Heir of Ashes (The Roxanne Fosch Files #1)

Chapter 24

Within the dense woods, twilight ruled. Slivers of the gray sky peeked between intervals in the emerald canopy, accompanied by freezing gusts of wind that bit like tiny icy teeth at my bare neck.

I followed Logan’s lead, dodging low branches, jumping fallen mossy logs, and changing directions when the course did. Not once did I find any telltale marks that Douglas left for us to follow. I suppose leaving trails anyone could find was unprofessional and, so far, all this group had shown me was the canny zeal of professional enthusiasts who worshipped their job. Perfectionists, really, who wanted their work to be better than just superb.

We ran on a carpet of Douglas fir needles, over broken logs and jutting rocks for what seemed to me like an eternity.

When Logan finally came to a halt, I almost plowed through him. I took a step back before moving to his side. The tree line ended about twenty feet ahead, revealing a break in the woods where harsh artificial light illuminated fifty yards of empty, sandy terrain. Beyond it, the imposing wall of the PSS loomed. By then, full darkness had fallen, but no night animals were about. From where we stood, we could hear the faint, crashing waves of the Sound, about a mile west.

Logan moved as close as five feet to the edge of the woods and scanned the wall, then once more with the binoculars he produced from some hidden pocket. He wasn’t taking any chances that he could miss some small detail despite his superior eyesight. He moved farther away and out of sight, and neither Rafael nor I spoke a word during the hour and forty-five minutes he was gone.

“It’s as we know,” Logan said when he returned. “One guard in each house, ten in total, along with sophisticated surveillance equipment between each post.”

Rafael rocked on his feet. “So, do we rock the place or sneak in quietly like smoke thieves?”

Logan looked back at the telltale lights as if contemplating his answer, but it was me he addressed next. “You sure about this? If what you suspect about Archer is right, I’ll personally help you.”

But that wouldn’t change anything. I would still find myself without answers, running and hiding and not understanding the reason behind it all.

“I’m in,” I said firmly.

Beside me, Rafael made no snarky comments.

“Then we’ll do both,” Logan told Rafael.

“The C-4?” Rafael asked.

“In place.”

“Then let’s party.” As if in accord, his words were followed by a gust of freezing wind.

I shivered once, not sure if it was from Rafael’s words or the dropping temperature. My stomach was hollow, filled with tiny things that fluttered. I was glad I hadn’t eaten anything besides the flat soup. Sensing Logan’s eyes on me, I turned to look at him. He was watching me, his expression neutral. Before I could say anything, maybe even apologize for my childish behavior earlier, a sudden pressure in the air had me whirling around, talons out.

To find Rafael disappearing into a blur of gray and green shimmering veil. In his place, a brown rat, no bigger than a foot, twitched its whiskers, its dark eyes too wise, too intelligent, too perceptive. It watched me, the bigger predator, with suspicion. Of course!

A light bulb went on above my head, radiating a brilliant light. Rafael was a shifter. What was similar to a werewolf but felt and looked different? A shapeshifter.

Logan crouched in front of Rafael, presenting him with two thin wires attached to small chips on each end. The rodent took it between his teeth and scurried away. I watched it go, amazed, then turned to Logan and found him casually unwrapping a stick of gum. He offered me one, and I accepted, raising my eyebrows at him.

“Keeps the mind sharp,” he said.

I pointed at where Rafael went. “What was that?”

“Scramblers. Something to mess up the cameras and buy us some time.”

“All of them?” I asked, impressed.

“If Rafael manages to upload it to the mainframe. For a brief time, anyway.”

“What if he can’t?”

“He will.”

I paused. “And then?”

“We’ll rock ‘n’ roll.”

“Won’t they notice something is wrong?” I persisted, chewing the fruity gum.

“Eventually, yes.”

“What about the sensors and the guards?”

“You’ll see.” He motioned me forward, and we both stood watching the nearest guardhouse, waiting for some signal that something was happening.

A few minutes later, Rafael’s shimmer materialized behind the guard in the nearest post. From this distance, I couldn’t see the guard’s aura, though I was almost sure it would be blue and somewhat blurry. Back in my time at the PSS, guards on patrol duty had almost always been members of The Elite Team. A rapid move of Rafael’s hands and the guard slumped. I froze. Dead or unconscious? The crooked angle of the guard’s neck before he’d gone limp answered that question. Beside me, Logan stood, unmoved by his friend’s cold-blooded actions. Another shimmer in another guardhouse, another figure slumped. The process was repeated over and over, and I was glad I could no longer see it. It was like being doused with icy water. But I shouldn’t have been surprised. With their job description, I bet they’ve done all kinds of assassinations, breaking and entering, hacking, and God knew what. I’d gotten so involved, I had forgotten—no, I had deliberately avoided—seeing what they did for a living. But who was I to judge? I had done the same, if not worse, for the sake of freedom.

