Swords of Exodus [Dead Six 02] (10 page)

“Go away!” I screamed. “You’re not real!”

“I don’t know what to tell you about that. I’m trying to be straight with you here.”

Even in death he was full of shit. “What do you want from me?” I asked, finally looking over at him. Gordon was leaning against the wall. His shirt collar was unbuttoned, and a designer tie hung loosely around his neck. Behind it was the dark and bloody wound where I’d shot him.

“You’re a survivor, Val. You mind if I call you Val? Anyway, you’re definitely a survivor. More than you can say for me, right?” He laughed at his own joke again. “So putting yourself in my shoes, you can probably understand my surprise at finding you like this. Not at all what I was expecting. You never struck me as a quitter.”

Gordon got closer to me. I looked away and shut my eyes again. “This isn’t happening,” I repeated to myself. “It’s the drugs. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.” I held myself in my arms, rocking back and forth. “God, please, make it stop. It’s not real. It’s not real.”

“There are things in motion now that can’t be stopped. You can be a part of it or not. But you’re better than this. You have a unique opportunity here. Don’t let it pass you by.”

“Leave me alone!” I jerked upright in bed. My eyes were wide, and I was covered in sweat. My heart was beating so hard that I could almost hear it. Slowly, very slowly, I looked around my room. I was alone. The lights were still off. I hadn’t dreamt that part at least.

Even as Dr. Silvers’ techniques and contrivances had torn me down, even as I wanted to just give up and die, a part of me still resisted. The more times they fed me to the machine, breaking down my will, the angrier I became. Two halves of my mind were at odds with each other. Even as I contemplated trying to kill myself, I darkly desired to kill Dr. Silvers, to kill Neville, to kill Reilly and Smoot and Davis and the rest.
To kill them all.
Each time they worked their horrors on me, I came out more broken, more disconnected, but at the same time stronger, angrier. Hatred and apathy battled for control of my will.

My head suddenly hurt, as if merely thinking about it was giving me a headache. What was happening to me? Was I going crazy? I could’ve sworn I actually heard an audible click as my brain shifted gears. The misery, the anger, the rage, the fear, the regret, it all coalesced, condensed into a tight little ball of determination. A familiar cold wave washed over my body then. The jumbled thoughts rapidly fluttering through my mind slowed and focused.

For the first time in a long time, I was
Calm.

I’m getting out of this hole.

LORENZO

The first floor of the building had an entry control point, a break room, and lockers. The second floor was offices, though Smoot said they weren’t used much. The top floor was the control center, which was where I needed to go to disable communications and shut down the security cameras. The basement was where the prisoners were held, and where the uglier side of what they did here went on. Smoot had told me all about the mind games.

“You look terrible,” the guard said as he ran the metal detecting wand over me. He looked like an out-of-shape bull. There hadn’t been a file on this one.

“I was up all night, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, whatever, Roger. Grab your gear and head up to the control room.”

Luckily he gestured in the direction of the locker room while he was talking. I walked away, trying to look casual. The interior was old and run down, a relic from the Cold War. The modern computers and equipment inside looked entirely out of place. I made my way to the security lockers Smoot had told me about. I found his locker and, using his key, opened it and took stock of his equipment.

Inside were several sets of the black fatigues. Body armor, holsters, a helmet, and other gear were all in coyote tan, which must’ve looked really stupid with black uniforms. I put on Smoot’s duty belt, only to find it was a little too big for me. I had to quickly cinch it down so it wouldn’t look off. I buckled it around my waist and grabbed his issue weapon, another Glock 23. There was a knife too, a CRKT folder. I tested the edge, found it relatively sharp, then stuck it in my pocket.

Smoot told us quite a bit about the operations at North Gap. He had considered it a shit detail. Apparently Majestic had several out-of-the-way places like this. Prisoners came and went, but Smoot insisted that there weren’t that many currently being held here. All of them had been picked up domestically, and he never knew the why. He knew who Valentine was, since the Zubaran info dump had made him something of a celebrity, though he had no idea why he was still being held, nor did he care, hated the guy though. Valentine had once stabbed him in the knee with a pen. Smoot didn’t like it when I’d laughed in his face about that. I have room to talk. Valentine had done worse to me. I still can’t hear right in one ear, the bastard.

