know the person with him was coercing him. The guard would let Garrett in, then shoot his companion in the head as he walked through the door.
The warning word this week was, “Heaven.”
Garrett said the correct password: “Searchlight.”
The steel door slid open. Garrett and Cutter passed the guard’s desk to a four-way intersection. At the ends of 80-foot halls to the right and left were doors that led to emergency stairwells. Ahead of them was a door that led to the main part of the warehouse. Garrett turned right and stopped at the call button for the two elevators. He pushed it, and the left door opened immediately. He and Cutter got on.
The elevator’s control panel listed seven floors, all underground, plus the ground level. Garrett inserted a key into the panel and turned it. An LCD panel lit up, and he typed a pass code into the touch screen. The elevator doors slid closed, and they glided silently toward the fifth level, which was accessible to only a few select people. The doors opened a few seconds later to reveal a clean white hallway 100-feet long directly in front of him, plus two 80-foot hallways to either side identical to the ones on the ground level. All seven floors of the underground facility were designed in the same T-pattern, with a stairwell at each of the three ends, east, west, and north.
Two technicians in lab coats saw Garrett exit the elevator and quickly ended their conversation. They nodded at Garrett and walked through one of the many doors lining the hall.
Garrett walked forward down the long hallway and stopped at a set of double doors halfway down. He walked through the doors into a vestibule and then opened another set of doors to reveal a chamber with a 15-foot long window on the opposite side. An operating panel lined the bottom of the window. The chamber was used for observing the effects of their experiments in safety.
Howard Olsen, one of Cutter’s security operatives and a fellow Army vet, stood at attention when Garrett entered. He was typical of Cutter’s recruits, a religious idealist who had joined one of the Army’s more fanatical underground faith groups. Like the other soldiers Cutter had found for Garrett, Olsen had little hope for the future of the human race after what he’d seen in Iraq and Afghanistan and had gladly joined Garrett’s Holy Hydronastic Church when he had been dishonorably discharged for going too far in battle, killing two supposedly innocent civilians. Garrett knew there was no such thing as
“Olsen,” Garrett said. “You need to hear this.”
Olsen didn’t respond. Like a good soldier, he only answered when asked a question.
“How many do you think we can fit in here?” Garrett asked Cutter.
Cutter looked around the observation room. “At least 25.”
“That’s enough. We’ve had too many mistakes and too much compromised loyalty. We’re going to have a demonstration.”
“Of what?”
Garrett glanced at the window, and Cutter followed his gaze. A look of understanding crossed his face when he realized what Garrett was planning.
“Sam Watson is already dead,” Garrett said, “but we still have Gavin Dean and Barry Pinter. They were careless and will be a liability in our future plans. Bring them here. Immediately.”
“Who should observe it?” Cutter asked.
“Bring everyone who knows the full extent of the plan. They need to see what will happen to them and their spouses if they try to back out now.”
Every one of his followers was ready to die for the cause, but most knew only that a wonderful New World would begin in five days and that they were chosen to be a part of it. For security purposes, only a select few knew what the New World really meant. Sam Watson proved that security might have been put at risk.
Garrett turned back to Olsen, who seemed confused. He was not one of the select few.
“Pinter and Dean,” Garrett said, “are going to die in the room right behind that window because they did not accomplish their missions. Now I have a mission for you. I have discovered that Tyler Locke is going to Seattle. He rearranged his travel plans, so he obviously suspects something. I don’t know what it is, but at this point, it can’t be much. However, he is a very resourceful man, and with time, he will find out more. Your mission is to kill him.”
“Yes, sir,” Olsen said. “Understood, sir.”
“I want to make sure it is perfectly clear. I don’t want to see you back here until Locke is dead. Because if I do, you’ll be the next one going into that room. And what happens in there is far worse than you can possibly imagine. Either Locke dies, or you do. Understood?”
For the first time, Olsen’s steely demeanor wavered. He took a quick glance at the sterile room and licked his lips.
“It’s clear, sir. Locke is a dead man walking.”
SIXTEEN
Gordian’s Gulfstream jet left St. John’s at one in the morning, Newfoundland Time, 30 minutes after the helicopter arrived from Scotia One. There was room for up to twelve people, but Locke, Dilara, and Grant were the only passengers. Because of all the out-of-the-way locations Gordian’s staff worked, Gordian kept three of the Gulfstreams in its fleet. The fees Gordian charged more than covered their use, and the firm had been able to buy them for a song in a government sale of confiscated drug smugglers’ property.
Grant was already asleep in the back, and despite a nap in the helicopter, Locke felt his own eyes drooping. Dilara, on the other hand, seemed wide awake. She had just returned from the plane’s lavatory, where she had changed into a jacket, blouse, jeans, and boots Locke had arranged to be waiting for them on the tarmac. He wanted to ask her some more questions before he snoozed.
“Thanks for the clothes,” she said. “I felt like a prison inmate in that jumpsuit.”
“I don’t think anyone would mistake you for an escaped convict, but I do think your new duds suit you better.”
“And I never thanked you for rescuing us in the lifeboat. From what I heard, it was all your idea.”
“Yeah, my crazy ideas sometimes actually work.”
She looked back at Grant and shook her head. “How can he sleep like that after everything that’s happened?”
“An old Army axiom,” Locke said. “Sleep when you can because you never know when the next chance will be. He’s just sleeping ahead.”
“Sleeping ahead. I wish I could do that.”
“You should try. We’ve got an eight hour flight ahead of us. But first, how about we chat?”
“Okay. Tell me something about yourself.”
Locke grinned. “Like what?”
“Who was your boyhood hero?”
“Easy. Scotty from Star Trek.”
“The engineer?” She laughed, a rich, throaty sound that Locke found infectious.
“What can I say? I’m a true geek at heart. Kirk was the hero, but Scotty was always the one saving his butt. And you? Don’t tell me it was Indiana Jones.”
Dilara shook her head. “Princess Diana. When I was young, I was a girly girl. I loved the dresses. But my father kept dragging me around the world, and archaeology became my passion.”
“And Noah’s Ark?”
“My father’s passion.”
“Sam Watson said your father actually found it.”
“You don’t believe him.”
“I’m a natural-born skeptic. So no, I don’t.”
“Which part? That the Ark existed or that my father found it?”
“That a 450-foot-long ship carried all of the world’s animals two-by-two upon waters that flooded the Earth.”
“Many people believe the literal story in the Bible.”
“And I’m sure you know that,” Locke said, “for many reasons, it’s simply not possible. At least, not without