About half an hour later, Rafael returned, though he came not as a rodent, but in the form of a crow—and shimmered back to his hulking form. He didn’t materialize into a naked man, and I realized the vibe emanating from their suit was some sort of energy field that enabled their clothes—and weapons—to shift when they did. Rafael motioned us to go, snapping me out of it. The coast was clear.

I scaled the fifteen feet wall in a more dignified way than when I’d escaped Remo Drammen’s penthouse in Vegas. The wall’s smooth stone, slick from the previous rain, made for a slippery climb. Barbed electric wires crowned the top, adding another seven feet. Rafael had disabled the charge and cut a path for us through the wire, and although I had never done this kind of thing before, I didn’t slow them down or embarrass myself.

Inside the PSS’s grounds, I was the expert. Both Rafael and Logan stepped back a pace, ready to follow my lead. We crossed a good fifty feet in the open, the sky a dark moonless sky, to the back entrance of Building A, hidden behind a corner of the structure, disguised by the same white-washed color present everywhere. We moved purposefully, my heart beating an erratic drum. Every step we took, I expected the alarm to sound or a spotlight to catch us in its glare. But we reached the metal door undetected, the only sound the occasional rustle of wind through the trees we left behind.

We clustered around the door and waited while Rafael bypassed the security code with a small electronic lock-pick, a device no bigger than a small pocket calculator. I looked around us, breathless and scared shitless. I had to get a grip of myself or I’d give us away with some clumsy move. It was a sterile place, built for maximum security, with no life or color. White cement floors, white painted buildings with the occasional bulletproof glass window. On the other side of Building A, near the double gates—though not visible from where we stood—was a small but well-guarded parking facility for staff and visitors. It was manned by two guards, one outside and one inside, with an electronic-coded gate that could be unlocked by either of the two. Other than that, the only signs of life on a typical day were the guards stationed in each guardhouse. Today, inside most if not all of these houses, the guards lay dead. The small device in Rafael’s hand beeped, disengaging the locks. The red display turned green, and the quiet sound of tumblers and a mechanical whir sounded from the door. The red eye of the camera above stayed aimed at us. No alarms blared.

Soon—too soon—we were standing inside the brightly lit corridor of Building A. The white tiled floor gleamed under the strong fluorescent lights and although we couldn’t see them, from every fixture, we were being monitored by cameras and sensors. Ten feet ahead, the corridor branched left and right. There would be nowhere to take cover from this point on. The offices we passed—few in number and primarily given for guest researchers—were locked, both manually and electronically. There were no signs to guide us, no labels to indicate what lay behind the closed doors. No shadows to hide us, no convenient crates for cover. We would be sitting ducks for any guard that came upon us. There we were, dressed all in black, contrasting starkly with the whites of the PSS’s hallways. And the cameras.

Oh God, the cameras. Any moment now, the alarms would sound. Any moment now. Logan touched my elbow gently, and I had to swallow a terrified squeak. As it was, down went the fruity gum. He motioned ahead, and I realized I was wasting time, paralyzed by terror. There was no guard waiting to shoot us, and the cameras weren’t broadcasting our presence. For the moment, anyway.

With that in mind, I took the lead, veering right into a broader, longer corridor. We passed two more guest office doors before I cautiously turned left, stepping into another empty corridor that ended by the kitchens and employee bathrooms. Midway to the kitchens, I turned right again, passing locked maintenance and closet rooms, to where we’d find the lobby, along with the bank of elevators, and the guard on duty.

I didn’t know what Rafael did to the cameras and monitors, but so far, they held. We passed the back door to the cafeteria, thankfully closed for the night. I paused at the next intersection and pointed ahead toward a set of closed double doors and mouthed, “lobby”. Rafael detached from the group and moved forward silently. From where we stood, I could hear the muffled sounds of an ongoing game. Across the lobby double doors was the entrance to the auditorium, where scientists discussed their findings, gave lectures, and convened for significant meetings. Many times, I was the main topic of the conversation in that room.

A few minutes later, Rafael returned with the all-clear, and I knew someone else had died.

“There’s a WZ 34-567 in room 305,” he said quietly. “That’s the only room occupied on the third floor. We’ll start there. If they know Archer at all, they’ll know to keep him isolated.”

