As Bishop's scream faded, King headed off the crowd before they could jump to any conclusions about the man in front of them. Good or evil. Angel or demon. Religious people tended to go one way or the other. Either way, he had to get Bishop away from these people. How he failed to realize Bishop had been injected with the regeneration serum on Tristan da Cunha was beyond him. He should have realized it when Bishop had taken the brunt of the explosion and survived without a scratch. The question was: Would Bishop lose his mind?
As he knelt down next to Bishop, King could see smoke and steam rising from his flesh and burned clothing. The man had endured the horrors of being burned alive and survived. He kept his right hand behind his back, ready to draw his weapon if necessary. It would be an awful thing on so many levels, but if Bishop went regen on this crowd of people, few, if any, would survive.
Placing his left hand on Bishop's shoulder, he said, "Bish…"
Their eyes met. When he spoke, his voice was like a growl. "I'm here. It's still me. But if I lose control… If I become like the others. Use it." He looked at King's arm, still behind his back, ready to draw his weapon. "Take my head off."
Nothing further needed to be said. Both men knew the score. If Bishop lost control, his head would soon follow. It was the merciful thing to do. Bishop would rather die than hurt an innocent, or a team member for that matter.
"The kids?"
Bishop uncurled his hunched body as he stood. He held a ball of blankets in his arms. As he reached his full, towering height, the blankets fell open revealing two unconscious children, free from burns.
The crowd erupted with cheers. A slew of "Praise Jesus" and "Thank the Lord" went up. The clamor was drowned out by the blare of two fire engines rounding the corner and entering the woods.
"They… need to be treated…" Bishop said.
"Take your time," King said, taking the kids one by one and laying them on the ground, far from the blazing home. Thor licked their faces gently, then lay down beside them. Being compassionate wasn't part of the dog's job description. He was just being a golden retriever.
As King checked the kids over, feeling for pulses, listening to their breathing and watching their little chests rise and fall, the crowd kept a safe distance from him and Bishop. He could hear them whispering about Bishop, but ignored their words.
When King finished with the kids, Bishop took his arm. For a moment he looked enraged, but it could have just as easily been the discomfort of his quickly healing wounds. "There is no time." He winced as pain shook his body. He growled lightly, tensed, and then returned to himself. "Knight activated his GPS. I was on my way to get you. He's found something."
"Or someone found him."
"He could be in trouble."
Two firemen cut through the crowd and approached. After giving Bishop a wide-eyed once-over, they turned their attention to the kids on the forest floor. "What the hell happened?"
"He saved them," someone shouted.
"They need to be treated for smoke inhalation," King said. "They'll live."
"Was there anyone else inside? I was told the home belongs to an elderly couple," one of the men said, then looked at Bishop again. "And… is he… okay?"
"The house was empty," Bishop said. "I checked all the rooms."
"You… went in there?" the fireman asked, looking up at the burning cabin.
With furrowed brows and anger in his voice, Bishop replied, "No, I always roll around in soot before I—"
Before he could finish, two streams of water blasted the cabin as the fire crews attacked the blaze. But they were too late. The weakened structure collapsed. As the second floor and attic crashed down, smoke, sparks, and hot embers shot out among the crowd, sending folks scattering. The two firemen covered up the children, shielding them with their bodies.
But when the smoke cleared, the two men who had saved the children from the fire, and their dog, were gone. The crowd searched the surrounding woods for the men, but they'd disappeared.
Like angels.
After fifteen minutes of slow, but bumpy, travel, the pickup truck came to a stop. Knight peeked out from the side of the tarp and saw the driver look up and wave. He couldn't see the recipient of the wave, but guessed a camera was watching because what looked like a moss-covered rock wall moved into the mountainside and then slid away, revealing a subterranean tunnel leading inside the mountain. He ducked beneath the tarp as the truck drove forward. Looking through the back of the tarp, Knight saw the secret door close behind them as double sets of ceiling-mounted lights passed by on the ceiling above.
He lowered himself down again and looked at his fellow passengers. After searching their bodies he discovered the gray-haired, liver-spotted couple were Doug and Linda Crowell. Both were over eighty and owned a cabin in the Pinckney Bible Conference Grounds. Both were alive, though severely sedated. What Manifold wanted with them was anyone's guess. Neither were scientists. Doug carried a long-since-expired mill worker I.D. card. And given the amount of flour on the apron Linda wore, the only science she was currently involved in was the chemistry of making snickerdoodles.
As the truck slowed, Knight peeked out. They were about to enter a large loading dock of some kind. He hated leaving the couple. They reminded him of Grandma Dae-jung, but staying would only get him killed. And their chances of survival dropped with his death. Knight slipped silently from the back of the truck and dove into the shadow of a support beam.
The truck stopped in a brightly lit parking area. The driver and passenger were met by two more men dressed in security uniforms. Gen-Y. The four men joked and laughed as they casually pulled the elderly couple from the back of the truck, took them by arms and ankles and carried them away. After the group left, the loading bay went dark.
Knight entered the space, comfortable in the dark, and checked the door. Locked. A dull green light caught his eye. He approached it slowly, wary of a motion sensor. But as he neared, he made out the shape: a downward pointing triangle positioned eight feet up on the wall. He searched the wall, finding the door's central seam. He worked his way left and found a single button. He pushed it. It glowed bright yellow and the double doors slid open. A large freight elevator. "Going down."
Knight stepped inside and scanned the options. The levels were labeled by letters: G, L, Y, and P. He chose to start at the beginning and work his way through. After pushing the G button, Knight took out his silenced Sig Sauer and smashed the overhead light. Crouched in darkness, he waited for the doors to open again.
Thirty seconds later they did. After his eyes adjusted to the bright light streaming in, he moved slowly into a hallway. A loud repeating pop filled the air. The sound repeated over and over, each time followed by a guttural grunt. His nose caught the ripe smell of human sweat and his imagination filled with images of regens, torture chambers, and human guinea pigs strapped to tables. He knew Manifold was fully capable of producing all three.
He slid against the wall, approaching a four-foot-by-eight-foot window that looked in on the room where the sounds and smells came from. He took a deep breath and prepared to steal a glance. With a practiced quickness, he could look in the room, memorizing every feature to sort out in his own time. But when he turned his head and looked into the room, his head locked in place. What he saw was so outrageous, he couldn't look away.
FORTY-EIGHT
Alexander Diotrephes crossed his legs and leaned back on a lab table, cool as can be, and answered the first question Rook posed, "George Pierce is an archaeologist. A fine one at that. But his allegiances are in the wrong place."