Into Shadow Page 3

  As General Duchéne relayed those instructions to all their soldiers via the communicator she wore on her wrist, Cruz turned to the men standing at the end of the room and raised his voice to be heard clearly, “Gentlemen, if you’ll report to the Ballroom where your troops are gathering, we’ll begin Phase Two of this operation. General Duchéne and I will be there shortly.”

  The men saluted in near-perfect unison, then walked swiftly from the room, presumably to gather with their troops in the Ballroom. I wondered what Phase Two could be. Could it possibly be worse than this?

  I couldn’t hear Cruz and Duchéne now. They were speaking too quietly. Duchéne was getting updates on her earpiece, and after several minutes she turned to Cruz and told him: “All strike force teams are assembled in the Ballroom, sir. All exits are secured by mechs with additional mech soldiers posted around the perimeter as ordered.”

  “Excellent. Let them know that we will be there in approximately five minutes. All personnel can stand at ease until we arrive.”

  The general relayed that message then carefully removed the earpiece and turned it off. “Are you sure this is necessary, sir?” she asked quietly. “It’s quite … final.”

  “It’s entirely necessary. If I’m to be received as the hero who brought in the mechs and eliminated the invading forces, I can’t risk having even one of these men trying to tell the world that I was involved: that I pulled them from prison, armed them with banned weapons, and gave them access to the White House. They’re all murdering scum and no one would believe them anyway, but there’s no reason to take chances. They won’t be missed. Do it now. I want everything over with before the media gets wind of things.”

  The general seemed to hesitate just a bit but pulled a small tablet from her breast pocket. She tapped at it for a few moments, and then looked up at Cruz. “All Ballroom mechs are armed and ready, sir.”

  “Go!” Cruz ordered. “Open fire!”

  The general tapped one final button, and I could suddenly hear desperate cries and screams from the Ballroom, directly below our location in the East Library. A deep hum thrummed through the very walls and floors of the building, and I understood that Cruz had turned on his own troops. The mechs, ostensibly there to protect his forces, were instead using high-powered blasters to kill everyone in the ballroom. They were robots, mindlessly obeying every command transmitted by the tablet in the general’s hands; so they would have no qualms about killing the very men they had been told to protect just minutes before.

  I shuddered. I supposed this wasn’t worse than what had come before. After all, these men had come into my home and attacked my friends and family. But still, the thought of all those people dying right below me – it was horrible. I was so caught up in my shock at this second massacre that I almost missed the next development.

  But a sudden movement from Cruz caught my eye and I looked over just in time to see him pull a blocky black object from his pocket. Duchéne looked too. She seemed confused. “Sir?” she asked, “What is that?”

  “This little beauty is called a revolver,” Cruz replied. “A banned weapon from last century. It’s a bit archaic, but surprisingly effective really.” And without giving Duchéne another moment to react, Cruz raised the revolver to shoulder level and pulled a trigger.

  From my angle, I saw only a small, neat hole appearing suddenly in Duchéne’s wide forehead. But the spray of blood and bone that erupted from the back of her head left no doubt that the weapon was, indeed, very effective. I tried to stifle my gagging as Duchéne dropped gracelessly to the floor.

  When the general was sprawled at his feet, Cruz walked closer and bent to take the tablet that Duchéne still clutched in her hands. Then he walked out the door without a backward glance.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I pulled myself together. I knew this might be my best chance to escape from the tiny safe-room, and I had to be calm and quiet to pull it off. Before I left my hiding place, I quickly messaged Letty with the latest details of Cruz’s coup, just in case I was caught. Then I erased the contacts and sent messages so that no one could see my texts and trace them back to Letty if the tablet was found.

  For extra safety I dropped the tablet to the floor and stepped on it. The sharp heel of my stiletto easily punched through the thin screen, and I added another couple of holes for good measure. As a final step, I pulled one of the tubes of water from the backpack and poured water directly into the holes in the screen in order to thoroughly destroy the circuits inside the tablet. With that I felt confident that the data had been destroyed.

  I knew that tablets were trackable via GPS, so I didn’t dare take the ruined bits of tablet with me just in case the GPS chip had survived my efforts to destroy the little computer. On the other hand, I couldn’t leave it in the safe-room either. I didn’t want the GPS to lead anyone to this hiding spot. If they found one, they would tear the White House apart to find all the rest.

  I decided the best solution was to drop the ruined tablet in the library as I made my escape. After all, Cruz already knew I’d been in the library at some point tonight, so finding my tablet here would not give anything away.

  Scooping the dripping tablet from the floor, I slipped the straps of the backpack over my shoulders and took a last look through the peepholes. The library was still empty. I planned my route across the room: past the open door, around the general’s body – still lying on the floor – and behind the piano to the tall carved panels beside the fireplace.

  I took a deep breath, braced myself, and pressed the catch that would release the door to my hiding place. The soft click sounded so loud in the silence that I froze for a moment, afraid that someone would come investigate the noise. When the library and hallway beyond remained empty, I forced myself to move as quickly and as quietly as I could.

