Two more minutes and he'd be home free.
After walking through three hundred feet of intersecting hallways Lawson entered the red-lit security suite and sat in one of the two leather chairs, giving him a view of the nearly one hundred security monitors.
"What's going on?" asked Simon Norfolk, a slender young man with a crew cut. He sat back in the chair with his feet on the countertop.
"Move your damn feet," Lawson said, swatting at his partner's legs.
"There isn't a security camera in here," Norfolk said. "Calm down."
"You're getting crap all over the counter. You want to be responsible when this stuff stops working because some idiot got dirt in the system?"
Norfolk took his feet off the counter and wiped away the dirt that had fallen from his deep-treaded black boots. "Happy now?" When Law-son didn't reply, Norfolk smacked his arm. "So what the hell is king geek doing in the computer lab?"
"Noticed the download speed was slow last night so he's running a diagnostic on the network." Lawson looked at the image of Seth sitting in the computer lab. He squinted and watched as Seth's fingers flew over the keyboard. He was typing in commands, but the diagnostic software wasn't responding. "That's weird."
Lawson moved the image from the small monitor in front of him to the forty-inch screen at the center of the massive display. "Is it just me or is the diagnostic software finished?"
"Looks that way," Norfolk said.
"Then why is he still typing?"
"Better yet, what the hell is that?" Norfolk pointed to the side of the coffee cup where a small portion of the thumb drive could be seen, plugged into the USB port.
"Son of a bitch," Lawson yelled as he leaped from his chair and pounded out of the security suite with Norfolk hot on his heels. They covered the distance to the computer lab in twenty seconds, but when they barreled through the door, Seth was nowhere to be seen. His still-spinning chair revealed he had just left, and fast.
"Sound a general alarm," Lawson said, sending Norfolk on his way.
Then he charged through the computer lab, drew his nonlethal stun gun, and headed through the far exit. He shouted angrily, "Seth!"
Seth heard his name roll down the hall like a tsunami. He rounded the corner, panicked and confused. He had never planned to escape on foot. He had never planned to get caught. But now it was one or the other. Looking back over his shoulder, he failed to notice the woman in front of him and crashed into her, sending them both to the floor.
Seth picked himself up quickly, nearly vomited with fear when he saw the Gen-Y security uniform, and then sighed with relief when he saw the woman wearing it — Anna Beck. Despite her girl-next-door good looks, which normally put him on guard, she was one of the few people at Manifold he considered a true friend, and regardless of her employment by Gen-Y, decided to trust her.
"Seth," Beck said, "what's going on?"
He thrust one of the thumb drives into her soft hand. "Look at it," he said. "But don't tell them about it." "Tell who?" she asked.
"Seth!" Lawson's voice carried up the hallway.
Seth's eyes went wide. "Them. Please, just do it."
She looked at the thumb drive, nodded and said, "Okay. Just tell me what's going on. Maybe I can — oof."
He punched her as hard as he could, sending her to the floor, gasping for air. "Sorry," he said, then ran toward the stairwell that would take him to the exit and the jungle beyond.
A moment later, Lawson rounded the corner. "Where is he?"
After sucking in a breath and standing without help from her compatriot, she told the truth. "Outside. We'll never find him." She leaned against the wall and slid the thumb drive into her pocket. As she watched Lawson run to the stairwell she wondered what could be important enough to cause an average guy like Seth to risk his life. It wasn't Lawson that would kill him — only nonlethals were allowed to be used on Manifold employees. It was the jungle that would do him in. Seth hadn't spent more than a few minutes in the jungle and had avoided every training session Gen-Y had offered Manifold employees. He'd be lucky to survive the next few hours.
EIGHT
King stared at his reflection in the chrome goggles of the masked man pointing one of the world's most lethal handguns at his head. He was happy to see his face didn't reflect any of the surprise he felt at finding himself caught completely off guard.
He quickly counted five men, all dressed, head to toe, in black, liquid-cooled suits — nicer than anything the U.S. military provided. Their eyes hid behind reflective goggles that blocked sun and dust; the remainder of their faces were covered by metal masks that supplied clean air and water to each man. He recognized the suit technology. It was similar to a prototype he had tested, that had yet to receive final approval — funding — for field use.
"Jack Sigler, call sign, King," said the man holding a pistol to King's head. His voice sounded electronically distorted, like a more metallic Darth Vader. "You're a day early."
King really had to work hard at hiding his surprise now. His call sign as a Delta operative was classified information. Not even Pierce knew he was Delta. Only his team and a handful of government officials had access to his information.
"I would have baked cookies if I knew we were having company," he said. He scanned the area quickly, ignoring the gun hovering in front of his face. Three of the dark-clad men were putting the kneeling excavation crew into zip-tie handcuffs. He fought the urge to curse when he saw the driver, Atahualpa, helping them. No wonder he was so nervous when I drew my gun, he thought, he thought I was on to him.
A fourth man held a Metal Storm handgun on Pierce and McCabe. Two pulls of the trigger would tear them apart. The artifact-laden satchel lay on the ground between them.
King's mind sprinted through his options. The gun still tucked into his belt buckle held enough rounds to kill all five men if his shots were accurate — and he had no doubt they would be — but by the time he'd killed the man next to him, three bullets would no doubt be fired into Pierce or McCabe. With taking action on the back burner, he decided to pursue the next best strategy: information gathering. "What do you want?"
The man's trigger finger twitched ever so slightly.
"They're after the artifact," McCabe shouted, kicking sand at the man guarding her and Pierce. She'd stood up to enough brooding men in her life to not back down because of a threat.
"Settle down, lady," the guard said, taking aim at her head.
"Go to hell," she said. Pierce took her arms and held her still as she tried to rush the man.
King admired her fight in the face of overwhelming odds, but knew it would get her killed. The situation had to be resolved quickly, even if it meant letting these guys get away. "Just take what you came for and go."
The man standing over him knelt down and, with a low growl, said, "I intend to." He stood and stiffened his aim at King's head. "Take Dr. Pierce. Leave the others to roast. And shoot the bitch."
"No!" King shouted. For a fraction of a second he moved forward, out of the tunnel, but his instincts told him to duck back inside. Had he ignored his instincts the three bullets fired from above would have struck his head instead of the tunnel wall.
Drawing his Sig Sauer, he moved back to the entrance. He'd start dropping bodies as soon as one crossed his path. But the only thing he saw through the tunnel exit was a grenade. It bounced to a stop two feet inside the four-foot tunnel, pin pulled and about to explode. He dove away from the tunnel, covered his ears opened his mouth and pressed himself against the cave wall and two mummified corpses.