Two of the elevators arrived almost simultaneously. "Going up?" Pittman called into the one nearest him. "I need to get to four."
"It's headed down, stupid—read the arrow," one of the armed Security men growled at him before anyone inside could reply. Shouldering past Pittman, he and the other four stepped into the car. The door closed; muttering something under his breath, Pittman stepped into the other elevator. Mordecai waited until it, too, was on its way before moving forward and punching the up button. He didn't know exactly where Pittman was headed, but odds were that it was somewhere he wanted to be, too.
Another elevator arrived within the minute, and he stepped inside with the two Security men already there. The fourth-level button had been pushed; stepping to a back corner, the blackcollar rubbed his lip thoughtfully and began the quiet psychological preparation for combat.
The door opened. He let the others leave first, then stepped out himself and looked around... and realized with a shock that he'd walked into a massive trap.
Combat reflexes flared; but even as his hand twitched toward his concealed nunchaku his brain caught up with that first impression and he noticed that the dozen gray-green uniforms weren't converging on him—were not, in fact, even paying any attention to him. Carefully, he let his hand drop back to his side and gave the bustling Security men another, closer, look. Casual conversations, body language that spoke of unconcern.
Level four was a Security barracks.
Great. Just great. Well, it could have been worse. Licking his lips briefly, the blackcollar tried to look inconspicuous as he looked around for Pittman. The other wasn't hard to find, striding down the hall to Mordecai's right as if he owned the place. The blackcollar set off after him, again making sure not to get too close.
The hall was a long one, and at its end was a desk with a Security duty officer and—surprisingly—a single elevator. The implications were clear enough... and with almost a sense of relief Mordecai realized the difficult part was over and the fighting was about to begin. The only way to get to Lathe and the others would be via that elevator—and the ID machine he could see on the duty officer's desk was sure as hell not going to be simply taking roll call.
He picked up his pace, and was within earshot when Pittman reached the desk. "I want to go up and see General Quinn," the younger man announced to the duty officer. "Do I just get in the elevator there, or do you need to check me through first?"
"Neither," the Security man said tartly. "Only authorized personnel are allowed on the detention level, and you're not one of them."
"That's ridiculous," Pittman said. "Galway said I could come up here if I wanted to—"
"Galway's not in charge here, Postern—and if I were you, I wouldn't keep using his name to try and slide your way into places where you're not wanted."
"Now look, you—"
Quietly, Mordecai slipped past the argument and gave the elevator door a quick once-over. Armored, certainly, and with no visible controls. Probably operated from the duty desk after IDs and authorizations had been properly checked. The blackcollar turned back, scanning the desk for anything that looked like a panel; saw a touch plate by the officer's right knee—
"Hey!" the desk man half turned to glare at Mordecai. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Get back here and check through—"
And abruptly recognition flared in his eyes. "My God—" he gasped.
Mordecai lifted his eyes a fraction, caught Pittman's.
And the younger man leaned over the desk to jab stiffened fingers into the Security man's throat.
With a strangled choke the officer slumped in his seat. Glancing over Pittman's shoulder, Mordecai stepped to the stunned man's side. "ID," he said quietly to Pittman. "Upper left pocket."
"Any reaction?" Pittman asked as his fingers dug into the pocket and emerged with the card.
"Not yet," Mordecai said, still watching over the other's shoulder. But that wouldn't last long, he knew. At the moment Pittman's body was hiding the duty officer from view of the milling Security men farther down the hall, but that would change as soon as they made for the elevator. "This is the only way to the cells?"
Pittman nodded. He had the ID pressed against the reader screen now and was trying to maneuver the officer's hand onto the fingerprint plate. "The only monitor station I know of is down in the situation room, and it's not getting that much attention."
Mordecai grunted. The officer, his wind starting to come back, was attempting to struggle. The blackcollar took a moment to punch him at the base of the skull and he went limp again. "We'll be taking out the cameras right away, anyway. You have your battle-hood and gloves?"
Pittman grimaced. "No—I couldn't come up with a good enough reason to keep them. They may be up where the others' gear is stored, though, in a room just down the hall from the elevator. I saw some of the stuff being put away on the monitors when I was downstairs."
"Any real firepower up there, or just paral-dart guns?"
"All I saw the guards carrying was the latter, but that room looked like it doubled as a small armory.
Sorry, but I couldn't find a quiet way into the big one downstairs."
"We wouldn't have wanted a laser in the elevator, anyway—elevators and stairwells have the nasty habit of carrying resonance detonators for the purpose of destroying captured weapons.
Okay—ready?"
"Ready."
Pittman pushed the read button, holding the officer's hand steady on the plate. Simultaneously, Mordecai heaved the man straight up out of his chair, turning the head to face the retina scanner.
Bracing the limp body against his chest, he pried open the eyelids with thumb and forefinger and held his breath.
There was a beep, and something that sounded like a relay clicking. "Elevator," Mordecai murmured, dropping the officer back into his chair and reaching for the touch plate under the desktop. Behind him, the doors slid open; a moment later they closed again with both men aboard.
"How long?" Pittman asked. There was a slight quaver in his voice—the first Mordecai had heard since this whole thing started.
"Till they catch on?" The blackcollar shrugged, digging out his spare shuriken pouch and pressing it into the youth's hand. "Not very. That's why your first job upstairs will be to disable the elevator.
Quietly, if possible—I'd like a few minutes to get the lay of the land before I hit the place."
"I'll try."
The doors opened, and Mordecai strode out, eyes darting everywhere. The long hallway dead-ended at the elevator, he saw, a duty desk like the one downstairs positioned a few meters in front of it. A
potentially good spot to defend the elevator from, once the officer seated there was eliminated.
Ahead, several doors opened out into the hallway, one of them with the heavy look of armor reinforcement. Beside it was another guard station; and with a rush of adrenaline-fueled recklessness, the blackcollar passed the duty desk and stepped boldly up to the Security man at the armory. "You got the blackcollar equipment inside?" he asked gruffly.
"Yeah," the other said, looking up.
"Get it all out, fast," Mordecai growled, half turning to peer down the hall. "We've got a report that some of the nunchaku are loaded with explosives—the general wants 'em out of there before they blow and take the whole armory out."
"Krij it—weren't the damn things bomb-sniffed?" the other muttered, reaching under his desk. But even as he lowered his eyes, his brain caught up with him and his expression twitched... and when his hand came back into sight it was holding a paral-dart pistol. "All right, you—"