Exit 9

“Back this way,” Patricia said.

They were at the old abandoned house. Hector didn’t remember it from when he visited his sister’s family in the past, but both Patricia and Rodrigo assured him it had been empty even back then.

His niece and nephew led him into the building, through an open spot near the top of a wall, then a secret hole at the back of a cabinet. They showed him the damaged wall, the container, the roof, and the peculiar box Rodrigo said he thought controlled everything.

It all confirmed what Hector had thought when Patricia told him about the place over the phone-it was odd. Beyond that, he had no answers.

“I’ve been thinking,” Rodrigo said. He gestured at Hector and himself. “Between the two of us, I think we might be able to pry open the top a few inches and look inside.”

Hector aimed the flashlight he’d brought along at the top of the container. The idea of climbing up there did not exactly appeal to him, but he was at least as curious as they were. “Are you sure?”

“When I was up there, there was one part that felt a little loose. So maybe we can.”

Hector ran the beam along the side of the container, looking for an easy place to climb.

“I’ll help you up,” Rodrigo offered. “Then Patricia can help me like she did before.”

“I want to go, too,” she protested.

“You have to stay down here.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m stronger than you.”

She frowned. “Not by much.”

“By enough.”

Hector nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Perez arrived in Buenos Aires just after lunch. Since he had no luggage and was using an Argentinean passport on this trip, he made his way quickly through Customs and was soon sitting in the back of the car driven by the local contact, a man by the name of Victor Flores.

Flores was a real estate agent used by the Project to procure properties in the Argentinean capital. The Project’s cover was that they were representing a Korean company planning an expansion into the city. It was a variation on a ploy they were using in various countries throughout the world. Flores had received a substantial sum for his services, and was more than happy to drive Perez wherever he wanted to go.

In a way, it was a two-for-one deal. Perez’s main reason for coming was to check out one of the IDM units and make sure there were no problems. While he was here, he had been instructed to eliminate Flores, too. It wasn’t a necessary hit. In fact, if Perez hadn’t needed to return, the Project would have left Flores alone. He would be dying in the coming weeks anyway, but since the Project’s regional assassin was in town, Flores and his knowledge of the secured properties was a loose end that might as well be cleaned up.

But first, the IDM.

Flores, after several failed attempts at small talk, drove Perez in silence, first to a hotel where a small leather bag with a suppressor-equipped pistol was waiting in Perez’s room, then to the neighborhood where the property was located.

“This is fine,” Perez said.

“We still have several blocks to go.”

“I said, this is fine.”

Flores pulled the car to the curb.

As Perez opened the door and grabbed his bag, he said, “Wait here.”

It was a beautiful, warm day. In the Southern Hemisphere, it was the end of spring, and in less than a week it would be summer. Perez had a brief thought about the millions of bodies in the city that would be rotting in the heat come January. He was not blind to the fact that he was working directly on making that happen, but it was for the greater good of humanity-the only way the human race would survive. At least he wouldn’t have to experience the decay firsthand. He’d be on a completely different continent by Implementation Day, safely riding out the unfolding disaster in one of the Project’s compounds.

He turned down the dead-end street where the building with the troublesome IDM was located. There were several cars parked along the block, but since there was no one on the street at the moment, he headed all the way back and entered the property.

The IDM had been sealed in the large, front room of the old building. There was, however, a disguised entrance that, with the right code entered into the hidden keypad, allowed Project members inside.

This particular entrance was all the way at the far end. The problem for Perez was that to get there, he had to go around the back of the building. As he walked along the rear area, he spotted fresh footprints in a patch of earth near the wall. He knelt down for a closer look. Two sets at least, and perhaps a third, pointing in the direction he was going.

Probably someone just taking a shortcut through the yard, or a couple teens hiding out from their parents.

He continued on, but as he reached a wall that had a group of bricks missing at the top, he noticed that the footprints simply stopped.

He opened the bag, pulled out the gun and two additional magazines. He stuck the gun in the holster under his arm and the spare mags in his pocket. He climbed the wall and dropped inside.

At first he thought maybe he’d been mistaken. The small room was empty. But then he noticed the door of an old cabinet in the corner hanging open. He pulled it out of the way and looked inside.

Well, look at this.

At the bottom was a hole that led into the sealed-off section of the house.

Both Hector and Rodrigo grunted as they tried to pull open one side of the container’s roof doors.

“Wait, wait,” Hector said, releasing his grip.

“We almost had it,” Rodrigo told him.

Hector frowned. They had not almost had it. In fact, while Rodrigo had been right, and there was a spot that was loose, it wasn’t loose enough.

“If we can’t get it to open enough to peek through, then it’s not going to work.”

“Uncle Hector, just one more time. I’m sure we can-”

“No. I don’t want to damage it. There’s no proof that any law has been broken. Except for us being here.”

“You’ve got to think there’s something strange about this,” Rodrigo said.

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, but I think maybe I should call this in and get some help.” He pointed at his nephew and down at his niece. “You two should go home.”

“Home?” Patricia protested. “I’m the one who found it. I should be here when you open it!”

“I understand that,” Hector said. “But if this is something bad, I don’t want your names on any report. The last thing I want is some drug lord looking for you, understand?”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Rodrigo said.

Patricia looked like she wanted to say something, but stayed quiet.

“I’m sorry,” Hector said. “But you understand, don’t you?”

Patricia, still silent, seemed to have stopped paying attention to him.

“I promise I’ll tell you exactly what we find. Okay?”

A male voice from somewhere out of Hector’s sight suddenly said, “I’m afraid you’re not going to get that opportunity.”

It hadn’t been something she’d heard. What had caught her attention was movement, a subtle shift in the layers of darkness at the far end of the container. At first she thought she was seeing things, but then the outline of a man emerged.

A man holding a gun pointed at her.

“I’m sorry,” Uncle Hector said. “But you understand, don’t you?”

She tried to open her mouth, to warn her uncle and brother, to scream, but all she could do was stare at the