  I opened the hidden door and stepped into the library. I pushed the door closed behind me and then sprinted for the fireplace. The panels on each side hid entrances to some of the secret passageways that Cruz was so certain did not exist. I reached up to a corner of the panel, pressed the hidden catch, and pulled it open. I slipped behind the panel and paused just long enough to toss my ruined tablet behind the sofa to my right, then pulled the panel securely closed behind me.

  I was shaking, my heart pounding, and my knees weak. I let myself lean against the wall for a moment and listened hard for any noises from the library. All I heard was the sound of my own rough breathing. I had not been seen. Pushing off the wall, I began the next stage of my escape.

  My father had overseen the design and construction of the New White House and he had personally laid out these escape routes. I had no idea how he had managed to keep them such a secret, but he had always told me that he and I were the only ones who were able to access these hidden hallways. When I was a child, my father and I had played hide-and-seek in these passages. I had seen it only as having fun with my dad, but I realized later that he had been training me even then. Thanks to him I knew every inch of these passageways and the location of every hidden cache of supplies.

  Searching my memory I knew that if I followed the current passage to the left, I could take stairs down to the sub-basement level. At the bottom of the stairs was a niche with another packet of supplies.

  Finding my way without a flashlight was a little more difficult but still manageable. The passageways were narrow, so it was easy to trail one hand lightly over the walls to each side of me as I walked, feeling for the spots where additional hallways branched off. After only a couple of minutes, I felt an opening with my right hand. Feeling my way cautiously, I discovered the stairs leading down. Yes! I had remembered correctly.

  I headed down the stairs. With no light I didn’t know if there were obstacles in my way or when the stairs would end, so I moved slowly. I counted ninety-seven steps before my searching toes encountered flat floor instead of another downward drop. I ran my hands over the walls until I found a rough wooden cabinet set low in the wall. Opening it,
I felt around inside and was elated to feel the smooth, slim tube of a flashlight. I ran my thumb across the panel at the base of the flashlight and was rewarded with a bright, steady glow.

  Shining the light inside the cabinet revealed more packets of food and water, a folding knife with several useful attachments, a small personal stunner, a basic first-aid kit, a packet containing a decent amount of cash, and even two small piles of clothing. I stuffed everything but the clothes into my backpack, then stripped out of my evening dress. It was lovely but very impractical when it came to running for my life.

  The jeans and tee left for me were a little bit snug but definitely better than yards of swirling fabric. And the sturdy sneaks were even more welcome. After dressing in the more suitable clothing, I stuffed my father’s stored clothes and my evening dress into the backpack as well. You never knew what might come in handy.

  Just past the supply cabinet the passageway was closed by a heavy metal security door. It was completely featureless, without a knob, keyhole, or seam to enable unauthorized access. The only way to open the door was with the palmprint scanner keyed to recognize only me or my father. I laid my hand on the square panel mounted next to the door. It flashed once as my hand was scanned, and the door slid noiselessly into the wall. I stepped through and used the scanner on the inside wall to close the door again.

  My new flashlight made the rest of the walk through the tunnels uneventful. Since I didn’t want to risk falling and getting hurt, I didn’t sprint down the tunnels the way my instincts prompted. I kept it to a fast walk and stopped frequently to listen for sounds of pursuit. I heard nothing and began to hope that whoever knew about the tunnels – and surely there was someone – wasn’t telling.

  I walked for miles. Literally. The tunnels were an escape route, so they came out a long, long way from the White House, the better to ensure that you were far from the emergency that forced the evacuation when you finally surfaced.

  The tunnel I walked through was narrow, gray, and featureless. The only thing that changed was a new security door every mile. I scanned myself through each door and closed them all behind me. If the tunnels were discovered, the heavy metal doors would slow the pursuit.

  I knew that the tunnel itself ran south for just under eleven miles, and I counted the doors I passed through to track my progress. After stepping through the door at mile ten, I paused to think things through. Sliding into a cross-legged sitting position on the floor, I took a long drink from one of my water tubes as I considered my options. Thinking of the time I had spent hiding in the library bolt-hole and then the time it had taken to walk ten miles or so, I was sure it had to be nearing dawn – meaning it was probably already growing light out with people beginning to stir.

  If I left the tunnels now, would I blend in with people making their morning commute? Or would I stand out and attract exactly the sort of attention I didn’t want? I could stay in the tunnels until night fell again and creep out without notice, but I risked someone in the White House finding the tunnels and sending mechs after me. I was good at self-defense; my father had taught me himself and we sparred regularly, but I couldn’t fight off a mech, let alone a group of them.

  As I recalled, the tunnel came out into the basement of an abandoned building in the old city. So I wouldn’t be seen emerging from the tunnel itself, and then I could hopefully find a way to block the exit so no one could come through behind me. I could take a look at the area around the building and decide whether to hide there for the day or head out into the city. Decision made, I got to my feet and started jogging through the last stretch of tunnels.

  CHAPTER SIX

  At the end of the corridor was a final security door. Using the palmprint scanner to open the door, I moved into a small, square room similar to the one at the beginning of the tunnel. Unlike the first room, there were no stairs here. Instead, metal rungs set into the concrete walls formed a ladder leading into the darkness above me.

