling.

It's some kind of cosmic joke that she's the one here, like I've traveled all this way but ended up exactly where I started. I try to think back to the last time I saw her, when she came to my grandmother's house asking about Sarah—the morning I found out she was missing. Walker had been her steely self, but there'd been a moment or two in our conversation when it had actually seemed like she was letting her hard-ass persona slip and was acting like a real human. Someone who cared about the fact that the girl she'd been keeping a “protective watch” over had disappeared. She
seemed . . . sympathetic.

But I have no idea how much of the Mog Kool-Aid she's been drinking since then, and I know I can't count on her to cut me any slack. I'm in trouble for trespassing, but there's a chance that she doesn't know anything about the computer I swiped yet. There's still a chance I can talk my way out of this.

Maybe
.

“Uh, hi,” I say. I raise my hands to wave, but all that does is remind both of us that I'm chained to the table.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asks. Her voice sounds like she's equally pissed and impressed, so at least I have that last bit going for me.

“I'm on vacation,” I say. I'm painfully aware of how lame of an excuse this is, so I keep talking. “Well, not vacation, really. The University of Arizona offered me a football scholarship, so I'm on my way down there and figured I'd stop and check out this base I'd heard about on
Ancient ETs
or one of those shows and—”

“Don't try to bullshit me, Mark,” she says. “You're terrible at it.”

I try to laugh.

“No, no. I'm just a little on edge because of all the black bags and stuff, you know? This place looked abandoned from the outside. I didn't think anyone was here.”

Her smile comes back. The one she always had in
Paradise. The fake one that says,
No matter what you may think, I'm the one in charge here.

“Right,” she says. “I'm sure your nervousness has nothing to do with, oh, I don't know—a stolen FBI computer?”

Well, so much for trying to charm my way out of this. I'm screwed. I'm in so far over my head that I can barely breathe. This fact must register on my face, because she keeps talking.

“Do you have any idea what the punishment for stealing classified intel like that is?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I mutter. My voice actually cracks a little, like I'm a damned thirteen-year-old. I clear my throat and try to regroup.

She shakes her head.

“Why did you come here?”

“I told you, Arizona State—”

“Earlier you said University of Arizona. We both know that's not true.”

I try to remain calm.

“I should probably call someone to let them know I'm here,” I say, trying to remember all the rules of due process I learned from my dad over the years. “If you're arresting me for trespassing, I still get a phone call, right? And shouldn't I have a lawyer or something here too?”

At this, she starts to laugh. It starts out genuine, like
I've just told the best joke she's ever heard, but by the time it dies down, the laughter is sad.

“Start talking,” she finally says, “or I'm going to have to bring in someone less understanding than me to interrogate you.”

We stare at each other. At this point, I figure there's no harm in telling her the truth. Or at least some of it. I have nothing else to lose.

“I'm here for Sarah,” I say. “I know you took her.”

Walker purses her lips. She keeps her eyes trained on me. I swear she hasn't blinked since I sat down.

“And you think Sarah is here because of something you read on the computer you stole?”

“You were supposed to be protecting her,” I say, raising my voice. All I can think of now is how much Walker and her fellow agents lied to us in Paradise. How they watched us, worked with the Mogs—how they took my dad's job away from him and kidnapped the only person who was keeping me sane. “Isn't that the bullshit you told me and Sarah? That you were going to make sure nothing bad happened to us? I should have known you were all working for the damned Mogs and—”

Walker slams her fist down on the table between us. I shut up. She lets out a long breath and then starts to pace around the room.

“I didn't know Sarah Hart was going to be taken,” she says. “When I came to your house looking for her,
it's because I really was concerned.”

“Concerned about her, or that you'd lost a potential lead on John Smith?” I spit.

“Both,” she says, turning back to me. “If you're here, that means you know a lot more about what's going on in the world than most. At least enough to know how bad things could get for all of us. Hell, you probably know more than
me
at this point after stealing that computer.”

