“Like unleashing a pathogen on the world and killing millions.”
Conner’s eyes flashed. “That wasn’t our fault. We offered the world the cure the day after the infection rate hit the tipping point. All we wanted was to distribute the cure, and Rapture with it.”
“That’s not all. You wanted control of world governments.”
“What difference does it make? The Looking Glass will give us that anyway.” Conner glanced back at the other three men. “Come on, Des.” He apparently didn’t want them to hear the conversation.
He led his brother to the office. Each step was easier for Desmond, his gait less labored.
Conner slammed the door behind them. “Now tell me: what do you remember?”
Desmond inhaled. “I remember going to Australia thirteen years ago and learning that you had lived. I remember the horror and joy of that moment. I remember the day I saw you leave your apartment. My heart broke that day—”
“Get on with it.”
Desmond ignored the outburst. “I watched you from afar. Your transformation, Conner. What you accomplished, your strength, breaking that drug’s hold on you. Your leadership at Rook. How hard you worked. You were an inspiration to me. I didn’t realize it then. But I saw in the memories… what you did for me was every bit as profound as what I did for you.”
Conner glanced around the office, unable to look Desmond in the eye. There were maintenance schedules on the wall, mandatory flight safety posters, a large-scale picture of a Cessna Citation sitting in a hangar, its doors open, a smiling pilot standing beside it.
“We don’t have a lot of time here,” Conner said. “We’ve had our differences, but that’s over now. I know you don’t agree with how we distributed Rapture. Fine. Let’s just put it behind us. Rapture has been distributed. Rook is ready and waiting. If you can recover Rendition, the Looking Glass will come online. That’s always been our dream—our promise to each other. Now we can make it happen.” He stepped closer. “Think about all the suffering happening around the world. We can end it. Right now. We can ensure humanity survives another thousand years—another billion years.”
“It’s not that simple anymore.”
“It is.”
“Listen, Conner. Really listen to me. I saw what happened before the pandemic. The reason I hid my memories. It’s not what you think.”
Conner stared, confused.
“I went to see Lin Shaw after we met on the Kentaro Maru.”
“And?”
“And she told me that the Looking Glass couldn’t be stopped. That it was inevitable. That it had happened before on other worlds and would happen again—”
“We know that—”
“She also said that we—you, Yuri, and I—didn’t understand what it really was.”
“And she does?”
“She thinks so. She told me only one thing could change: who controls the Looking Glass.”
Conner made the connection immediately. “So whatever she’s doing, it would allow her to take control of the Looking Glass.”
“I think we can assume that.”
Conner paced across the office.
“She wanted me to stop Yuri,” Desmond said.
“To keep him from controlling the Looking Glass, so that she could.”
“Yes. But I think it’s more than that. She knew what Yuri was capable of. The purge. The pandemic. Conner, he’s not the person we thought he was.”
“Yes he is. He brought us together. He helped you… bring me back. He’s just like us: born in fire and raised in the ashes. He’s dedicated his life to building a better world.” Conner turned to his brother. “We’re fighting a war, Des. The first battle was more bloody than we expected, but only because our enemy chose that. If they had relented—”
“Conner—”
“No.” Conner shook his head. “Yuri placed his faith in us. He gave each of us a piece of the Looking Glass. We can’t break faith with him. Not now. I won’t. He’s done too much for us. You have to see that, Des. You have to see that I wouldn’t desert him any more than I would desert you.”
Desmond did see it then: the full genius of Yuri’s plan. He had assessed Conner McClain, like a piece on a chessboard, had seen his capabilities and his position, seen how he could be maneuvered. Conner’s mind for strategy and tactics had enabled him to build Rook and to be a formidable commander of Citium Security and paramilitary forces. But most importantly, his devotion and loyalty to Yuri and Desmond was unbreakable.
“This is just a little bump in the road,” Conner continued. “We knew there would be some. I talked with Yuri. He says he’s already forgiven and forgotten. He’s ready to finish this. So am I.”
