I continued to climb. The wind picked up speed until I could hear nothing else. It slammed against my arms and legs, threatening to rip me from the building. My limbs grew increasingly numb to the point that they stopped hurting. I could no longer feel my fingers or my toes.
And still I climbed.
After what seemed like forever, the dark clouds split overhead. The top floor materialized as if it were the cornerstone of some ancient, forbidden city.
My adrenaline kicked in and I doubled my climbing speed until finally, at long last, I reached the top floor.
As I lifted myself into the last window frame, I felt something in my head. It didn’t feel like one of my incidents though. Instead, it seemed more like a dizzy spell. I wasn’t surprised. My body was exhausted and I’d lost some blood during the climb.
Maybe too much blood.
I took a moment to peer through the glass. But the shade was drawn and it was dark inside. I tried to lift the window but it didn’t move.
I unsheathed my machete. My raw, peeling fingers stung as they wrapped around the handle.
Leaning back, I jabbed the machete at the window. Glass shattered, bits and pieces of it digging into my arm. Wincing, I withdrew the blade and stabbed the window several times, breaking out a large hole.
I reached inside the window, unlocked it, and lifted it up. Quickly, I crawled through the frame and hopped down onto the floor.
My head spun and I leaned against the wall for support. My eyes cast about the space. A bolt of excitement shot through me.
I was in Chase’s office.
And I was alone.
As I rested, I looked around the room. It was exactly the same as I remembered it. A clean desk, an antique desk lamp, a bookshelf, a mini-fridge, a few chairs, and a couple of paintings on the walls comprised its contents. But although it hadn’t changed, somehow it still felt different.
I stumbled across the hardwood floor, leaving a trail of blood in my wake. Stopping behind the desk, I rummaged through its contents. Like the desktop, the drawers were neatly organized. Finding nothing inside, I turned around and examined the bookshelf.
Hundreds of thin binders, labeled in neat black lettering, filled the shelves. I selected one at random and opened it up. The first page indicated that the book summarized the cleanup of an oil spill during the Persian Gulf War. I returned it to the shelf.
For the most part, Chase seemed like a neat, orderly person, albeit one prone to fits of insanity. With that in mind, I started at the beginning of the binders and systematically searched through them by date.
I passed through two dozen binders before I came across one labeled, “Operation
Die Glocke
.”
My tired fingers shook as I retrieved it from the bookcase. The binder was old and worn. It looked like it had been read dozens if not hundreds of times. I sagged into Chase’s chair and took my flashlight out of my satchel.
I read page after page, record after record. And soon, the entire story began to emerge in front of my fatigued eyes.
Sam Rictor was indeed a traitor. He’d reached out to ShadowFire, which was still in its infancy at that time, with an offer to sell them the Bell. Based on some sort of sample or demonstration, Chase offered to pay him a million dollars upfront with five million more upon delivery.
I flipped back and forth a couple of pages. A description of the Bell and its purpose was absent from the binder. I wondered if I was looking at whitewashed records, designed to protect Chase in the event of a raid.
I flipped another page. My eyes widened. The page didn’t have anything to do with the Bell. Instead, a photograph of a subway car was taped to the top of the paper. Underneath it, a box of text provided all sorts of information such as year built, conductor controls, and propulsion.
I studied the photograph. The subway car was unlike any I’d seen of that era. In fact, I’d never seen anything like it in my entire life. It wasn’t covered with graffiti and faded, peeling paint. Instead, it was sleek and painted silver. On the side, tall black letters spelled out a word.
Omega.
Jenson mentioned something called the Omega. Maybe he wasn’t delirious after all.
I flipped another page and continued to read. Soon, the importance of the
Omega
became clear. After Rictor disappeared, Chase started a massive investigation to find him. In the process, he discovered that Rictor secured the
Omega
on the evening of March 6, 1976, presumably as a transport vehicle to move the Bell out of the lab.
I flipped more pages. The final notations were handwritten and confusing. From what I could gather, the
Omega
, along with Rictor and the Bell, had vanished completely into thin air.
Abruptly, the door opened.