Lucky for me, not all of the staff would be on duty at any given time. They worked in shifts like anyone else, and most of them would be in their residences in the refurbished base housing, asleep. If things got loud, that would probably change in a hurry. Smoot said that there were always at least two guards in the basement level at all times. As a rule, no guns were allowed down there except under extreme circumstances. Only a moron would let somebody like Valentine anywhere near a firearm. A couple more men would be in the control room on the third floor. I found the elevator and made my way up.

The radar station was tapered, so that the top floor was not nearly as large as the bottom. There were windows at this level, but it was dark outside. There were several desks with computer monitors, and three bored-looking men in black fatigues. Bundles of cables were strung across the room. Screens for controlling and monitoring the security systems were mounted on one wall.

One of the guards was using the Mr. Coffee. The second was screwing around on Facebook, and the last one was actually doing his job and watching the camera feeds. Thankfully, none of them bothered to do more than glance in my direction.

“Smoot, what’s up, dawg?” the one at the coffee machine asked. He was tall, skinny, and dark. I remembered his picture from the files. Local law enforcement background, until he’d lost it and beaten a prisoner to death. Perfect Majestic material. He had a complicated Slavic last name. I’d just think of him as Mr. Coffee.

“Hey.” When you’re trying to impersonate somebody, it’s best not to talk much. You don’t want to give them much to work with. “’Sup?”

“You hear what happened to Randy?” the one reading Facebook asked. I drew a blank on him. “Guess what happened while you were on leave?”

“Uh . . .” I was scanning back and forth. I needed to kill their alarms. I didn’t know what kind of response would happen when a secret prison that wasn’t supposed to exist was attacked, and I didn’t care to find out. There wouldn’t be much time before one of these assholes realized I wasn’t who I was supposed to be, and I didn’t want to start shooting until I could disable the comms.

“Randy got temped to Arizona, where it’s warm. They’re actually giving him something interesting to do. Lucky son of a bitch.”

“Oh?” There was a fuse box on the wall, an ancient metal monstrosity with heavy cables running into it. I could just kill the power to the entire building. That could work. In the far corner was a big locker. That had to be where the long guns were stored.

“Uh-huh. Apparently higher authority asked Silvers if she could spare somebody for an op down there, and she picked Randy. Some FBI puke was poking around in organization business, and then he disappeared.”

Bob
?
“Okay.”

“Nobody knows where this FBI dude went. He just dropped off the map. They’ve been watching his house, but he hasn’t come home. His wife and kids are there, so they’re gonna raid the place, have a few words with the family. I bet the organization’s going to try to apply some
leverage
, if you follow me.”

Everything just changed.

“Man, wish I could’ve gone,” Mr. Coffee said, taking a sip. “Anything to get out of this shithole.”

The guard at the monitors finally spoke. “Screw that noise. This job is a cak walk. Steady pay, free housing, and we don’t actually do any work. I don’t know what you vaginas are whining about.”

I casually made my way over to the bank of screens, to see what he could see. The facility didn’t have a huge number of cameras, but it had enough that Ling and her people wouldn’t make it to the building undetected unless I did something.

Facebook Guy disagreed. “Dude, this place blows! It snows half the year, there’s nothing to do in town, and we don’t get any action!”

“Action? To hell with that,” the monitor-watcher rebutted. “I was in the operations division for a while, until I got shot . . .” I recognized him from the files.
Frost.
Former Army, drummed out for criminal misconduct, then recruited by Majestic.

I studied the screens. Several of them showed prisoners in their cells. Most of them were sitting on their beds or on the floor, not doing anything interesting. The fourth cell was different. Unlike the others, it was dark, and the camera was on IR mode. The prisoner was sitting up in bed. It looked like he was talking to someone that wasn’t there.

“What’re you doing?” Frost asked.

“Valentine?” I nodded toward the bank.

Frost looked at the monitor I suspected, confirming I had the right man. “Yep. Your buddy. How’s the knee, by the way?” he laughed.

I smiled like that was hilarious. “What’s he doing?”