  I settled the backpack more firmly over my shoulders and began the climb. The first dozen rungs were not bad, but after the events of the day followed by a full night hurrying through the tunnels, I was incredibly tired. My thighs began to ache as I continued my upward climb. Soon every muscle in my legs was burning with effort and my hands and arms began to cramp from the struggle to pull my weary body up the narrow passageway.

  When I finally reached the top, my breath came in harsh gasps as my arms and legs shook with exhaustion. I was barely able to keep my grip on the ladder while reaching out with my right hand to touch the palmprint scanner. The final door slid open with a whisper, and I tumbled through the opening to sprawl on a dusty floor. A more graceful exit was completely beyond me.

  I lay on the floor for several minutes to catch my breath and regain control of my trembling limbs. I pulled a water tube from my backpack and downed in it all in a couple of huge gulps. From habit, I rolled the empty tube into a small cylinder for later recycling. I shoved the trash into my backpack and forced myself painfully to my feet to take a look at my surroundings.

  I was in a large, empty room. There was not so much as a scrap of paper littering the bare floor. Obviously, I would not find anything to block the tunnel exit here. Instead, I used the palmprint scanner to close the door behind me and moved to the wooden stairs that led to an upper floor.

  Moving as silently as I could, I climbed the stairs. The door at the top was ajar, and I peered through the small gap to assess the situation. This area, too, looked completely abandoned. The dust on the floors was undisturbed by footprints and no sounds broke the silence of the early morning. Slipping quietly through the door, I looked all around. It was apparent that the building had originally housed a store. Empty shelves still formed orderly aisles, and the remains of peeling gold lettering on the big front windows indicated that this had been the Goodland Pharmacy & General Store.

  After Goodland became the new capital, the new city grew and the original city of Goodland faded away. Some neighborhoods were absorbed into the new city as “charmingly retro” housing. Some areas were demolished to make room for new growth. And some, like this one, were simply abandoned. Eventually, this neighborhood would probably be demolished or refurbished as well. But for now, it was a small ghost town on the edge of the urban sprawl of the new city of Goodland.

  I looked around the little store and wondered if the owners had been happy to move on to stylish new developments or sad to leave behind this bit of history. It wasn’t like the original inhabitants of Goodland had gotten a say in the relocation of the government. Surely some of them had preferred their quiet little city on the plains to the massive metropolitan area that now covered the rolling hills.

  Regardless of how it had come to be that way, the store now seemed completely empty. I carefully crept through the aisles to be sure I was alone. After confirming that the store, the area behind the pharmacy counter, and a small room at the back were deserted, I finally let myself relax a little. I closed the door to the basement and flipped the old-fashioned thumb lock in the doorknob. Granted, if someone made it through all those doors in the tunnel this flimsy lock was not going to be much of a barrier, but I locked the door anyway.

  I returned to the small room at the back of the store. It had probably been used as a break room for employees at some point, as it still contained a small square table with three metal folding chairs and a long armless couch covered in cracked brown leather. I closed and locked this door behind me too, then flopped onto the couch. I didn’t blink an eye at the cloud of dust that puffed into the air around me. I just rolled over, closed my eyes, and was instantly asleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I didn’t have the luxury of waking to a moment of forgetfulness and imagining that I was still in the comfort of my beautiful rooms at the White House. Before I even opened my eyes I remembered everything that had happened. In my mind I heard the gunfire and saw my father fall. I felt the excruciating betrayal all over again as I realized that Cruz had
been responsible for the whole thing.

  A smothering cloud of depression kept me flat on the couch. What was I supposed to do now? I had escaped the carnage at the White House only because of my father’s paranoid – or so I thought at the time – insistence on building escape routes and drilling me in their use. Tears leaked from my eyes as I thought about never seeing my father again. I couldn’t even bring myself to swipe them away as they rolled down the sides of my face into my ears.

  I didn’t know where I should go. Was there anyone I could trust? If even loyal supporters like Cruz and General Duchéne could betray us, I didn’t know who to turn to. Anyone could be an enemy who would turn me over to Cruz. Even a well-meaning friend could contact Cruz for help or accidentally give away information about my location. In every case, I would still be just as dead.

  So what was the point in doing anything at all? Why should I move from this couch? If I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to, I could just lay here until someone eventually discovered me and put an end to the misery.

  I pictured my father, so stern with others, but willing to laugh and joke around with me. More tears came as I realized that I would never joke with him again. And then a spark of anger began to burn through the fog of sadness.

  My father had been a GOOD man. He had spent his entire life protecting others. He had been dedicated to the country and the people and spent most of his adult life fighting to preserve freedom. He rose through the ranks of the military to become a trusted friend and advisor to the then-President of the United States and was one of the key players when the decision was made for Canada, Mexico, and the United States to join forces as the North American Alliance. Later, he helped broker the peace agreement that finally ended the world war and was swept into office as the President of the NAA on a wave of popularity that had never waned. The people of the NAA loved and trusted him, and he had done everything possible to be worthy of that trust.