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James approaches one of the walls, stares at a set of electric plugs and a few loose cables. “Where did they take everything?” he asks in a low, rumbling tone. He whirls to face Rheema. “Think, Rheema. It’s still in the building, right? It has to be.”
“I ... I don’t know.”
“Think,” James repeats in a lower tone.
“Um ...” I hear Rheema’s deliberate intakes of breath. “Wait!” Her face lights up with an idea. “I’ve seen some activity in the north side. A few weeks ago, I noticed some new people in that area.”
“Let’s go.” James runs out of the room. “Which way?”
“Left,” Rheema calls out.
After rushing through a few more corridors, going deeper into the guts of the building, Rheema leads everyone to a locked door. “Maybe here,” she says, sounding unsure.
James tries the handle. “It’s locked.” He examines the door carefully. “Are you sure, Rheema? This is just a normal lock.”
Rheema doesn’t respond. I imagine her shrugging.
“I can pick it.” Oso says.
“This is messed up! Nothing is going as planned. What if when you open that door it triggers an alarm?” Blare says.
“It’s possible, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. We have to get to the cryo freezers!” James responds.
Blare punches the wall with her fist. “They knew we were coming. It’s a trap.”
Man, I wish she would shut up for just one minute. Every comment out of her mouth is nothing but demoralizing.
“Uh, so ... what do we do?” Oso asks.
Through Rheema’s camera, I see James rub his neck, his face grim as he considers what to do. “I’ll pick the lock. Aydan, keep your eyes open on the outgoing messages, alarm, gate status, the roads, anything to help detect any movement right after we get past this door. Understood?”
“Understood,” Aydan says. Our eyes flick to the monitors that display the clinic’s adjacent roads, shown from Xave and Clark’s cameras. Both streets look clear, dead actually, since 4 A.M. isn’t exactly a time of the day the reproductively-challenged rich and famous even know exists. I doubt any of them get up before 10.
James drops on one knee and gets to work on the lock. After a few seconds, he stands, takes a deep breath and turns the knob. Complete darkness greets him on the other side. He fumbles for a switch and finds one. White fluorescent light floods the space, revealing a flight of stairs that heads down.
“The basement,” James says. “Any activity on the cameras, the gate?”
“None,” Aydan responds.
“C’mon, let’s hurry.” The crew runs downstairs, skipping two and three steps at a time.
At the bottom, they encounter a cramped space filled with building materials and tools. Several piles of metal sheets, bars and assorted parts litter the floor. Most interestingly, there’s a huge, thick steel door leaning against a side wall. From the looks of it, they’re in the middle of installing what appears to be a huge-ass bank vault.
After a quick glance around, both monitors focus on a wide metal door set opposite the building materials. James approaches and examines it up close, first the right side then the left. When he straightens, he laughs one short, ironic laugh.
“What?” Blare asks.
“Cylinder locks. Two on each side, meant to be open in sync, I’m sure,” James says, shaking his head.
“So what’s the big deal? Oso also knows how to pick a lock, he can help you,” Blare puts in.
“These aren’t just any type of lock. They’re the best that company makes and they require a special key. Have you ever picked one like this, Oso?” James’s voice is doubtful, yet hopeful.
“Uh.” Oso bends forward and examines one of the locks. “I don’t think so. Sorry.” The big guy’s face twists with guilt.
“It’d take too long to show you how.” James presses two fingers in between thick eyebrows and screws his eyes shut. “The irony is just ... too much. Two temporary locks stand in our way.”
I’m holding my head between my hands in disbelief. We came this far to be thwarted by some ancient technology. Whatever happened to leaving sophisticated computers in charge of things? Computers that allow genius hackers to unlock any door from the comfort of their vans? This is ridiculous.
Blare takes off her backpack, drops it on the floor and gets on one knee. “Let’s just blow it up then.”
“It’s no use.” James pounds on the door. It sounds as solid as concrete. “The door looks pretty thick and heavy. And if I know anything about Elliot and the way he and his people do things, if we blow the locks up, the door will seal from the inside, triggering an alarm that will give away our presence before we’re able to destroy what we came here to destroy.”
“How about the walls? We could blow them up.” Blare’s hands are busy, pulling out tools from her pack.
“No, Blare. They’ve built this whole area as a vault. Look at the door they’re getting ready to install.”
“I know.” Oso puts a hand on the huge hunk of metal that looks like a huge submarine hatch, rather than something you’d find at a medical facility. “You’d think this is Fort Knox.”
James continues, “The walls have to be reinforced concrete. We would need several charges to do any real damage. By then, the guards would be on us.”
“What if we drill through them first? Huh? What about that?” Blare looks up at James, her voice sounding more desperate with each question.
“It won’t work.” James’s tone is steady, even though we face defeat.
“So we came all this way for nothing?!” Blare yells in anger. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Shit!” Aydan exclaims. “You mean two stupid, low-tech locks are going to stop us? You’ve got to be kidding me.” He slams a fist against the side of the van.
It has to be a joke, a big fat joke the cosmos is playing on us. What kind of criminal doesn’t know how to pick a lock, no matter what kind?! But I guess that’s just it, we’re not criminals. We’re just a bunch of regular fools trying to save the world. If only Oso or Rheema or ... wait a minute.
“What type of locks are they?” I ask.
Aydan looks at me, annoyed. His expression asking Does it matter?
“Evva,” James responds.
Oh crap. “I—I think I know how,” I say.
“What?” Aydan is shaking his head, probably thinking that I’m full of it.
James points his camera to one of the locks. “Take a close look at it,” he says. “Have you picked one like this before?”
The sight of it conjures old memories. “Yes, a similar one,” I whisper.
The image of Dad’s desk takes shape in my mind. One of the drawers had a lock that looked very similar to the one on the monitor. After Dad died, I got obsessed with finding out what was inside that desk. I searched the house for the key but was never able to find it. Later I discovered Mom kept it in a safe deposit box at the bank.
I begged her to let me have it, but she refused, said she was thinking about selling the ugly old thing. I pleaded with her not to do it. She refused me that, too. Before she got around it, though, I taught myself how to pick that lock. I cried all night after I found the drawers empty. Mom had taken everything out, and I can’t help but think there was something in there she didn’t want me to see. Some piece of Dad that was meant for me, something she was too selfish to share. I suspect his will and testament was there, spelling in clear legal terms that the house was mine—also some of his medical files. I distinctly remember him puzzling over charts and numbers, especially after he ran lab tests on me, trying to figure out what ailed me. If he’d only known.
“Aydan,” James’s voice is clear, full of command and poise. “Get her in here.”