“Talking to himself,” Frost suggested. “I don’t know. Silvers made your boy down there her pet project. I don’t know what she’s doing to him, but he’s fucked
up.
”

“Who cares?” Mr. Coffee whined. “I’m sick of sitting up here, freezing my dick off, watching Silvers play head games with the prisoners. I want to get out there and get some action. Maybe get laid once in a while.” I casually made my way over to him, as if I was going to get a cup of coffee.

“You say that like it’s fun and all until command screws up and you get your asses shot off,” Frost said.

Mr. Coffee rebutted. “Frosty, nobody wants to hear your war stories again.” Frost gave him a dirty look and went back to watching the screens. Mr. Coffee then popped me in the shoulder. “Now this guy, he’s got a way with the ladies.” He laughed. “They should have sent you to Arizona, dawg. You’d probably get that FBI guy’s old lady to talk.” He guffawed at his own humor.

My pulse was racing. I struggled to stay in character. “Booyah! You know it, dawg!” Smoot habitually said ‘booyah.’ In general, he talked like a douchebag, and anybody who said
booyah
and
dawg,
I had no problem sawing their thumbs off. “When are they doing it?”

“What?” Facebook guy finally looked up from his monitor. “Geezus, Smoot, you look like shit. You got gonorrhea again?”

“When are they raiding the house in Arizona?”

“Randy said tomorrow night. Why, you wanna beg Silvers and try and get in on it?” He took another sip from his mug. “You really itching to get out of here that bad?”

I started to laugh, laugh like Mr. Coffee had said the funniest goddamn thing in the world. Then I hit him, palm-struck him in the face. I smashed his coffee mug into his teeth and up his nose. His head snapped back in a splash of coffee, blood, spittle, and broken porcelain. Before he could react, I grabbed the back of his head and smashed his face into the desk.

“What the fuck!” Frost shouted, jumping up from his row of monitors, stunned that one of his friends had just brutalized the other.

Facebook Guy was staring at me, wide-eyed, from his chair. He was in shock, stammering for words. I didn’t give him a chance to speak. I grabbed the pot of hot coffee and lobbed it at him as hard as I could. The pot shattered on his face, sending scalding hot coffee and broken glass into his eyes. He let out a blood-curdling, high-pitched scream, fell out of his chair, and clawed at his eyes.

Frost fumbled for his gun.

I was faster.

BLAM

The .40 round entered just below Frost’s left eye and took the back of his head off.

Mr. Coffee was still dazed, trying to get off the desk. No need to make extra noise, Smoot’s knife came out in a flash. I plunged it into his throat and slashed my arm outward. Mr. Coffee’s eyes were wide with shock as he gurgled and choked on his own blood. He slid down the desk in a red smear as his life poured out, but I’d already turned my attention to Facebook Guy. He couldn’t see and had panicked, ineffectually slapping at my hands until I stabbed him in the throat. His screams turned into a sickening gurgle. Warm blood spilled out of the wound, and he went limp. I stepped back, trying not to get too much of it on me.

I stood up, surveying the carnage in the control room. These motherfuckers were going after Bob’s family.
My
family. A radio on Frost’s desk beeped. “Control room! Report in! We heard a gunshot! Report!”

I snatched it up. “This is Smoot. Frost had a negligent discharge.”

“Frost did? You guys okay?”

I looked around at the bodies on the floor. “Uh, yeah. Scared the shit out of us. He was trying to teach us how to quick draw a pistol and he put a round into the floor.” I paused for effect and moved the radio away from my mouth. “Yeah, Frost, I’m telling on you. You almost shot me.”

“Put him on.”

“Uh, he’s kind of shaken up right now. He won’t take the radio.”

“For Christ’s sake. I’ll be there in a minute. Take his gun away.”

I reholstered the Glock. The security camera feed showed a man on the first floor running for the stairs. I only had a moment. I flipped the radio to the channel I knew Ling would be listening to.

“I have control of video and comms. Execute, execute!”

VALENTINE

A gunshot echoed through the quiet building. It was muffled, as if it had come from above, but there was no mistaking that sound. Something was happening. I didn’t know what, but this might be the only chance I was going to get. With the onset of the
Calm
, my thoughts were clear and rational. The dark, bubbling anger from before was pushed to the background.
They might be distracted. I’m not going to get a better chance than this.
I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and stood up.