The Valkyrie Project (30 page)

As Ana shut down the ninth terminal, Etienne risked rolling through the narrow gap under the door, shooting wildly as she came. None of the shots came close to Ana, but she pointed and plugged three of her own into Etienne's chest and head before she could tell her instincts to spare her. She had been trained too well. She was under too much stress. She was too overwhelmed with other thoughts.
She had already killed Etienne once. All good excuses for once again leaving herself without a Continuum agent to interrogate.

But she did have nine interconnected machines capable of shrinking distances of who knew how large into millimeters. They were too big to be removed without assistance which would almost certainly draw the wrong kind of attention, but Ana could use the opportunity she had in front of her to help the Agency reverse
-engineer the technology.

She started with the last device she had turned off because it was the close
st and they all appeared identical. It was, of course, possible that they could all contain different machinery that worked in harmony to create the teleportation field, but Ana had to start somewhere.

An idea wriggled its way free from the back of her mind
like a fish darting away from the teeth of shark. Ana shut it down by recalling the image of Jrue as he tossed his gun through the field. Even through the purple and gray filter, he had looked just as he had the last time she'd seen him. Nothing added, and nothing missing. There was no way Whiteholme was the Continuum's time machine. But Jrue had been altered in the Sleepwalkers project in an attempt to allow him to move through time. Did the Agency know enough about time travel to make use of the Sleepwalkers? No. No, a thousand times no.

Without any real tools, dismantling the boxes
should have been difficult, but these were not factory-made machines, or if they were, they'd been taken apart to make room for major modifications. The pieces that had been spitting purple haze into the room hung together with connections so flimsy Ana wondered how they withstood the force of the field without snapping off. She unscrewed the cylindrical component, which opened up a hole large enough for her to get her hand in and pry off the top of the box. It came off without much effort, not sealed at all.

A foreign, but very specific, burning smell crawled from the box like a spider escaping its terrarium. Ana recognized it, or at least elements of it, but could not place it.

She looked down into the guts of the device and spotted coils headed for the cylindrical opening, an array of electrical and digital components, and a long translucent cylinder filled with bubbling black sludge. The combination of the smell and the color of the liquid grabbed a memory from her brain and Ana was trapped in Aerin's lab with the ventilation off and the temperature rising. Androkal, the viscous black fluid that she and Freya and Rani had brought back from the South Pole, was being used to fuel the network of teleportation devices. No wonder the Continuum had put so many people to work extracting it. The ability to transport something as easily as throwing a gun across a room would allow for things that Ana could only begin to imagine. Moving around some sort of worker class of children seemed like the least nefarious of the possibilities that immediately sprang to mind. But the list grew second by second the longer she thought about it, a sprawling variety of items to transport and locations to teleport to.

The list stopped growing
when her Continuum communicator buzzed with an intercepted distress call from the Agency office in Chicago. It was the only location she monitored on her Continuum comm, one that she could play off as a necessity in being a double agent. Through a lavender filter that lingered in her field of vision, Ana looked at the message.

Emergency Situation: Access by Unauthorized Personnel. Assistance Requested.

Too bad she couldn't use the Whiteholme machines to walk through and be there to help her friends. At least Jrue was on his mission somewhere else, though judging by the strike force that had followed him in the purple fog, it was probably a more precarious situation than whatever was going on in Chicago. Jrue had been strong, in charge, helping her, no assistance requested. And, she realized, she didn't know where he was even if she wanted to help.

So
she fled the Transportation Center, hurrying back to the main building with the thought that she might still have time to get out before her betrayal was discovered. Ana jumped in her hovercar and sped off to Agency HQ.

Three men slid down from durosteel girders like tree snakes uncoiling in search of prey. They were armed more like armadillos and porcupines, though, with high-density armor and low-velocity rounds meant to stun and incapacitate, giving the choice between a quick retreat and making a dinner of their target.

Six
more chameleons crept low through the weeds, hidden in authorized vehicles—easier to get than one might think—and infrared-reflective armor—much harder.

After running through the urban jungle together for almost
seven years, the thought process of the two team leads functioned like a telepathic connection, allowing them to coordinate via radio whispers on encrypted channels so tiny and obscure that they might as well not exist.

The three jungle gym rats scurried to gather and repack their equipment
—you never knew what you might need—and two of the three flattened themselves on the top of the elevator to brace for the jolt of movement that signaled the descent. The third began working loose the emergency escape panel to give them access to the interior of the elevator, and the building, when they reached their floor.

They waited long enough that the
dark shaft began to expand with the dilation of their pupils to reveal the anti-grav panels, emergency hydraulic systems, and the eco-friendly air circulation system that led in to the eco-friendly skeletal structure which provided them their simian-like access to the location where they perched like falcons in a nest waiting to dive. Then the elevator lurched and started down.

