“Just a second,” the woman said. She fumbled for a handheld that was clipped to her belt, almost dropped it, then dialed it on and brought it to her lips. “Could someone find Kip Osmak and put him on, please?”

A long twenty seconds passed, Prumble tapping his foot impatiently to mark the time. Behind them, the engines of the water hauler dwindled down to zero. The yard became silent save for the sounds of people working. There were few people about, Sam realized, and then she remembered it was Sunday. Maybe they congregated in the mess for prayers or whatever it was they did. Idly Sam wondered where Sister Haley’s famous book was. Grillo’s breast pocket seemed the most likely answer.

“Uh …,” a static-laden voice said. “This is Kip?”

The woman eyed Prumble as she spoke. “There’s some people down here from the water plant; they said—”

Prumble snatched the radio from her. “Kip, you’d better get down here and make good on your promise. Otherwise I swear I shall take this to a higher authority.”

His response came out like a squawk. “You’re here? I mean. Yes, of course. Um. Meet me in the lobby in five minutes.”

The big man grinned, shoved the radio back into the still-cowering woman’s hands, and said, “You … deserve a promotion. Thank you.” The change in her facial expression came instantly. The quivering lip and wide, terrified eyes vanished in place of something like awe.

“Where’s this lobby?” Prumble asked her.

She pointed to the centerpiece of Nightcliff’s grounds—the Elevator tower.

“Of course. Again, my thanks. You might as well give your crew a dinner break while we sort this out.”

With that Prumble snapped his fingers at Sam and Skadz, turned, and marched toward the massive structure. Sam kept on his heels, fighting to suppress her own grin. Skadz shot her a sidelong glance and gave a little shrug. “Have clipboard, will travel,” he mouthed.

Halfway across the yard Sam felt the ground move beneath her feet. Not enough to make her want to dive for cover, but more like if a large lorry had rumbled by. A queer sound like a cable being twanged followed. She glanced up at the source of the noise—the Elevator cable.

“Someone’s found another object,” Skadz said.

“And if it was Skyler,” Prumble replied, “he could be here in a matter of hours.”

Sam couldn’t see the cord vibrate, but the noise unsettled her. It seemed louder than the previous instances, though of course she hadn’t been standing right under the thing then. Certainly it went on longer. The initial noise seemed to trace a quick path up the cord’s slightly tilted length. Then, a few seconds later, it rippled back down. It reminded her of the highly stylized sound effects often heard in sensory shows about starships and laser weapons, not of anything a real-world object could generate.

She glanced down at her feet, trying to imagine the generator somewhere below that Skyler had visited. Had it initiated the vibration? Some change in state or perhaps, more unsettling, had it shut off? Sam nudged Skadz and leaned in to whisper to him when he turned to her. “Keep an eye on Prumble,” she whispered. “In case that noise was the aura shutting down.”

His eyebrows arched.

“It happened a few times, before you came back.”

“I heard about that.”

Sam glanced downward, pointedly. “Skyler said the generator was down there, somewhere.”

There were no guards stationed in front of the lobby, and the wide sliding doors were fully open. Prumble breezed inside and then halted, looking about for the man Osmak.

Samantha took in the vast room. The ceiling soared more than twenty meters above them. Made of glass and supported by thin metal rods, it had once no doubt provided a nice view straight along the cord. For reasons she’d never understood, the thread didn’t go precisely straight up, but rather at a slight angle that tilted toward the equator. Eventually the path of it leveled out, but from here at the base the effect made her feel slightly off balance. The tilt made sense, no doubt, from a physics standpoint, but from here she thought it looked ready to topple over.

She turned her gaze to the lobby itself. Two curved staircases wrapped around a wide central shaft that no doubt concealed the Elevator cord, for it, too, rose at that slight grade. The stairs ended at a second-floor balcony that looked down over the main floor where she stood. People milled about, some running in or out, most talking in urgent tones. Only one was a guard, for he wore the maroon helmet, but he also had on the white Jacobite garments over his ad hoc uniform. He was staring up at the Elevator tower, one finger pressed to his ear. The vibration on the cord has them all spooked, Sam thought.

