Project Northwoods (40 page)

Despite the reassurances of Catalina and Allison, the Mob’s headquarters hardly seemed the secure stronghold that he had envisioned. The building now appeared antiquated and fragile, almost like it was made out of hardened marshmallow fluff instead of brick and mortar. Mobsters went about their business, fortifying windows and entrances, chatting as if they had no idea what the outside world had become. Arthur firmly believed that they didn’t, protected as they were for the time being.

Catalina turned out to be quite the dictator, informing them that, after resting, they would be required to report to debriefing at 9:00 a.m. The concept of treating civilian chaos like it was merely information to be digested didn’t sit right with him. Then again, neither did the wholesale murder of someone… and that’s precisely what had happened in front of him hours before.

The look of horror and shock on the hero’s face haunted Arthur when he closed his eyes. The scene played out in slow motion every time he tried to sleep, and when he had managed to pass out, he was haunted by a sea of figures with that mutilated face, watching and pointing at him. He would wake up once their mouths opened and delivered a cry that sounded like a series of gunshots popping in rapid succession. He hadn’t even heard the gun’s report when the man died, but it nonetheless wormed into his subconscious.

Mollie would have been a welcome diversion from his own brain, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Their last conversation was spent bringing her up to speed, after which she didn’t seem too talkative, either. Mollie went back to work, and he went back to staring at the walls of what was rapidly starting to feel like a prison.

“What time is it, Mol?” he asked.

“It is 8:43 in the morning,” she chirruped.

He nodded, then hoisted himself off the bed. Now was as good a time as any to see what Catalina had to say. The others were probably there already, or at the least preparing to hear news about what had happened and what the plan was, if indeed there was a plan. Chance alone seemed to control his fate at this point, any plan threatening to disintegrate at the next terrible development. Admitting he was scared was an understatement: even the act of putting his hand on the door latch seemed foreboding.

“You are coming back,” Mollie said in the corner, her voice unable to modulate the fear she no doubt wanted to display. “Right?”

“Of course, Mollie.” Arthur didn’t turn around to look at the computer. After watching someone get their card punched by two bullets, reassuring Mollie had taken on a feeling of lying to a child. Telling an adult that things would be alright was different; at least they knew that everyone was equally terrified and that pacification merely acted as a courtesy. Mollie, and even Stair, who possibly still had faith that adults knew what was going on, took them at their word, which was heartbreaking. But the truth… the truth was and would continue to be horrifying for the foreseeable future.

“I meant to…” Mollie trailed off, which was unusual unless she was making an observation and wished it to sound more ‘human’ when it came out. It seemed now like she was actually at a loss for words. “Thank you.” Arthur turned to look at the computer.

“Why?”

The blue iris swished in place. “You programmed me. You taught me. You gave me everything.”

Arthur didn’t know how to feel about that declaration. He walked over to the computer and knelt down by it. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“You protected me from SVAC, at great risk to yourself,” she continued.

He didn’t feel like being praised at the moment. “I wasn’t going to get caught. It was hardly any risk.”

“You are being stubborn,” came the reply.

Arthur was silent as he slowly realized he lacked the energy to argue. “You’re welcome, Mollie.” He stood up and walked to the door again.

“Statistics do not give us favorable odds, Arthur,” she squeaked. “Do you think we are going to be okay?”

Arthur stopped, hand on the door, and couldn’t bring himself to answer. Suddenly aware he had stopped breathing, he gasped and gave a nervous laugh. “Of course,” he croaked. “Everything is going to be alright.” The moment the words left his mouth, he hated himself for lying.

The conference room was large, with a massive table inset with what looked like a television monitor facing upwards. A projector screen on the rear wall was flanked by two potted ferns resting on pedestals. A skylight let copious amounts of natural light into the room, making it feel less like a claustrophobic’s nightmare at the cost of making the visual equipment difficult to use. The wood-paneled walls were gorgeously ornate, and the pictures of leaders past on the walls added a very official tone to the room.

Arthur was the second to arrive, Tim having preceded him and taken up aggressive pacing. As Arthur sat down at the nearest chair, Tim stared at him predatorily, making Arthur incredibly uncomfortable. Talia entered a few minutes later, looking tired but at least more rested than Arthur felt. She turned to him and gave a weak smile. Earlier this morning would not have been the first time she had seen a man die. Stair, unsurprisingly, didn’t turn up. The girl was out like a light when Catalina had shown them to the sleeping quarters, and she didn’t even stir when Tim had placed her on the cot in what must have been an uncomfortable position.

Tim’s gaze went to the squeaking door announcing Catalina’s entrance. Unsurprisingly, Allison shoved her way by her sister, the shorter sibling taking a seat at the far end of the table as the taller one shut her eyes in annoyance. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road. I have sniper duty in fifteen minutes,” Allison announced. Arthur subconsciously approved her hands-on approach to defense, but found her bloodlust a little worrying.

