The five-story OSRI building stood in stark contrast against the gray skyline, just beyond the beach where Justin needed to land. The water had receded and although the beach had been cleaned, the town was in shambles. He could see construction equipment moving around; they started to rebuild. He sighed; grateful the small town would be beautiful again. From this distance, he could only make out a few figures dotting the white beach.
The town of Indialantic had only six policemen and that was all they needed because the crime rate was low. Hopefully, the officers would be far enough away to give him enough time to reach OSRI. He held the shifter in place as the vessel zoomed forward. A gentleman in a black bathing suit was standing on the beach, waving his arms and yelling. Justin couldn’t understand his words. He waved for him to move, but the man stood there jumping and shouting, then dove out of the way as the ship rammed onto the sandy beach. Justin nearly flew over the console again.
“Are you nuts?” said the man, running towards him. “You could have killed yourself.”
At least six sunbathers were approaching. There was no time to answer. Justin jumped out of the craft and ran up the dune towards the street. He could hear the people talking about the blood on his shirt. It didn’t matter; thousands would die if he couldn’t contact the President. A woman screamed.
They found the bodies.
The lights in the OSRI building were out. Bauman probably sent everyone home. He dashed into OSRI’s empty parking lot as the police sirens wailed. The main doors were locked. He pulled out his keys and fiddled through the collection, nearly dropping them. He didn’t realize how badly he was shaking. He found the key, flung the door open, and raced to the receptionist’s desk. The phone was dead. He remembered his standard operations; if no one was going to be in the building for a lengthy time, all phones were shut off at the telephone company. His only chance was the computers. If he could restart the generators, he could text message Admiral William’s cell phone.
Justin bolted down the hallway and into the room marked “Danger: High Voltage.” He was exhausted and grateful most Florida homes and businesses didn’t have basements. The two generators were sitting side by side in a room with special venting. Starting them would be easy. Slowing down the police would be much harder.
His shoulder was oozing blood. He heard the screeching of tires as the police pulled into the parking lot. He flipped several switches and pushed up the main power lever. The generators clicked several times then hummed. The lights came on. The front doors slammed open. The police had entered the building.
He ran out of the room and struggled up the stairs to the third floor. Each step brought more light-headedness. If he could reach the MCC he could isolate himself in there with the security doors. It would hold him long enough to contact the Admiral. Justin rounded another corner then and was about to pass the first lab door when he stopped abruptly. Three policemen were inside the lab armed with rifles. They were searching for him.
Half the fleet came, he thought to himself, with the other half probably on their way. And why not? A crazy man drives his boat onto the beach and ten dead bodies are discovered. The worst murder in this town’s history. Great, Justin, planned real well.
The lab had two entrances. The hallway to the MCC was just beyond the second door, around the corner. He checked his wristwatch; there was less than one hour to evacuate the Peace Conference and five states. Knowing the Admiral’s emergency plan, the Peace Conference could be emptied in fifteen minutes but the people living on the New Madrid fault would be in dire jeopardy. A deep sadness overcame him as he thought of the thousands of lives that would be lost and there was nothing he could do to stop it. However, the Peace Conference was different and he had to focus on that. Losing the World leaders was not an option.
Going on all fours would keep him out of sight from the police and Justin hoped his shoulder was up to it. He got to his knees and nearly fell when he put pressure on his left arm.
This is no time to be a wimp, he thought. Suck it up.
The floor was carpeted, thank goodness, and he softly inched his way past the first open door without incident. He saw them checking under tables, inside closets, and even looking outside the windows to see if he’d crawled out onto the ledge. Sweat was streaming down his face and he wondered if it was from sheer terror or from the excruciating pain in his shoulder. At the second door, an officer was standing in the entrance with his back to the hallway.
Oh, crap, he thought. If they catch me now, it’s over.
He was so close he could smell the officer’s cologne. Slowly he began crossing the doorway. His injured arm was trembling and he could see his sweat drops hitting the floor. He had almost reached the other side when he heard a loud cough above him. Justin froze and held his breath. The man leaned back and looked down the hallway in the opposite direction of Justin, then casually returned his attention to the lab. Justin swiftly crawled around the corner and stood up, resting against the beige wall, trying to regain his strength. His watch read twenty-five minutes.
He finally reached the MCC. The red button to lock the doors was on the lower level at the main terminal, Rina’s computer. He scurried down the carpeted steps and bashed the button. The security doors slammed shut with a boom. The cops now knew where he was. It would only be a matter of time before they either blew up the entry or shut off the generators. Right now, they were pounding on the doors. Time was running out. He sat at the computer and began typing. Although the sweat was stinging his eyes, his fingers flew across the keyboard. When he stopped, he’d made so many typing errors he couldn’t read his own words.
Slow down, Justin, you can do this.
He deleted the message and started another one. Loud gunshots dented the metal doors and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He faced the computer.
This will have to do. He hit “Enter.”
Waiting is the worst.
Twenty minutes remained. He resent the message just in case the first one didn’t go through. The ring Mary had given him was sitting beside the keyboard, left there by accident, and he quickly slipped it on. The voice of an officer using a bullhorn told him to give up; he was surrounded. Justin flicked on the hallway cameras. On the middle wall screen, he could see two policemen heading downstairs to the generators. He stood up in a panic. He had to stop them, but how? Just then, the computer beeped.
The words appeared, “If you’re Dr. Young, prove it.”
Justin plopped in his seat and typed. “I sent you a gift of pickles and ice cream. Payton, hurry, the cops are ready to break in so answer me quick.” He sent it out.
The police were almost to the generators. A message beep sounded.
“I’m not with those idiots at the Peace Conference, I’m in Maine. The bombs are a go.”
Justin sat shocked, running the many amiable conversations through his mind, wondering how he’d missed this. His friend of twenty years was working with Bauman the whole time. He typed back, “Why?”
“Less problems and the pay is better. Sorry, Justin. Goodbye.”
Suddenly the lights and power went off. The security doors slid open and four officers rushed in, ready to shoot. Justin swiveled around and raised his hands in the air, trembling to the anger inside him, knowing he’d failed.