“He’s forgiven me?”
“Can we move on, brother? Can we finish this—together? Please? You promised me, Des. You swore to me.”
Desmond saw only one way out. A single choice that might change his life forever.
“Yes,” he said. “We’ll finish it. Together.”
Chapter 56
“Where is it?” Conner asked.
Desmond stared out the window of the hangar’s office. The two Citium Security operatives were leaning against a black Suburban. The slender Asian man was wandering around, reading the pages pinned to the corkboards.
“It’s on a solid state drive,” Desmond said. “In a safe deposit box.”
“Where?”
“San Jose. At the Bank of the West. Box 2938.”
Conner eyed him, as if trying to get a read. Desmond resisted the urge to swallow.
“Look, it’s like thirty minutes from here. Let’s go. I’ll prove it to you.”
“Where’s the key?”
“No idea,” Desmond said. “But you’ve proved quite adept at breaking into things lately. And the world is kind of over, so I figure no one will care.”
Conner smiled, but Desmond sensed that his brother still didn’t trust him fully. All the same, Conner walked to the door, opened it, and yelled to his men, “Load up!” He turned back to Desmond. “If you’re lying to me…”
Desmond met his gaze and said nothing.
Conner broke eye contact and muttered, “All right, let’s go.”
“I need to use the bathroom.” Desmond shrugged. “It’s been a few days.”
Conner touched his collarbone. “Grant, join us in the office.” When the mercenary arrived, he said, “Keep watch.”
Conner opened the bathroom door in the corner of the office, his right hand gripping the handle of his gun. He flipped the light on and walked inside. Desmond heard him take the ceramic lid off the toilet, open and close the cabinet doors under the vanity, then set the toilet lid back on. He heard boots on top of the toilet, ceiling tiles being lifted and tossed, and a light clicking on, then off.
Conner emerged. “All yours, Des.”
He and the other man stayed in the office as Desmond entered. He closed the door and locked it behind him. In truth, he desperately had to use the bathroom, but he didn’t have much time. Seconds at most.
He flushed the toilet to create some noise and began feeling along the corner of the back wall, hoping David Ward had been true to his word.
He found the indentation as the water drained from the bowl. He pushed, and the wall swung in. Whoever David Ward and the FBI had hired had done a great job. The seam between the wall and the hidden door was virtually invisible. It opened just enough for Desmond to slip through.
Before he did, he flushed once more, then turned on the faucet in the sink.
Just inside the hidden door, a small, motion-activated LED turned on, its light barely enough to illuminate the small space, which was about four feet wide and six feet deep. A round shaft led down, a metal ladder in its center. Desmond closed the door, gripped the rails, and descended with all the haste he could manage. His body was still shaky, but it was responding better with each passing second.
At the base of the ladder was a tunnel, round, with metal walls, lik
e a giant iron sewer pipe with tiny LEDs on the ceiling.
Desmond ran for his life.
The Suburban was cranked, the men loaded inside, waiting. Conner stood in the office, listening to the running water.
“Des?” he called. How long has it been?
He began counting the seconds. At thirty, he walked to the bathroom door and listened, but heard only running water. He knocked. “Des?”
No response.
He tried the knob. Locked.
“Des? Answer me.”
He counted five seconds.
He dreaded what came next, but he stepped back, his mind going blank, into an almost autopilot-like mode. His kick connected in the center of the hollow door, next to the knob. It exploded inward, hit the wall, bounced, and returned. The split second peek confirmed that the room was empty.
He touched his collarbone. “Request backup. We’ve lost him.”
He pulled his sidearm and entered the bathroom. It looked the same. He reached out with his left hand, still holding his gun, pressing the wall opposite the vanity and toilet.
A voice behind him. “Sir?”
“Check the ceiling!” he called, not turning.