Logan nodded, but I took hold of his arm before he could pull out whatever it was from his pocket.

“What about the fourth floor?” I asked Rafael.

“No time to check.”

“Were there rooms occupied on the fourth floor?” I insisted.

Rafael glanced briefly at Logan, who waited beside me for his reply. “There’s a whole bunch of occupied rooms there. In fact, I think they all are.”

“Archer will be among them,” I said with certainty.

Rafael huffed, shaking his head. “No, Roxanne, they’d keep him isolated.”

“No,” I insisted. “Archer will be on the fourth floor, no matter how dangerous or different he is.”

Even Logan looked dubious. “Maybe things changed after you left. If the PSS is half as smart as they advertise, they’ll know to isolate Archer.”

“Not unless they’ve rewired everything and overhauled the entire security system. Trust me, the fourth floor is one of the most heavily secured places in the entire facility. Especially the east wing. If Archer is in this building, he’ll be there.”

“Then why isolate the one on the third floor?” Rafael asked, annoyed.

“Probably because he’s a volunteer who’s only staying for a short time.”

Rafael’s incredulity was laughable. “Why would anyone volunteer to be tortured?”

“They aren’t. They volunteer in exchange for money. Some for protection.”

Logan nodded once, still chewing gum. “The fourth floor it is,” he said, and that was that. He produced a small round device similar to a wristwatch from a pocket around his right thigh and looked at me. “Party time. Let’s rock this place.” He pressed a button, and a yellow display lit up. Before I could make any sense of it, he pocketed it again.

When I met his gaze, it was empty. There was no longer anyone—any conscience—home. The killer was back again. As if to confirm my assessment, he unhooked a small-barreled gun from one of the side hoops on his suit, inserted a small cylinder over it—a silencer—and ushered us forward before disappearing into the lobby.

The lobby, unlike the rest of the building, was adorned with mosaic tiles. It was a big, rectangular space devoid of windows save for two square, bulletproof panes embedded in the reinforced steel front doors. Cameras and sensors were placed in strategic corners and niches, silently recording every inch of the room. No one passed through this room without high clearance. Metal chairs, bolted to the floor and softened by cushioned pillows, were arranged in a sitting area to one side for guest scientists. On the opposite side of the entrance was the guard post. Directly behind it, covering the entire wall from top to bottom, was the PSS’s emblem: a hawk’s head with wings encircling a long sword. No one entering this room could miss it. On one side of the guard post was the double door we had come through and on the other side, the bank of secured elevators. A potted tree near the entrance was the only new addition I could see.

We crossed to the bank of elevators, passing the low murmur of a baseball game coming from a tablet left on the desk. My attention was drawn to the guard who’d been on duty. His nametag read O’Neil. I remembered him. He had a ready smile that turned nasty every time I passed by. Rafael didn’t break his neck. There was a small, neat hole between the guard’s eyes that marked the entrance of Rafael’s bullet. That was the only neat thing, though. Both eyes were open, though one was nothing but a gory hole, the eyeball missing. Blood and brain matter covered the back of his chair, as well as splattered the wall behind him. Both of the guard’s thumbs were missing, something Rafael had displayed by leaving the guard’s hands propped on top of the desk.

I tore my gaze away from the mutilated guard, swallowing back bile, and motioned to the right elevator, since the left one only went to the west wing. He accessed the elevator with O’Neil’s key—along with his thumb. Before we stepped inside the car, an explosion shook the building. The floor beneath us, the elevator car, and the potted tree all trembled with the force. Neither Logan nor Rafael looked surprised. This was part of their plan.

“We have five minutes,” Logan said as we entered the car.

“What was that?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Our distraction.”

“But—umm—why? Now the guards on the fourth floor will be on full alert.”

Everything had been going so well. The thought had just crossed my mind when the alarms began blaring.

Logan gave me an empty smile. As we rode to the fourth floor, he and Rafael each unhooked a grenade, waiting for the doors to part. When the doors opened, Logan threw a smoke grenade to the left, Rafael threw another to the right, their motions synchronized. The explosions were deafening, filling the space with smoke, confusing the guards long enough to be dispatched. Before the explosion had stopped echoing, Logan was taking down the nearest guards, while Rafael dealt with the farthest.

All seven guards were down in less than a minute. I tried not to dwell on the fact that Logan moved as if he were strolling through a park on a sunny day, so casual was his disposal of human lives. I felt a hit on my Kevlar vest, but aside from feeling like I’d been nudged, nothing happened. Still, seeing a tranquilizer dart sticking out of my chest was terrifying.

