They must have more money than God. And one hell of an architect.
"We may have triggered a warning device or alarm," David said quietly. "It might not be empty."
Leon nodded along with everyone else; they were all silent and tense as they waited, John pointing his rifle at the mesh gate.
Reston found the flat, seamless panel, and pried it
—but there was a lock on the switch, a thin metal rod hooked through the top, keeping it from being pushed down. It wasn't until he saw the lock that he recalled it; yet another of Umbrella's precautions, one that suddenly seemed monumentally stupid.
The keys, the workers all have them, I got a set before I came—
Reston ran his hands through his hair, wracking his brain, feeling desperate and harried.Where'dlput the goddamn security keys?
When he heard the lift being recalled to the surface only seconds later, it was all he could do to keep from screaming. They had the code. They had guns and there were five of them and they had the code.
Takes two minutes to get to the top, I've still got time and the keys are—
Blank. His mind was blank, and the seconds were ticking past. He'd already hit the recall button, but it wouldn't bring the elevator back down if someone opened the gate on the surface. For all he knew, the assassins or saboteurs or whatever the hell they were had already pried opened the gate, were now watching the lift on its way up, waiting—
—or maybe throwing a few pounds ofplastique into the shaft—or—
—control, they're in control!
Reston turned and ran, across the wide corridor and ten feet to the right, down the small offshoot outside of control. His first day at the Planet, one of the construction people had shown him all of the internal locks—backup generator, drug cabinet in surgical... manual override for the lift. He'd yawned his way through that particular tour, then tossed the keys into a drawer in the control room, knowing that he wouldn't be needing them.
He hurried through the door, deciding that he could berate himself for forgetting the keys later, wondering how things had gone so out of control in such a short period of time. Only ten minutes ago he'd been sipping brandy, relaxing—
—and ten minutes from now, you could be dead. Reston hurried.
The elevator was big, at least ten feet across and twelve deep. John squinted as it rose into view, the harsh light from a naked bulb in the ceiling nearly blinding after their long stint in darkness.
At least it's empty. Now all we gotta do is avoid getting ambushed and murdered when we hit the bottom.
The elevator came to a smooth stop. The latch on the mesh gate unlocked and the gate slid into the wall. John was closest. He glanced at David, who nodded a go-ahead.
"First floor, shoes, menswear, Umbrella assholes," John said, not particularly bothered that he didn't get a laugh. Everyone had their own preferred method for dealing with tension. Besides, his sense of humor was more fully developed.
Right over their heads,he thought, scanning the walls of the elevator car for anything unusual. Well, maybe not over their heads; it was more that they just didn't appreciate his fine wit. He kept himself amused, that was the important thing, it kept him from freezing up or turning into a basket case.
The elevator looked okay, dusty but solid. John stepped carefully inside, Leon right behind—
—then John heard a noise, just as a red light started to blink on the lift's control panel.
"Be still," John hissed, holding his hand up, not wanting anyone else to get on until he saw what the light was for—
—and the mesh gate closed behind him, the latch
snapping shut. He spun, saw that Leon was on board, saw Claire and Rebecca lunging for the gate from the other side and David running for the keypad.
There was a raspingclickfrom overhead and Leon, closer to the front, shouted at Claire and Rebecca—
"Get back!"
—because the wall panel was coming down,slam-mingdown, and the girls were stumbling back. John caught a final glimpse of their shocked and pale faces in the gloom—
—and the door had closed, and although he hadn't touched a thing, the elevator was going down. John crouched by the controls, punching at the buttons, and saw what the flashing red light was for.
"Manual override," he said, and stood up, looking at the young cop, not sure what to say. Their simple plan had just been totally screwed.
"Shit," Leon said, and John nodded, thinking he'd summed it up perfectly.
EIGHT
"SHIT."CLAIRE HISSED, FEELING HELPLESS and afraid, wanting to beat against the wall panel until it released the two men.
Trap, it was a trap, a setup—
"Listen ... it's going down," Rebecca said, and Claire heard it, too. She turned, saw David tapping the keypad with one hand, flashlight in the other, his face grim.
"David," Claire started, and stopped as David spared her a pointed glance, a look that told her to wait. He barely paused in his number punching, returning his entire attention back to the controls.
She turned to Rebecca, saw that Rebecca was chewing at her lip nervously, watching David.
"He must be trying all the codes," she whispered to Claire, and Claire nodded, feeling sick with worry, wanting to talk action but realizing that David needed to concentrate. She compromised, leaning in to whisper back to Rebecca; if she just stood there quietly in the freezing dark, she'd lose her mind.
"Think it was Trent?"
Rebecca frowned, then shook her head. "No. I think we hit a silent alarm or something. I saw a light
Rebecca sounded just as scared as she was, just as terrified,and Claire thought about how close she and John must have gotten. As close as Leon and herself, maybe. Claire instinctively reached for her hand and Rebecca took it, squeezing it tightly, both of them watching David.
Come on, one of them has to open it, to bring it back. . . .
A few tense seconds passed, and David stopped hitting keys. He pointed the flashlight up, the reflection just enough light to see each other by.
"Seems that the numbers don't work if the lift is in use," he said. His voice was calm and easy, but Claire could see that his jaw was clenched, the muscles in his cheeks twitching.
"I'll try them all again in a moment, and then again—but since someone else seems to have access to the lift's master control, we should start considering other options. Rebecca—start looking for a camera, check the corners and ceiling; if we're going to be here awhile, we'll need privacy. Claire, see if you can find any tools we might use to get through the wall— tire iron, screwdriver, anything. If the codes won't work, we'll see if we can't force our way in. Questions?"
"No," Rebecca said, and Claire shook her head.
"Good. Take a deep breath and get to it."
David went back to the keypad and Rebecca walked to the corner, turning her flashlight to the ceiling.
Claire took a deep breath and turned, looking at the dusty table in the middle of the room. It had stacked drawers on either side; she opened the first, pushing aside papers and clutter, thinking that David really kicked ass under pressure.
Tire iron, screwdriver, anything. . . be careful, please be careful and don't get killed. . .
Claire forced herself to take another deep breath; then she opened the next drawer, continuing her search.
John took the lead, which Leon was only too happy to follow. He may have survived Raccoon, but the ex-S.T.A.R.S. soldier had been in and out of combat situations for something like nine years; he won.
"Get down," John said, crouching himself, then lying down on his stomach and wrapping the M-16 strap tightly around his muscular arm. "If it's an ambush, they'll be aiming high when the door opens; we take out their knees. Works like a charm."