The wall gave when he reached the corner. Just a slight movement. He stepped back and kicked hard. His foot went through the drywall and got caught. Balancing on one leg, he jerked his foot out and drew the Maglite from his belt. He switched it on and peered through the hole, taking in the small room and manhole.
He activated his comm. “I’ve got him.”
Conner stood, thinking, his mind like a computer analyzing the situation. What does this mean?
Strong possibility: Desmond knew about this tunnel.
Evidence supporting: he had been here before—he knew what was on the corkboards when he woke up.
Certainty: either the tunnel was here before Desmond visited the first time, and he was told about it… or it was built after, likely at his request.
Most likely possibility: Desmond planned this—as a trap door at the end of his memories.
Implication: the tunnel was made in the last few months.
What options do I have?
Chase him down, or go where he’s going.
Chasing was always a bad option.
Which left only one question: what’s his destination? The marshy waters of Bair Island Marine Park lay to the east, Bay Shore Freeway to the west. The tunnel would be unable to pass either, at least in the short amount of time they had to construct it.
Conclusion: the tunnel exited somewhere in the airport. Most likely at another hangar.
The operatives were at the door to the bathroom, guns held at the ready.
“Take the SUV, block the airport entrance!” They turned, and he called after them, “Shoot the tires on anything trying to exit. Be careful! Don’t hit him!”
He clicked his light off. And stood silently. In the dim light of the bathroom, he stared through the opening in the drywall, hoping Des would re-emerge, hoping that maybe the tunnel went nowhere—that it was just a ruse to get them to move out, much like the ruse he himself had used to escape the X1 soldiers at Desmond’s home.
Behind him, he heard the SUV crank and roar away.
He waited. No movement. No light.
He ran out of the office and found Dr. Park standing there looking wide-eyed, almost frantic. Park must have begun to realize that Conner didn’t need him anymore, now that Desmond had recovered all of his memories. And the scientist knew too much—including details about the location of the island that was the Citium’s final stronghold.
Conner felt his hand drift down to the gun in his holster.
Park took a step back, furtively glancing around.
Conner knew what he should do. What Yuri would do. What needed to be done.
“Stay here, Doctor. I’m warning you.”
He told himself that he would finish him when he got back, but as he ran out of the hangar, he knew it wasn’t true. He pushed his legs as hard as they would go, running into the night across the grass, onto the tarmac. He unslung his rifle from his back and stood, waiting for a hangar door to open.
Chapter 57
The tunnel seemed endless. Desmond’s legs protested, but he pushed harder, his way lit only by the tiny beads of light above. Finally, he saw a ladder ahead. He slowed as he reached it, knowing time was precious, but that danger might be waiting.
He gripped the ladder and looked up. The dirt ended ten feet above at a concrete layer that was frayed at the edges, like the cheese topping on a slice of pizza that had been bitten into. He heard the faint murmur of voices, men arguing, then laughing.
He climbed the rungs quietly.
The exit from the hidden passage wasn’t as polished as the entrance. Mounds of black dirt were piled on each side, hills left by the auger. The ceiling of a hangar loomed above. Desmond peeked over the edge and saw two men, overweight, one with a shaved head, the other with short hair, both sitting on cheap metal chairs at a folding table, studying playing cards fanned out in their hands.
One leaned back and spotted Desmond in his peripheral vision. He reeled back, the chair tripping him, sending him tumbling to the ground. The other man laughed, then realized something was wrong. He scanned, saw Desmond, and stood, drawing a sidearm and training it on Desmond. “Freeze. FBI.”
Footfalls on the concrete, a third figure running, approaching.
Desmond held his hands up, didn’t climb further. The third figure rounded the dirt mound. This man Desmond knew. David Ward. Avery’s boss—the same boss who had agreed to build the tunnel.
“We need to go,” Desmond said.
Ward held his hand out, palm down, and the agent lowered his gun. The other agent was on his feet again, red-faced and embarrassed.
“How?” Ward asked.
“By plane. Right now.”