On the main floor there were four square areas evenly dispersed, with low couches facing in toward coffee tables. It had no doubt once been very slick and high-end, but not anymore. The couches were grimy, with tears in the upholstery either covered in tape or simply left exposed.

Around the perimeter were doors. Sam noted signage for men’s and women’s bathrooms, plus one for families. Platz probably thought this place would act like an airport terminal when he’d funded it, she mused.

Toward the back wall, behind the stairs, she saw the sickly form of Kip Osmak. He peered out from a shadow like some kind of back-alley drug dealer, all hunched over and eyes shifting. Stringy hair clung to both sides of his hollow face.

“There,” Sam said, nodding toward him.

Prumble strode across the nearly empty floor and made to say something, but Kip shushed him. He stood, Sam realized, at the top of a stairwell that led down.

“Uh, Prumble. Hello,” he said. “And your friends, too. Wasn’t expecting you.” He stole a glance at a small slate he held in his right hand. The hand, Sam saw, was shaking.

“Well, we’re here,” Prumble replied, “and time is short. Can you take us where we need to go?”

The frail man chuckled nervously and retreated a step toward the downward stairwell. “I’ll try.” He glanced at the slate again.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked him.

He glanced at her. “Ah. Uh, just waiting for the changing of the guard. Five minutes.”

“Can we get out of the lobby, please?” Skadz asked.

“Of course, of course. Um, this way.” Kip descended the steps half turned, as if he needed to be ready to run back up at any second. No, that wasn’t it, Sam realized. He moved more like a host who’d just let guests into a house he was embarrassed to display.

At the bottom of the stairs there was a wide, square landing that fronted a pair of gray double doors. A sign stenciled on both said AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY—NO VISITORS BEYOND THIS POINT.

Kip pressed his thumb on a reader adjacent to the entry while simultaneously leaning down to stare into a retinal scanner. A second later a sharp click emitted from the doors and he pulled one open for them. Sam noted sweat on his brow as she passed him into the corridor beyond. “Relax,” she said.

His response came as a feeble, nervous laugh.

The subfloor below the Elevator tower lobby had none of the grandeur of the space above. Grimy tile floors that had once been white matched the walls and ceiling as well. Sam had explored enough buildings outside Darwin to know the drill: rooms for janitors, maintenance crews, property managers, and various closets for a litany of supplies. Perhaps a small break area for those types of employees someone like Neil Platz would generally prefer didn’t mingle with visiting dignitaries.

Kip led them to a dismal space lit by a single LED bulb embedded in the center of the ceiling. He pulled the door closed behind them and stood next to it, his gaze fixed on the slate in his hand.

Prumble cleared his throat. “Secure storage is just at the end of that hall. Once Kip here gets us past the biometrics, I’ll spring the safe. It may not trigger alerts anywhere, but we’d best conclude our business quickly.”

Sam nodded.

Skadz turned to Kip. “Do you know a girl named Eileen Arkin?”

“Err, no,” Kip said. “Sorry.”

“Can you look her up? She’s here in Nightcliff somewhere, and I need to find her.”

“Why?”

“Can you look her up or not?”

Kip fumbled with his slate, almost dropped it, then started to tap away at the screen. “Um … okay, yes. Royal—the old hotel—room 3636.” His eyebrows raised. “That’s a prison floor.”

Skadz gave Kip a single, sharp nod. “Once they’re in the vault, you take me there.”

“I … Okay, if you wish.”

The air tasted stale and smelled of mold. Sam was about to push for a change of scenery when Kip finally broke the uncomfortable silence. “Almost time,” he said.

Sam eyed him. “You haven’t even asked what the plan is. I mean, what happens after this.”

He paled and then shrugged. “I figure you’d get what you came for and … leave.”