Catalina grabbed a small device from the table and clicked it. The skylights tinted, drowning the room in darkness. A projector inset in the ceiling clicked on, and the screen behind Allison displayed a computer readout of New York’s ‘villain zone’. “At approximately nine thirty last night, our network picked up increased hero activity on the edge of the villain zone.” Catalina hit a button, and the image zoomed in on a segment of the city. “Within the hour, they made their move. From all indications, heroes swooped in and arrested all villains in an area, carted them off to an undisclosed location, and another contingent moved on to the next sector. This system was incredibly effective – we were all caught off guard.” Slowly, blocks of the city were delineated in red and filled in, and then neighboring sectors were selected. “We tried to recall as many of our off-duty goons as possible, but we’re operating at less than half our full capacity. The rest are assumed to be imprisoned. Be that as it may, we’re looking at the very real possibility that this is the only holdout the city has.”

“Damn right!” Allison said, slamming her fist on the table for dramatic effect. “No need for real bullets when you have a limitless stockpile of rubber ones and a metric fuck-ton of Chicago Typewriters!” She laughed and clapped her hands once. Catalina looked at her out of the side of her eyes, clearly annoyed.

“Do you have any idea what they’re doing with them?” Talia asked.

Catalina nodded. She clicked a button, and the wireframe image of Arthur’s Fortress appeared on screen. It was badly corrupted, worse than what Mollie had been able to recover. “From what we were able to pull from the USB drive, we think that there’s a new prison designed to hold villains indefinitely.” Arthur didn’t want to interrupt. This was Catalina’s debriefing, after all. And he didn’t exactly want to admit that this genius piece of architecture was his work. “What’s worse is that, from the data we have, this place is… impenetrable.”

“So that’s their plan?” Tim grunted. “Get all the villains in one place and kill them?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Talia scolded in the manner of a concerned parent to an angry child.

“Really? You think they’re doing something else there?” Tim leaned over the table threateningly. “I know! They’re going to throw a party!”

“Tim, this isn’t…” Arthur started.

“Shut up.” Tim went back to pacing.

“What would you propose we do?” Catalina asked.

“We bust in there and break them out!” Tim slammed his fist into his hand.

Allison nodded and pointed to him. “Now that’s a plan!”

Catalina shut her eyes. “A suicidal one. What part of ‘impenetrable’ was confusing?”

“Art!” Tim said, pointing to him. Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. “Arthur designed the thing, he can get us in there!”

“Damn!” Allison said, drawing the word out to include several extra syllables. “You’re an inventor, too?” She slapped her sister on the leg. “And you wanted to shoot them!”

Catalina leaned on the table. “Is this true?”

Arthur nodded and got to his feet. “Yes. The design was used by the heroes. I never meant…” He was at a loss for words. “I think Dark Saint was funneling money into this for years. I don’t know why.”

Catalina cocked an eyebrow before turning back to the projected image. “Can you get us in?”

Arthur slumped. “No.”

Tim lurched toward Arthur. “What do you mean, ‘no?’”

Casting a glance at Tim, Arthur refocused on Catalina. “I designed it to be impossible for a hero to break in. Even I can’t get in, now.” He looked at Tim again. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Tim coughed. “Sorry?” His voice was rising to a dangerous volume. “My life,
my entire life
, is in there, and you’re sorry?” He grabbed a chair and hurled it at the wall behind him, the wooden frame splintering at the force of it. Tim wheeled around and brought his fist down on the table, punching a hole in the edge. His eyes rose to Arthur, who was now standing and backing away. “Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it.” Tim marched toward one of the side doors and yanked it open, nearly pulling it off its hinges. A moment later, he was gone.

The silence in the room grew tangible. “Why don’t we just attack the gates?” Allison suggested. “We have real weapons, you know. The kind that kill real good.”

Arthur shook his head. “Once the alarm is raised, the system defenses would shred everything.” He put his hands on his face and shook his head. “What have I done?”

Talia stood and put her hand on his shoulder. “There’s no way you could have known this was going to happen.”

Catalina hit a button, and the projector shut off. Sunlight returned to the room. “I have an obligation to protect everyone here.” She went toward the double doors at the other end of the room. “It’ll only be a matter of time before they burn or starve us out. We have to be long gone before that happens.” She breezed past Arthur, stopped, then turned to him. With a very concerned mask of a face, she patted him on the shoulder. “There, there.” With a half-smile, she turned back around and made for the exit.

Arthur didn’t move as Talia stood and left quietly. Allison eventually made her way out, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He slid down the wall, shaking. The knowledge that he had contributed to the downfall of villain-kind ate at him, his heart slamming in some kind of drumming tribute to despair.

It took a little bit of exploration to find the roof access stairwell, but Arthur was suffocating indoors. He needed to know he could escape the walls, the forced refuge of the interior. Even if the heat of the day was oppressive, it was better than the knowledge that Tim was wallowing in fury, raging inside the building, waiting for something or someone to hit.

Talia had spent much of the day trying to get some kind of information out of Catalina. When Arthur had tried to talk to the reporter, she seemed too busy to care. Stair apparently had not stirred from her bed at all. He hadn’t even seen her in the cafeteria when they had gotten around to serving food. Concerned, he left her a sandwich outside her door, hoping that it wouldn’t remain untouched. Tim, of course, gave him adequate reason to stay outdoors. His seemingly permanent scowl was unsettling as he brushed his way quietly past goons, poking into closets and other rooms. Arthur hadn’t dared to ask what he was doing for fear of finding out he was planning something crazy.

A cool breeze made Arthur’s arms break into goose bumps, compelling him to squeeze his chest to stay warm. It was little comfort, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back inside.