Ward nodded to the two men, who raced to the hangar doors and pulled them open. A jet sat just beyond the hole in the concrete.
Ward helped Desmond climb over the dirt pile. “You screwed me over, Hughes.”
Desmond looked at him. “I didn’t.”
“Don’t lie.”
“Look, I tried. I failed—”
“I’m only here because Avery Price thinks you’re the key to stopping them.”
So she had saved him once again. In the other hangar a month ago, then on the Kentaro Maru, and now here.
Desmond walked toward the plane. “Can we talk about how pissed you are in the air?”
Ward muttered something Desmond couldn’t make out, but fell in behind him.
There were two black Ford Crown Victoria sedans sitting just inside the hangar door. A thought occurred to Desmond. Conner was likely already aware he had escaped—and that he hadn’t gone far. To Ward, he said, “Can you fly the plane?”
The man glanced at it. Not a good sign. “Sure.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why?”
“We need covering fire. Two men in a car making sure the runway is clear.”
As if on cue, tires squealed from another hangar, and headlights beamed out into the night, picking up speed, like a panther released from a cage.
Ward called to the two agents and told them to load up. “Get your rifles, too.”
He led Desmond up the plane’s staircase, and they jogged to the cockpit. Ward squinted at the flight instruments. Another bad sign.
“You can—” Desmond began.
“Pull the stairs up, Hughes. And shut up.”
Desmond heard the engines roar to life as he closed the door.
He returned to the cockpit. “What can I do?”
“Just keep a watch for hostiles.”
Desmond moved toward the co-pilot seat.
“No,” Ward said. “Get back in the cabin.”
Desmond studied him.
“Less chance of getting hit.”
“Didn’t know you cared.”
Ward smiled. “I don’t.” He wa
tched as the gauges on the panel ticked up. “Avery would kill me if anything happened to you.”
“Right.”
One of the Crown Victorias led them onto the tarmac, its lights off, the passenger window down, the short-haired man poised with an automatic rifle. Desmond saw Conner’s Suburban parked at the entrance to the airport, blocking the gates. The two security operatives stood beside it, guns at the ready.
The plane was almost to the runway when the first shots ricocheted off the Crown Victoria. But the shots didn’t come from the Suburban—the angle was wrong.
Desmond dashed to the opposite side of the plane, waited, and saw a muzzle flare from the grass on the Bair Island side.
“Shooter in the grass!” he shouted. “Bay side. Eleven o’clock.”
More shots. The Crown Victoria sparked like a pack of firecrackers. A clang sounded off the plane’s fuselage, then another.
“He’s trying to shoot the tires!” Desmond called.
The airport had only one runway. He and Ward had to take off now or surrender.
A round of automatic gunfire sounded, this time from behind the plane, the bullets striking the tail fin.
“Hey!” Desmond turned toward the cockpit, but a massive explosion drowned him out. Through the window he saw the Crown Victoria engulfed in flames, the front left corner lifting into the air. The car almost flipped, but settled back onto the ground.
A grenade—and an expert shot at that.
Ward swerved the plane. Desmond flew across the cabin, rolled off a seat, and hit the floor at the base of a couch. He heard more shots hitting the plane’s metal skin.
The plane accelerated. From the floor, Desmond saw Ward pushing the throttle forward. He crawled up onto the nearest seat and peered out the windows. There were three shooters running down the tarmac, their rifles flaring. It reminded him of the orange lights flashing on switches in a data center in the Rook facility, with his brother at his side—the man now directing the shooting.
The wheels lifted off the ground. The aircraft wobbled. The engines roared, and the shooting stopped.
Desmond climbed over the seats to the back of the cabin for a better view. One of the shooters ran back to the burning Crown Victoria, where the agent in the passenger seat had climbed out. He pulled the man up and searched him. And then the darkness consumed the scene, and all Desmond could see were the beady runway lights. The Bayshore Freeway was dark and empty—something he had never seen as long as he had lived in the valley.