Out of Time

couldn’t stay quiet.”

Liang laughed.

“When Chen is not in this building, he might as well be a mute. You would see him, and you would not believe it is the same man. He is what Americans believe all Asians to be—inscrutable.”

As if sensing he was being discussed, Chen turned and grinned at them, then he winked. Alex buckled on the utility belt and shook his head with a short laugh.

“It is almost time,” Liang told him.

“This last part will take a few minutes,” Alex said. He stepped over to a mirrored bench where he’d laid out his equipment. There was a blowup photo of Boswell on the bench, taken from his security badge. Alex studied it, tracing the lines of the man’s face with his index finger, which was thankfully steady for the moment, then using the digital image, he transferred the data into a rectan-gular metal container. He tapped several buttons, then waited as the small machine hummed to life.

When it was finished, he opened the case, and removed a human face—a re-creation of Boswell’s image in a special type of formfitting latex. He placed it over his own face, and set to work, ensuring that it fit properly around his eyes, nose and mouth, and using small touches of makeup to blend it in with his own skin. He moved quickly, having gone through this many times in the past.

It was ironic, in a way, that while he could appear to become someone else, he could not escape who he was, the disease that would forever change him into something else, as well.

Fifteen minutes later he took a last glance at the mirror, and then closed his eyes. He sent his thoughts back over the hours to when he’d first observed Boswell crossing the parking lot to his men. He pictured the set of the guard’s shoulders, the way he held his chin and the way he moved.

He brought his mind slowly into synch with that image, sensing how the man’s gait would feel, watching himself through the other man’s eyes.

This was the hard part. The mask was only the most basic part of the disguise. To become someone else, he had to mimic the way they moved, held their body, even how they walked and talked.

To that effect, he took out a small recorder that had a brief sampling of Boswell’s voice on it, obtained from his apartment phone. He sent that data into a different device that analyzed the sounds, then created a biodegradable chip. While it worked, he continued to practice his facial expressions and movement. When the chip was completed, he swallowed it, where it lodged against his vocal cords.

When he turned away from the bench and faced Liang and Chen, the two men took a step back.

“My God,” Liang murmured.

Alex smiled. “Gentlemen,” he said in Boswell’s voice, “I believe it’s time to go.”

Chen started chattering under his breath.

“You’re him!” Liang exclaimed.

“Just like Halloween,” Alex said. “Only with better costuming.” He walked past them and into the main bay of the garage. As he went, he clipped Boswell’s ID to his chest. Liang watched him, not moving. A dead man navigated the benches and test equipment, opened the driver’s door of the black sedan and slid in behind the wheel. The transformation was nothing short of eerie.

As Alex settled in and rolled down the passenger window, Liang stepped up close. Chen kept his distance.

“Now I know,” Liang said softly.

“Know what?” Alex asked, grinning up at him.

“Who you are,” he replied. “It has been said that our organization employs someone they call the Chameleon. That is you, yes?”

Alex laughed and started the engine. “If I said no, would you believe me?” he asked.

Liang shook his head, and Chen finally got moving and opened the outer bay door to the garage.

“You’ve got enough explosive to take out that entire complex, as it shows on the plans,” Liang said. “If you’re right, though—if they have another facility below?”

“That’s what I have to make sure of before I act,” Alex replied. “If it’s there, and if it’s protected against just such an attack, as I suspect it must be, then what I have isn’t enough to do the entire job. I have to target the source of the research and take out the computers, laboratories and, with a little luck, the brains behind this entire crazed program. If there is a lower level, I’ll penetrate as deeply as I can before I set the charges.”

“Raises your risk,” Liang said. “It’s likely to have tighter security and we don’t have any schematics for it. Now that we’ve killed a guard, waiting for more information is out of the question, yes?”

“If we don’t stop this, the risk is raised for everyone. I don’t know what I’m going to find when I get inside that building, but I know I have this one shot, and it’s time to take it.”

“Be safe, then,” Liang said, holding out a meaty hand.

Alex thought about not shaking it. The slight tremor shook his fingers, and he wasn’t sure what would happen if he applied full pressure. Then he met Liang’s gaze, and he shook. The hand was fine, though the grip left a light tingle.

“Take care of Soo Lin,” he said.

Without another word he rolled up the window, put the sedan in Reverse and backed out of the garage. He knew the route back to the parking lot and the MRIS complex, but he drove slowly. They had started very early that morning, and he didn’t want to arrive uncharacteristically early for Boswell. The most important thing was to act absolutely calm. If he passed the guard at the gate and got parked, he knew he’d make it at least as far as the building. It wasn’t until he got inside that it was likely to get interesting.

He knew the security checkpoints, unless they’d changed in the past week. He knew that each squad had six interior and six exterior components. What he didn’t know, exactly, was the routine of the interior guard. He knew standard military and para-military procedure, and he could extrapolate somewhat from the patterns of the exterior guard, but there was more guesswork involved than he cared for. He also had the problem of trying to evade those directly involved with Boswell. Even with his careful disguise, his men might be fooled for a few minutes, but any prolonged involvement or contact would lead to his being exposed, and if that happened he might not even have time to set off his charges in one place and score an indirect hit.

As he drove, he reviewed the plans to the complex in his mind. He used the concentration to distract him from his right leg, which had begun to tremble.

The muscles of his thigh felt as if they were contract-ing, pulling in on themselves painfully. When he tried to relax them, they fluttered and pulled tighter still, and the tension this brought tightened the limb further. He gritted his teeth and pictured diagrams of the security checkpoints in his mind.

He knew where the main stairwells were located, as well as the maintenance stairs, elevators and even a dumbwaiter that led down to the cafeteria. The complex was self-sustained. Once workers arrived for their shift, they remained within the confines of the building until it was time for their relief to arrive. There were services built in to facilitate this, break rooms, the cafeteria and even a small laundry. He tried to picture where the break in security to a secondary level would appear. Power and water had to break the plane of any such enclosure. The same types of maintenance that existed on the upper level would be required to support the lower, so the maintenance stairs were a good bet. The dumbwaiter shaft might actually extend downward, as well. It was even possible, he mused, that since everyone was aware of the heightened security, and everyone was apparently aware that there were too many cars in the lot, that there was no attempt at extra security.

If the latter was true, he might not have the same level of problems ahead of him. If the entrance to the lower level was open and secured electroni-cally, he might be able to get in. If it was coded to access badges, he only needed to get one with a high enough level to get him through, if Boswell’s proved inadequate.

At precisely 7:30 he rolled into sight of the parking lot. He was still slightly early, but he hoped he was correct in assuming that supervisors generally arrived first. That was the case in most military organizations he’d had contact with, and he assumed it would not raise an eyebrow here, even if it wasn’t a requirement. He needed to be a little ahead of his “men” because he intended to be inside and on the move downward before they arrived. The timing was crucial. If he arrived too soon they might hold him or question him. For all he knew it was forbidden to be on site when you weren’t on duty. It was equally important that he arrive first for his shift. Again, more luck was involved than he was generally comfortable trusting.

He put on the olive drab cap they’d taken from the dead man, and slipped the man’s shades on to cover his eyes. It might look a little odd, but the sun was still out, and fairly bright, and it was possible he could just have forgotten to take them off. Anything that could remove a chance at detection was important. He could remove the