Endworlds - Nicholas Read [48]
“Just like you said.” Castle giggled at Eastwood as he swung through the doorway. The others followed.
Like everywhere else, security cameras in the stairwell failed to see the youths vaulting down half flights of stairs at breakneck speed; failed to note their feet never quite touching the corrugated steps, or that their descent was in near silence save the rustle of leather and the whoosh of compressed air.
On the landing between the second and third sublevels, Eastwood paused and backed up. There was no door here between floors, just a blank wall set with a white rectangle like so many other emergency lighting strips they had passed in the stairwell. But this was no ordinary light box; composed of filamentatious quartz, it was stronger than the brick that surrounded it.
Stepping forward and rising on tiptoe Eastwood opened both eyes wide and peered into it.
The translucent panel noted his proximity and became a clear window, now suffused by green light. Lasting only a second or two, it was followed by a click. Settling back onto his feet Eastwood raised his hands to the blank wall and pushed. A door-sized panel opened inward. His companions gaped at him.
It was Castle who broke the silence: “That’s a retinal scan. And this is a top-secret installation. Just who are you, kid?”
Eastwood sighed. “Look, I’ve told you: I don’t know how any of this is working.”
“I’ll settle for the fact it is working.” Tucker spoke through gritted teeth as she pushed past the others to examine their new surroundings.
The long, windowless room suspended between two official levels of the building was obviously a secret laboratory within the laboratory. As recessed lighting came up, they could see it was unoccupied and arranged like a production line.
At one end, dozens of darkened computer monitors littered desks and tables like dead leaves dropped from a giant alien tree. Surrounding them were floor to ceiling glass panes on which were scribbled formulae and diagrams in red, blue and black marker pens.
Further along were neatly stacked boxes overflowing with all manner of raw technology, a mix between an electronics shop and a mechanic’s garage where half assembled experiments hung suspended on gantry hooks and conveyor belts, which all led to the far end where fully assembled machines rested in open shipping crates, swathed in plastic sheeting and bubble wrap.
“I don’t see any security cameras,” Jax reported.
Eastwood had already powered down his coat. “This section isn’t monitored. Nobody gets this far who isn’t already cleared. There are plenty of alarms that respond to emergencies though. Don’t break anything and there won’t be an emergency.”
After studying their surroundings for a moment he led the way toward the back of the lab. Meanwhile Castle slid the door panel back into place to mask their entrance should any guards make their rounds up the stairs.
“What are we looking for?” Lion asked him impatiently.
“Only some small thermonuclear weapons.” At the look that came over his companions’ faces it was Eastwood’s turn to smile. He was pleased with his joke, and the fact he could summon long words and know what they meant. “Just kidding,” he said easily, then as a light turned green: “Ah, I think this is it.”
Responding to his handprint, the doors of a steel wall cabinet snapped open. Layered on the smoothly uncoiling racks within were a number of devices, each one secured with a magnetic lock. One by one they released as he pressed his right index finger to the touchpad that was integrated into each lock. He passed them to his companions. Tucker admired the pistol-like device she had been handed.
“Looks bad. What does it do?”
As he continued to extract and hand over more of the units, Eastwood conveyed the words that spilled from his mind, hearing them for the first time along with his companions.
“The American and British military have been working with microwaves for years. The Americans even have a wave cannon mounted on a truck that makes skin feel like it’s burning,