Apprehension crept over me, oozing its way through my veins. The light flicked on. Holding my breath, I whirled around and found myself staring into familiar eyes.
Standish.
He strolled into the room. “Well, well, well. It looks like I won’t have to track you down after all. I can just kill you right here.”
Chapter 33
Standish reached to his waist and removed a 9 mm.
The gun rose, pointed in my direction.
His finger tightened on the trigger.
“Hold it,” I said loudly. “You don’t want to do that.”
Suddenly, Jack Chase walked into the room, surrounded by shadows. He looked bony, wiry, and tired. He wore a well-tailored black suit, a dark blue tie and white gloves over his hands. He looked similar to the last time I’d seen him with every inch of his body, save for his face, covered with clothing.
Immediately, he pulled out his Smith & Wesson. “Cyclone? How the hell did you get in here?”
“Never mind that. Tell your goon to lower his gun.”
“Or what?”
“Or you’ll never get Hartek’s journal.”
“Ryan,” Chase said sharply. “Do as he says.”
Standish’s eyes bulged. “He’s lying, Jack.”
“I’m not lying. I hid the journal. If you kill me, you’ll never find it.”
Chase shrugged. “I’ll play along. For now. Stand up and remove your weapons. Place them on the desk.”
Thunder crashed. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw a bolt of lightning shoot across the sky. Raindrops poured through the broken window. A small puddle formed on the floor and swiftly grew in size.
I’d convinced Beverly to wait for me in the tunnels until I finished in ShadowFire’s headquarters. We were supposed to meet later that evening. That meant she wasn’t following Chase or Standish.
Which meant I was on my own.
I paused for a moment, debating my chances of grabbing my pistol and blasting holes right through their foreheads. But no matter which way I ran the scenario in my mind, it always ended the same way…with me bleeding out on the floor.
Standing up, I took my gun from my holster and tossed it carelessly on the desk. “Happy?”
“The machete too. And put everything into your bag.”
I did as he requested, stuffing my weapons into the satchel and placing it on the desk.
“Ryan,” Chase said. “Get the bag.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Jack. Just let me kill him now and be done with it.”
“Not yet.”
“But…”
“But nothing. Get his bag. Then pat him down and make sure he doesn’t have the journal on him. Afterward, I need you to leave us alone for a few minutes.”
“Jack…”
“Now.”
Standish clenched his jaw in fury. But he moved toward me anyway, keeping his 9 mm trained on my forehead. Upon reaching the desk, he retrieved my bag.
“Spread your legs and bend over,” he said. “And place your palms on the desk.”
I obliged. His hands swept across my legs, feeling every inch of them. I glanced over my shoulder. “Could you hurry this up? The grown-ups have to talk.”
The butt of his gun crashed into my forehead. I winced and fell to a knee, feeling blood trickle down my face. Another wave of dizziness came over me. But again, I didn’t notice any headaches or discoloration in my vision. I was so used to battling episodes while under stress that I found myself thrown off-balance by their absences.
As the dizziness vanished, I saw Standish striding toward the door, my bag in his hands. “Hold onto that for me,” I called out. “I’ll be coming for it real soon.”
Standish didn’t bother to respond. Instead, he walked out the door and slammed it shut behind him. The entire room rattled slightly but one noise rose above the rest. It sounded like trembling glass.
But it wasn’t coming from the broken window. It was coming from the side of the room. Immediately, I recalled the case full of antique guns.
There were dozens of ways I could attempt to smash the glass. However, Chase was armed. Retrieving a gun under such circumstances would prove nearly impossible. And even if I got my hands on one, there was a strong chance it wouldn’t be loaded.
I lifted myself into Chase’s chair and propped my legs on the desk. “Is this really the most comfortable chair you could afford? Because…”
“I see you’ve been doing some reading.”
I glanced at the Operation
Die Glocke
binder. “Yeah, it’s an interesting story actually. It’s about this guy named Jack Chase. He struck a deal to buy a weapon but ended up paying a million dollars for nothing. The weapon slipped through his fingers and the rest of the world lived a happy ending.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Why did Rictor go to you anyways? Why didn’t he just offer to sell the Bell to the U.S. military?”
