throb as much as hear it.
Victor felt something brush by his legs. Forgetting himself, he leaped back in terror, flailing the briefcase precariously. Once he’d calmed himself, he flashed a beam of light behind him. A pair of eyes gleamed in the beam of the ray. Victor shuddered, realizing he was staring at a sewer rat the size of a small cat. Summoning his courage, he pressed on.
But only a few steps past the rat, Victor slid on the floor’s suddenly slippery surface. Frantic to maintain his balance, he had the presence of mind to hug the briefcase tightly as he fell against the wall of the tunnel. Victor stayed on his feet; he did not fall to the ground. Luckily, his elbow had slammed into the stone, not the case. If the briefcase had hit instead, or if he had fallen, it would undoubtedly have detonated.
A second time, Victor began to make his nerve-racking way through the subterranean obstacle course. Finally, he came to the path that left the main tunnel at the proper angle; it had to be the tunnel that went west. With some confidence, Victor followed this tunnel until it entered the basement of the edifice immediately upriver from the clock tower building.
Victor turned his flashlight off after noting where the stairs were located. He could not take the risk of the glow from the beam being seen by someone in the clock tower.
The next forty feet were the worst of all. Victor moved a step at a time, advancing first his right foot, then bringing up his left. He skirted the debris as best he could, ever fearful of a fall.
Finally, he got to the stairs and started up. Once he reached the first floor, he went to the nearest window and glanced at the clock tower building. A sliver of moon had risen in the eastern sky almost directly in line with the Big Ben replica. Victor surveyed the darkened hulk for ten minutes, but saw no one.
He then looked toward the river. Lowering his gaze, he saw his goal. About forty feet from where he stood was the point where the old main sluice left the river, running toward the clock tower and into its tunnel.
After one last look at the clock tower building to make sure there were no guards about, Victor left the building he was in and hurried over to the sluice. He kept as low to the ground as possible, knowing he was at his most vulnerable.
When he got to the sluice he quickly went to the steep steps just behind the sluice gates. With no hesitation, he made his way down the steps, hugging the granite wall to stay as out of sight as possible. Reaching the floor, he was pleased to see that he could only make out a portion of the clock tower. That meant no one at the ground level could spot him.
Wasting no time, Victor walked directly to the two rusted metal gates that held back the water in the millpond. There was a slight amount of leakage; a small stream dribbled along the floor of the sluice. Otherwise, the old gates were watertight.
Bending down, Victor carefully laid the briefcase on the floor of the sluice. With equal care, he unsnapped the latches and raised the lid. The apparatus had survived the trip. Now he just had to set it to blow.
Too little time would be a disaster; but so would too much. Surprise was his main advantage. But there was no good way to guess how much time he’d need for his next task.
Finally, and a bit arbitrarily, he settled on thirty minutes.
As gently as possibly, Victor opened the face of the laboratory timing device. On his hands and knees, he shielded the flashlight with his body and turned it on. In the spare light, he moved the minute hand of the timer.
Victor killed the light and carefully closed the briefcase. Taking a deep breath, he carried it to the sluice gate and wedged it between the gate on the left and the steel rod that supported it. A single rusty bolt kept the steel rod in place. Victor felt that this bolt was the Achilles’ heel of the mechanism; he pushed the briefcase as close to the bolt as he could. Then he headed up the steep granite steps.
Peering over the lip of the sluice, Victor looked for signs of life in the darkened clock tower building, but all was quiet. Keeping his head down low, he scampered back to the nearby building and descended into the tunnel system. He groped back to the cafeteria, already wishing he had given himself more than thirty minutes.
Once out in the open air, Victor ran toward the river, slowing as the clock tower came into view. In case someone was on watch, he wanted to appear calm in his approach, not anxious or stealthy.
Completely winded, Victor arrived at the front steps. He hesitated for a moment to catch his breath, but a glance at his watch horrified him. He only had sixteen minutes left.
“My God,” he whispered as he rushed inside.
Victor ran to the trapdoor and rapped on it three times.
When no one came to open it, he rapped again with more force.
Still no answer. Bending down, he felt around the floor for the metal rod he’d used on his last nighttime visit, but before he could find it, the trapdoor opened and light flooded up from below. One of Martinez’s people was there.
Victor hopped down the stairs.
“Where’s VJ?” he asked, trying to sound as calm as possible.
The guard pointed to the gestation room. Victor started in that direction, but VJ pushed the door open before he got there.
“Father?” VJ said with surprise. “I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”
“Couldn’t stay away,” Victor said with a laugh. “I finished up what I had to get done. Now it’s your mother’s turn. She has some patients who need her. She hasn’t made her hospital rounds.”
Victor’s eyes wandered away from VJ and once again surveyed the room. What he needed to decide was where he should be at zero hour. He thought he’d have to be as close to the stairs as possible. The instrument that was the closest was the giant gas chromatography unit, and Victor decided that he’d allow it to occupy his attention when the time came.
Directly in the middle of the wall facing the river was the opening of the sluice with its makeshift hatch constructed of rough-hewn timbers. Victor made a mental calculation of the force that would hit that door when the sluice gate blew and the water rushed in. The preceding concussion wave would be like an explosion, and combined with the force of the water, it could loosen the foundation and topple the whole building. Victor figured there would be an approximate twenty-second delay from the explosion to the moment the tsunami struck.
“I think it might be too soon to let Marsha leave,” VJ
said. “And it would be awkward for Jorge to be constantly with her.” VJ paused as his sharp eyes regarded his father.
“Where is Jorge?”
“Topside,” Victor said with a shiver of fear. VJ missed nothing. “He saw me down and stayed up there to smoke.”
VJ glanced over at the two guards, who were reading magazines. “Juan! Go up and tell Jorge to come down here.”
Victor swallowed uneasily. His throat was parched. “Marsha will not be a problem. I guarantee it.”
“She hasn’t changed her opinion,” VJ said. “I’ve had Mary Millman try talking with her, but her obstinate moralistic stance is unshakable. I’m afraid she’ll make trouble.”
Victor sneaked a look at his watch. Nine minutes! He should have allowed himself more time. “But Marsha is a realist,” he blurted. “She’s stubborn. That’s nothing new to either of us. And, you’ll have me. She wouldn’t try anything knowing you had me here. Besides, she wouldn’t know what to do even if she was tempted to do something.”
“You’re nervous,” VJ said.
“Of course I’m nervous,” Victor snapped. “Anybody would be nervous under the circumstances.” He tried to smile and appear more at ease. “Mainly, I’m excited—about your accomplishments. I’d like to see that list of growth factors for the artificial womb tonight.”
“I’d be delighted to show it to you,” VJ admitted.
Victor walked over and opened the door to the living quarters. “Well, that’s encouraging,” he said, looking at VJ.
“You don’t feel you have to lock her in anymore. I’d say that was progress.”
VJ rolled his eyes.
Victor hurriedly went into the smaller room where Marsha and Mary were sitting.