The trio didn't know who
had pressed the call button, but coming from the top and heading down, the odds were good that the elevator would stop at the buffer floor, and if not, then at least at one of the other three floors with access to the other set of elevators that reached the lobby. If they were lucky, it would pass the transfer level and go straight to the floor that served as the holding pen for the animals of the Valkyrie Project.

The numbers on the wall zipped by, but they caught that
fourteen and twelve were gone before halting at nine.
Never underestimate the importance of luck.

The man who had undone the hatch swung down through the opening and pounced on the small, bespectacled redhead who entered from the ninth floor.

The words "Hey!" and "What?" came out before the tranquilizer hit his blood stream. One of the other two men came down from his position on top of the elevator car while the first held the door open. It was arguably the most important job of the mission, and the alpha male of the pack was not going to trust it to anyone else.

The second man scooped up the body of the unconscious passenger and hoisted him through the emergency hatch with the assistance of the third
man waiting on top. With the limp, unconscious passenger secured, the third man dropped down and exited with number two. The first man held the elevator, just in case, while the other two engaged the panels for the elevators that would take them to the lobby. The Alpha sensed they would not need the safety valve, though. The Blue Team was already in place, while the Gold Team lagged only by tens of seconds. They didn't need precise timing to get the teams on different elevators, just good timing. He considered again that the plan might rely too much on luck, but he followed the old saying "I'd rather be lucky than good" because he knew that in order for that motto to matter, you had to be good already.

"Sorry, ma'am. Secure elevator. Holding it for a transfer."

Jordan still hung a little too far behind with the Gold Team. The man holding the elevator on the ninth floor often hated that Jordan was incredibly competent at so many things, because his reaction time rivaled that of a turtle turning its head. His sloth-like unwillingness to deviate from a plan made him perfect for many situations—like surveillance, straightforward missions, and anything that required clear logical thinking—but turned him into a liability in others. The Alpha had tried to demonstrate that to Jordan once, but the message wasn't clear and when he tried to explain it, he almost drove him away. People with that kind of intelligence, education, charisma, connections, concentration, and ideology were nigh on impossible to find since the War that had torn the nation in half. Nobody was anxious for another revolution. Nobody wanted to join up with a group that continued a fight that most thought had ended fourteen years before. Sure, the war paint had dried, but landscapes across the country still bore the scars and people looked out at those and recalled their own pain. The War was over, long live the War.

Blue Team was in the first elevator. Jordan needed to be in position. They couldn't just have six people loitering by the secure elevators waiting for his team to show up.

A couple clicks from his specially designed subdermal comm told him the first elevator was headed up. Jordan and his team had just arrived at the elevators below. That second one had better come quick.

He leaned out as much as he could while still holding the door, and peeked at the numbers on the displays. Six and one. Seven and one. Eight and one. Jordan better be on the one.

He hopped out and touched the panel then jumped back. The door thought about closing, then sensed his weight return and decided against it.

The second elevator started up. Nine and two. He heard the door of the first open and the sound of five pairs of boots
clattered to the floor. Weight sensors under the floor of each car meant it wouldn't stop on certain floors without a security code. Sometimes the dumbest technology was the hardest to fool. It behaved like a child, seeing only what was there and not what the magician wanted it to see. Even if you produced a canary from under your top hat, it knew that you smashed another in the cage from which you were supposed to free it.

Thinking like a child was not an easy thing, especially for someone trained to think like an adult since before puberty, every thought colored by
advancing technology and hundreds of years of strategies.

W
ith the exception of team lead Ikashi Sato, the Gold Team crowded into the elevator held open for them. They lowered the body of the initial captive back down into the car, transferred him to the elevator from the lobby, and keyed the panel to have the elevator take him to the twenty-fourth floor. Ikashi remained outside, and after touching the panel next to the second elevator, he pretended to wait for the one that would hopefully contain the Blue Team.

When the doors opened, the ninth floor was greeted with the sound of the other set of boots dropping. The Blue Team
clamored out, and the two teams each followed the Alpha leader as he finally released the door of the escape hatch elevator and sealed up the initial incision in the patient. Team members dropped off like Hansel tossing pebbles, marking the path. They guarded the way to the closest terminal that had access to the floor's security system. A minute later and a particular selection of doors locked up, creating a maze from the remaining openings through which these little rats would scurry to find their cheese.

The combined strike team already knew the layout of the maze; their leader had designed it, and they escorted him alo
ng the route to the destination. They dispatched the few interruptions they encountered with a few warning bursts from guns reassembled moments after exiting the elevators.

--

Out of sight, but not out of mind. Since getting back on a regular sleep schedule, Jrue dreamt of Ana just about every night. The dreamless nights were like dreams themselves, though, when he held her tired, worn-out, achy, and often unshowered body curled up against him, seeking shelter from an increasingly senseless world.