I shrug. “The laptop basically self-destructed. I don't know anything important.” I'm so obviously out of my league here, and there's nothing I can do but apologize and try to convince this woman that I'm a dumb jock. Maybe they haven't found my truck and searched it yet. “I don't have it with me. But if you let me go, I can get it and send it back to the guy I took it from. What's his name? Agent . . .”

“Purdy,” Walker says. There's weight to her voice when she says his name. Something in her face changes.

“Yeah,” I say. “The piggish-looking dude.”

She shoots me a look that reminds me of one my grandmother only saved for the worst offenses.

“He doesn't need it anymore,” she says slowly. “He's dead.”

She's quiet for a few seconds, as if she's trying to work something out in her head. Maybe I'm just desperate to not be thrown into FBI prison, but Agent Walker
actually looks upset about Purdy being gone.

“I'm sorry,” I say, because it's the only thing I can think of.

She nods but remains quiet.

“Was there some kind of attack or something?” I ask. This sounds like a question about Purdy, but what I really want to know is anything about Sarah. To gather info.

“A lot has changed around here in the last few days,” she finally says. “I'm not sure anything will be the same from now on. For the Bureau. For us. Hell, even for Earth. The things I've seen . . .” Her mind wanders off for a moment.

“Like what?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

“What am I going to do with you? I have much bigger things to take care of and incredibly limited resources.” She adjusts her sling and grimaces a little. “We should have already left this place. It's only a matter of time before they realize what we're doing.”

I don't know who “they” is exactly, but I see my opening.

“Well . . . ,” I start reluctantly. “You could always pretend I was never here and let me and Sarah go.”

She starts circling the table, ignoring my proposition.

“I read your files in Paradise, Mark. You were an
athlete. Not the best in school academically, but you excelled at what interested you.”

“Thanks?”

“We never really thought you were involved in any of this. But then you went and stole Purdy's computer. You've gotten yourself into quite a predicament. There are other agents from the Bureau out there trying to hunt you down as we speak.” She stops beside me.

“I only took that computer because I was trying to find Sarah,” I say. Which is true, but also leaves out the part about me being an editor for They Walk Among Us and someone who's trying to dig up any information he can about the Mogs and leak it to the public. The last thing I want is for her or the government to realize that I'm also JOLLYROGER182. As a teenager trying to track down his ex, I'm kind of excusable, but as a rebel blogger, I'm probably a big, fat target.

“I figured as much,” she says. “But I don't really think most of our agents—or the people they're now working for—really care. If I thought it would actually ensure your safety, I'd put you into protective custody immediately. As things are, though, I think that would be on par with throwing you to the wolves. And I don't exactly have men to spare here. . . .” She seems like she's talking more to herself now, hardly looking at me.

I try to comprehend all the things she's just told me.

“You . . . aren't working with the Mogs, then?”

She twists her lips a little bit into a small frown.

“I work for the American people,” she says firmly. “For a while, that meant working with the Mogadorians. Now I'm not so sure.”

The door behind me opens, and another agent comes in. One I remember as being Walker's flunky in Paradise. I think his name was Noto. He whispers something to Walker. Her posture goes rigid.

“We'll move at oh-eight-hundred hours,” she says. “I want every asset we can strip from this base loaded up before then. We can't be caught unprepared if things go south.”

“What about the agents still loyal to the Mogadorians?” Noto asks. “Should we release them?”

“The Mogs or the Bureau will send a team when they realize this base has gone dark. The agents will be fine. Let them sit and think about where their loyalties lie.”

“And him?”

Walker turns back to me, pursing her lips a little.

“I'll deal with him,” Walker says.

Noto nods and hurries out of the room.

I take a deep breath and try my luck again.

“Take me to Sarah and let us go,” I plead, leaning forward onto the desk. “Please. I just want to make sure she's all right. If you can't protect us here, let us protect ourselves. We'll disappear.”

Agent Walker looks at me for a few seconds before
nodding.

“Sarah's fine,” she says, and I breathe out a long sigh of relief. “Or she was when they broke her out of here and destroyed most of this facility.”

“They?” I ask.

She snorts a little bit.

“Who do you think? Your old friends who caused such a scene at Paradise High.”

John. Sarah's with John.