Endworlds - Nicholas Read [45]
This far away from metropolitan London, and on the outskirts of a backwater village, visitors stood out a mile. Even in the middle of the day, the steady stream of vehicles that came and went had one way in and one way out, past several manned checkpoints on the long, private driveway that was the only break in an otherwise perfect mile-wide span of emerald green that ringed the complex.
Now, past midnight, the small crew of Longcoats had watched the last of the late night workers shuttle home and a few cleaning crews arrive. Otherwise the only movement was from the rotating stalks of security cameras and the red flicker of ground level high-intensity lasers that served the dual purpose of grass trimming and intruder detection.
Standing next to Jax, Lion tapped buttons on his forearm display while Castle stood further back, watering a small tree as he nonchalantly chewed gum. Eastwood was staring intently at the buildings.
He knew this place. He knew what lay inside and where to find the materials that would help the Longcoats in their work. What he did not know was how he knew these things. How had he known to find a place in a town he never heard of, at a site that proved to be fuzzed out on satellite maps when they had checked? How had he known that this particular two-meter patch of ground in this specific copse of trees was the only camera blind spot in the whole five-kilometer perimeter of the complex?
Of course if he was wrong, they would all find themselves in jail before morning. If Lion allowed that to happen, which Eastwood doubted. Lion struck him as someone who would fight to stay off the grid. He would not, could not, allow their anonymity to be compromised.
Nor if detained could they expect any subsequent help from the Foundation or other Longcoats. They were ciphers. The Longcoats were expendable, which meant that he was expendable.
He would have to ensure that they emerged unscathed from what they were about to attempt. Not because he had suddenly developed deep feelings for his new companions but because there was something vital he had to do beyond this new affiliation. Like so many other memories this too remained tantalizingly out of mental reach. He knew by now that constantly straining to remember would only stress him; the result would be a headache and not revelation. Much better to concentrate on the task at hand.
As he pointed he shared the thoughts that tumbled free from the unknown vault in his mind:
“The main gate brings people in and out. You can see it from here. But there’s a service road that runs around back. Single-lane. Unlike the main entrance where there’s always someone on duty, back road security is entirely automated.”
Studying the industrial complex, Lion was less than enthused. Was he risking too much on the word of a newcomer?
Yet this was a newcomer who had defeated not one but two lethal Inter-D intruders. While there remained much about him they didn’t know, he had already saved lives. If there was one thing Lion had learned from the Foundation that had anointed him one of only a dozen cell leaders in London, it was to go with his mind instead of his gut. Responding to emotions got you in trouble. Sober detachment and careful analysis was what solved problems.
Right now the Longcoats had such a problem: confronting dangerous intruders without adequate tools. Eastwood insisted he could help. In fact, if Eastwood knew as much about this place as he did about the secrets only a Longcoat should know, much good might come of it. In which case the Foundation that sponsored them would be pleased.
A dubious Jax contemplated the dark-windowed industrial complex. “Assuming we can get inside, what then?”
Raising an arm, she used an opposing finger to flick through onscreen folders that revealed the inventory of her coat’s Q-Pocs. It