He hated going to the Agency knowing that she would be out risking her life on missions that seemed so minor. He knew it was a distraction for
her: the saving the world part, so selfless, especially for someone who clearly needed some saving of her own. Jrue wanted to write it off as creative empathy; he'd been overly caring in the past and tried to manufacture a love that refused to manifest. His mother had been too busy looking after his grandmother to care, but his sisters, older and younger, had called him out.

Yet he refused to believe Ana did not need someone to care for her. It took only low
-level investigative skills to find out that her brother had been kidnapped, resulting in her mother's suicide, which in turn resulted in her father's psychotic break. Jrue could not imagine his life or how he would have turned out without his family, and he understood why Ana held out hope, however desperate and unlikely, of finding her brother.

Sitting in the briefing room, Jrue
attempted to assign meaning and gravity to another mission, trying to counterbalance the growing number of what-ifs and what-fors that Ana conjured when they sat at Murph's together or lay waiting for sleep to carry them into a new day.

Just as he finished the acknowled
gement that the latest mission—important enough to warrant briefing by several higher-level agents—was a necessary step in a microcosm of the battle against evil, alarms started blaring. The flash of red lights followed along with the machine-gun clack of doors throughout the floor locking.

Then came the staccato report of an actual machine gun. The briefing room filled with the stunned faces of higher-ups who, despite their tenure with the Agency, were not used to hearing the alarms. They dealt with unexpected events by gat
hering data and planning ahead. That made them the leaders and briefers, and not the feet on the street that could react and change direction before the first wailing tone started to repeat. Perhaps a couple of them had been the foot soldiers storming the beach at one point, but those reflexes had been worn down by years of sitting at a desk filtering reports from the field.

Case in point
: Rani and Freya were already at the door, checking if their room had been locked with all the others. They'd heard the lock engage, but still wanted to make sure they didn't overlook the obvious. Speaking of obvious, the other case in point: Jrue and the third Valkyrie in the room, Kara Morgan, reached the emergency exit while the suits at the table in the middle started asking if they could try to override the locks for the room.

"We might be safe locked in here if someone has broken in!"
one of the men said, his voice halfway between a blubber and a whine.

"Real type
-A personality there,"
Rani spat back
.

While Jrue didn't have the guts to actually say it, he shared the sentiment and at the same time wondered if all the Valkyries had started to doubt the resolve of their supposedly steadfast but increasingly diffident, weak-willed leaders. Perhaps it started with the emergence of a force that consistently prevented them from completing missions and led to the creation of a wh
ole new set of objectives. The Valkyries were there to save people, but the Continuum abided by a more conventional set of rules of engagement. The more offensive approach was probably better dealt with by other departments in the Agency.

The whiny blubberer spoke up again
. "They haven't cut off the video feeds. I can see them through the central security server."

Another man looking over the first man's shoulder said, "It doesn't look like there's too many of them. If there are any agents who aren't trapped, I bet they can handle such a small force."

"So your plan is to just watch and hope that agents, who are most likely significantly outnumbered, can save you by thwarting this attack?"
Rani spat back
.

"I'm just saying from our position, it might make more sense to sit tight, observe, and see what happens."

Jrue laughed to himself at the thought of Rani ever sitting tight and waiting to see if someone else would come up with a solution. It didn't take long for her to justify his thinking.

"Kara
Morgan, you stay here and protect the guys with the video feed. Comms are down, so there's not much you can do if you see someone coming. Hopefully they'll just decide to leave the caged animals alone. Jrue, Freya, and I will go out through the ventilation and see if we can get to the armory.
We
will be the ones who handle this 'small force'."

With that, Rani was on the table, reaching for the grate that covered the ventilation duct for the room. Jrue rushed to her side, helping to boost her up into the ceiling. Freya followed, Jrue feeling a bit guilty for putting his hands
all over her waist and legs and ass to help her make it through the dark hole. If Ana happened by, she would know he had only did it out of necessity. But in spite of the urgency and rush of the moment, and perhaps because he and Ana had not ever actually slept together, Jrue found himself thinking inappropriate thoughts while touching Freya's tight, toned body, and watching her backside pass through the opening directly above him.

Jrue looked around the room. Kara Morgan, the only Valkyrie who always went by first and last name, nodded at him, the final go-ahead
. She would handle the room of men too old for field work. He lifted himself into the vent without groping from anyone. The two Valkyries slithered through the ducts ahead. Jrue's broad shoulders rubbed against the sides of the narrow shaft as he forced himself forward. Sending the three Valkyries ahead might have made things easier, but Kara Morgan would do a better job of protecting everyone they had left behind. Jrue would just have to do his best to help Rani and Freya if and when they found the invaders.