When the chaos and shouts subsided and everything lay quiet—or as quiet as it could be with the blaring claxons—Rafael and Logan moved to the double-glass doors. Rafael pulled out the device he’d used to gain access to the building on the pad beside the door. When the lock flashed orange, he pressed O’Neil’s thumb to the small screen beside it. The light on the pad turned green and the doors parted silently. Logan dragged one of the bodies from the floor and propped it against the door to keep it open, then moved to the first locked room. Rafael headed in the opposite direction, to keep watch over the emergency staircase.

My heart skipped a beat, and my stomach churned. I wished I had another stick of gum to occupy me. Instead, I fidgeted from one foot to the other, my arms hanging uselessly at my sides. As Logan worked on the door of the first room, I bit my already bitten nails. How many rooms were on this side of the building? Eighteen? Twenty? I was almost sure there were eighteen, but I could be mistaken. But whether it was eighteen or twenty, that wasn’t the issue. What if Archer wasn’t here? What if he was that lonely person on the third floor? What if, after Logan checked all the rooms and didn’t find him, we backtracked to the lobby to take the second elevator and were ambushed by The Elite? Even if a second trip was possible, Rafael said the fourth floor was packed. We still had to check the other wing before going down a level. Checking the third floor first would’ve been faster and easier—and more sensible by process of elimination.

Too much was unknown. Too much hinged on luck … and luck had never been a friend of mine. I bit down harder on my nail. Already the smoke was clearing, being sucked into the ventilation system and, out of the seven dead guards, I recognized five. My head pounded in rhythm with the claxons, and my heart raced, both from fear and anticipation of finally meeting one of my kind. What did Archer’s aura look like? Had I ever seen one before? Was this the real reason I had insisted on coming? Was I afraid that by staying behind, Archer would have avoided the face-to-face, so I wouldn’t be able to identify him later?

“Three minutes,” Rafael called from where he stood guard by the emergency stairs. I had no idea if he could hear any approach with the screaming alarm.

By the door of Room 411, Logan crouched, inserting something yellow and thin between the doorframe and lock—where the tumblers would be—then followed it with something metallic and wiry. As soon as half of it disappeared into the paper-thin crack, he let go and took a step back, just as a muffled boom slightly bent the doorjamb inward. A few well-aimed kicks later, the door flew open, revealing the room within. From where I stood by the elevator, I could see inside the room and what I saw chilled me to the bone. It wasn’t the usual utilitarian, bolted-down furnished suite. No, there wasn’t even a bed in there. Instead, a black recliner took up half of the room. A bunch of machines, intertwined with tubes and glowing cylinders, took up the other half. Dark liquid filled some of the tubes, and a deep blue stream of laser light moved from one box-sized square to another, connecting both sides. But the most chilling sight, the one that paralyzed me with icy fear, was the half-naked man lying in the recliner, his chest covered with wires that disappeared into the machines above and behind him. His head, shaved and covered in round rubber disks, was visible through a small gap between a square machine and a sloping fluorescent tube.

He looked so pale, so thin, and so … helpless.

Logan took one look at the prone figure and moved to the next room, repeating the same process with the lock. Not Archer, therefore no one of his concern, I thought, sickened by his coldhearted dismissal. I took a step forward, ready to help the stranger, but when the elevator door began closing, I jolted back to my senses and returned to my post. We couldn’t help everyone. I knew that coming in. Besides, the man was barely alive, as the shallow rise and fall of his chest proved.

Logan moved to the third room, working quickly but calmly, still chewing gum. My gaze returned to the man on the recliner, and as if sensing my eyes on him, his head moved, his eyes fluttering open. Deep, dark blue eyes met mine through the gap between the tube and the machine, framing his face in fluorescent light. The pain, despair, and sorrow I saw there hit me like a punch to the gut, so familiar was I with the helplessness he was feeling. I had been there once, not long ago, though never with this many machines, never with that precise—or even similar—system.

How long? I wondered. How long had he been here? The pain and despair in his eyes told me it had been far too long. All the experiments done on me had been inside a lab, never in my rooms.

“Two minutes,” Rafael called.

Without thinking, I dragged the body of the nearest dead guard to the elevator and propped him against the door, using his body to prevent it from closing. Then I hurried into the room, noticing as I passed that Logan had already checked several rooms. A bald man stood in the middle of the corridor, watching Logan work, a blocking bracelet gleaming on his left wrist.

I stopped beside the recliner, the sharp smell of Pine-Sol making my stomach churn, and studied the complex machinery. Several dials dotted the displays, marked with strange symbols, some glowing with an eerie light. Other dials were simply numbered from one to six. None had an on/off switch. Deep blue eyes watched me warily, though not alarmed.