“That’d put you in a fix, wouldn’t it? Grillo would know you helped us. Especially with the prisoner.”

Kip looked at the floor and his head bobbed.

“Come with us,” Prumble said. “You’ve helped me enough over the years, I owe you that. All you’d need is an environment suit, but I suspect most any would fit you just fine.”

Kip almost—almost—looked up at that. It was no doubt an option he’d considered but assumed impossible. Still he kept his head down, strands of sweaty gray hair dangling in front of his face.

This is one sour son of a bitch, Sam thought, and felt sorry for him.

The slate in his hand beeped. He glanced at it and turned to the door. “Um. Follow me.”

Outside the long hallway was empty. Kip glanced both ways and then hustled to the far end, where another fingerprint and eye scanner graced the wall next to a black door. He performed the unlock procedure again and held the door open, motioning them inside.

Sam was about to comment on the stupidity of leaving the room unguarded during a changing of the guard, but before she could speak another voice rang out.

“That’s far enough.”

Prumble froze in front of her and she, right on his heels, plowed into him. She fumbled to ready her gun.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the voice, a woman, said. “Hands where we can see them.”

Kip clicked the door closed behind them. “This is all of them,” he said.

“Excellent work, Kip.”

Samantha shut her eyes as she recognized the voice. A cloud of emotions rattled in her head. She stepped back from Prumble, her hands outstretched, and took in the scene.

Six Jacobite guards were fanned out in a half circle in front of the vault door. Each carried a machine gun, save for the leader in the center, who brandished a Sonton pistol. Unlike the usual improvised poncho, she wore a clean robe that seemed custom tailored. It covered her from head to toe, until she pushed back the hood.

“Kelly,” Sam whispered.

“It’s Sister Josephine, remember?” She glanced left and right. “Bind them,” she said. The guards to either side began to circle around.

Sam stared at her former friend, wondering what had happened, wondering how this remarkable woman could have been so completely transformed. She thought back to that day on the roof above Grillo’s office, the first time she’d seen Kelly in the robe. Her onetime friend had entrapped her, tricked her into talking about the very object they’d now come to steal.

Her thoughts turned to Kip. The slimy little weasel with his stringy hair and sullen face. She wondered if she could strike him in the throat, crush his Adam’s apple before anyone could stop her. He’d been on the goddamn comm when the whole plan had been discussed, and probably relayed the whole thing to Grillo, too.

“Traitorous bastard,” she said with a snarl at the pathetic, sickly man.

What little color his face had flushed away. “We all make our choices. We do what we need to do to survive.”

Kelly narrowed her eyes. “How right you are.”

She lifted her pistol, aimed, and fired.

Chapter Nineteen

The Flatirons, Colorado

31.MAR.2285

Two wrong turns left Pablo baffled and Tania completely disoriented. If not for the scratches Vanessa made at each turn with the tip of her rifle, they would have been hopelessly lost. She’d even thought to X out the dead-end choices.

Tania had just started to feel confident again when she realized the effort her breathing now required. And while it may have been her imagination, her head also felt light. The feeling soon grew into a headache that reminded her of a champagne hangover. She considered saying something to the others, but what could they do? Pablo was moving as fast as the party could go. To stop them now would only delay the one thing that would help her: fresh air.

The tunnel took a sharp upward slope and narrowed slightly. Tania remembered this part; she’d almost slipped down the incline coming in. At the point where the slope began to rise a narrow, natural tunnel broke off to Pablo’s right. The opening as a full meter up on the side of their tunnel wall and barely wide enough for one person to fit through. He glanced in as he passed but kept going straight, remembering the way as well.

He came to the top of the incline and paused just as Tania reached the bottom, holding the flare out behind him to help light the tricky slope. Rocks and pebbles still rolled down from his climb, leaving tracks through the patches of loosely packed dirt.

The shadows around Tania swam abruptly. She glanced up and saw that Pablo had whipped the light around in front of him. He was moving it about in rapid jerks, each time sending the shadows around her in a lurch to new angles.