Chase shrugged. “Well, he didn’t invent it so it wasn’t his to give away. And if he tried to sell it to the military, they might’ve detained him and forced him to turn it over, free of charge. He couldn’t take that chance. You see, Rictor liked living the good life and spent himself into heavy debt. He needed cash and he needed it fast. I was his only option.”
I doubted he knew about the Sand Demons. And I wasn’t about to fill him in. “Looks like he found a third option. He took the Bell and ran, along with a million dollars of your money.”
Chase frowned. “I must admit I’m surprised to see you. I figured you’d flee the city. Why’d you come here anyway?”
“Answers.”
“Did you find them?”
“Some.”
A curious expression came over his visage. “How’d you beat my security? No one’s ever made it past them.”
“That’s because you never pissed off a guy who knew how to climb.”
Chase glanced toward the broken window. I followed his line of sight and stared at the puddle of water. It seemed to ooze toward the desk with an almost magnetic attraction.
“Impressive,” he remarked. “Perhaps after this is over, we can find some common ground. I could use someone with your skill set.”
“Sorry. I don’t work for assholes.”
He smiled thinly. “Well, let’s do business. You have something I want. If you give it to me now, I’ll let you go.”
“Do you really think I’m that stupid?”
“I have no reason to kill you. All I want is your cooperation.”
“As soon as you get what you want, I’m dead. You can’t afford to let me live.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” He laughed. “You’re nothing but a pesky fly. I’m wealthy, powerful, and connected. I employ thousands of people and have influence with hundreds of politicians and bureaucrats. When I’m accused of crimes, people jump to my defense, even in the face of overwhelming evidence. And you? You’re nobody. You have no money. No job. No influence. Your former peers consider you a disgrace and a crackpot. I have nothing to fear from you. It would be a waste of my time to kill you.”
“Have you ever considered becoming a psychotherapist?”
“Where’s Hartek’s journal?”
“Beverly has it.”
His features hardened. “I see.”
“If you let me go, I’ll get it for you.”
“I have a counteroffer. If you tell me where to find it, no one gets hurt. If not, I’ll take matters into my own hands. With a snap of my fingers, my people will scour every inch of this city.”
“You’ll never find her.”
“They won’t be looking for her. They’ll be looking for Diane Blair.”
A jolt of electricity shot through my body, lighting my joints on fire. “I don’t know her.”
“Of course you do. Ryan followed you both times you went to see her.”
“If you hurt her…”
“I won’t hurt her,” he replied. “As long as you give me the journal.”
My mind raced, clicking through strategies. I couldn’t let him hurt Diane. At the same time, I wasn’t about to give him the keys to the Bell. I needed a third option of my own. “Okay. I’ll get it for you.”
He shook his head. “You’re a good liar. Good, but not great.”
“Well, we can’t all be perfect.”
Chase walked forward, sloshing through the thin layer of water that surrounded the desk. He stared at me through cold, dark eyes. “Tell me where to find the journal. I won’t ask again.”
“Go to hell.”
I don’t know if it was from loss of blood or sheer exhaustion, but I never saw it coming. I felt a sharp jab as his fist slammed into my head.
The chair tipped over and the back of my skull crashed against the hardwood floor. My vision grew foggy and I almost passed out. But the sight of a steel-toed boot hurtling toward my head kept me awake.
I rolled. The heavy boot smashed into the floor, barely missing my ear. I hopped to my feet and limped around the desk, backing away from him. His strength and speed had caught me by surprise.
I didn’t intend to let it happen again.
Chase’s left fist flew through the air. But this time I was ready. I parried the blow and grabbed his wrist. With a quick yank, I sent him hurtling toward the wall.
He spun to the side in mid-air. His heels hit the wall, he compressed his body, and launched at me like a Hellfire missile.
His fist punched my face at the precise moment his body crashed into mine. The combined impact drove me backward and I fell to the ground.
As he rose to his feet, I felt warm blood pouring from my forehead. He was tearing me apart, turning my face into hamburger meat.