“Hang in there,” I murmured. Unsure of what to do, I decided it was safer to unplug him from the machine first. I didn’t want to turn a dial that might cause him more pain or even death. He was so pale, his skin sallow. His hair had been shaved recently, now just a faint dark stubble mostly covered by the round disks. A Lichtenberg tattoo covered most of his chest, torso, right upper arm, and the right side of his neck, as if he’d been hit by multiple lightning bolts and survived. His veins were visible beneath his pallor, purplish lines that contrasted with his skin and blended with the tattoo.

He looked so fragile, so vulnerable; I couldn’t help feeling angry at what was being done to him. With a snarl, I began detaching all the round rubber disks—stethoscope plugs—from his head and chest. His colorless lips twitched in a grimace, and I apologized softly, unplugging the last couple of disks more gently. Several machines beeped in warning, and the electric laser connecting the machines from one side to the other gave a loud hum, intensifying in color and width, now as thick as my index finger.

That’s when I saw the thin band around his wrist, like a blocking bracelet, yet smooth without any carved runes—like the one Remo’s giant goon had used on me back in the casino. This one was also glowing with that eerie light. A thin copper wire attached the band to the machines, spiraling into the glowing cylinder, which in turn was connected to the tube emitting the laser. I knew then that taking off the plugs hadn’t been a good idea. The man’s eyes were clouded with pain.

“One minute,” called Rafael from somewhere outside.

Frantic, I reached for the band, but the man moved his wrist aside, just an inch, his head shaking, or that’s what I interpreted the slight motion of his chin to the left meant. I hesitated, letting my hand drop. “Where then?” I asked him, but he either didn’t know or was too weak to reply.

His eyes closed, then fluttered open again with visible effort. His lips moved, but no sound came out. I moved my hand to the glowing cylinder, looking down at the man for confirmation—or denial—but he didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes again. Either I was doing something right, or he had passed out. I watched him long enough to catch the slight rise and fall of his chest, then returned my attention to the machines.

Gripping the glowing cylinder, a surge of electric zing jolted through my body, intensifying by the second. It was freezing to the touch, and I vaguely wondered what it was doing to the man. I yanked hard on it. Once, twice, thrice. The third time, I put all my strength behind it. The cylinder broke with a loud boom, louder than the claxons, louder than the boom of Logan and Rafael’s grenades. I was flung against the opposite wall with such force I felt the impact on every single vertebra.

A thin column of vapor escaped from the jagged end of the cylinder still clutched in my fist, the smell of ozone now thick in the air. The man arched once, his eyes fluttering, a small whimper escaping through his colorless lips. Then he curled to his side, falling off the recliner before I could catch him and break his fall.

Rafael appeared at the door just as I threw the broken cylinder towards it. It bounced harmlessly off his boot. His scowl was as dark as sin. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, his fists clenched at his sides. He was no doubt regretting he hadn’t knocked me unconscious and left me back in the woods.

I moved slowly, every inch of my body protesting with the motion. “I’m taking him with me.”

“The fuck you are,” Rafael snapped. “We’re already running late without the extra baggage.”

“Look what they’ve done to him.” I looked at Rafael, my eyes pleading. “It could have been me. It could have been Archer. Or Logan.”

Rafael’s jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Then have mercy and finish him off.” He saw the look of horror on my face and took a step forward—to do it himself, maybe.

“No, don’t.” I stepped in front of the curled-up figure on the floor, ready to protect him, and Rafael stopped.

“Look at him. Death will be a mercy,” he said, his tone softer. Someone cackled outside, and a hunched woman moved by.

I glanced down at the guy, still curled in on himself, the bones of his spine and ribs so pronounced, it looked painful. He looked unconscious, or dead; I couldn’t tell. His chest wasn’t moving. His aura was so faint, it was almost a smudge, with no apparent color.

“I’ll carry him,” I said bleakly, though I knew Rafael was right. Death would be a mercy. Hadn’t I said it to myself over and over when it had been me?

Rafael saw the defeat in my eyes and quickly, to cover the tears that threatened to come, how futile my effort had been, I bent to check the guy’s pulse. It was there, though faint and erratic. Before I could take my hand back from the guy’s clammy skin, he disappeared.

Poofed.

There once, then gone. I blinked, looked up at Rafael to see if he’d just seen what I’d seen, and found him staring at the spot where the guy had been with pursed lips.

“Looks like he doesn’t need our help,” he said just as his watch beeped once, signaling our time was up.