The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [177]
“Where are they?” Grace whispered, then bit her lip at a harsh glance from Vani.
Travis pressed his shoulder against hers. I was about to say the same thing, he verbalized in his mind, just in case she could use the Weirding to tune in to his brain. He didn’t know if it worked, but she pressed back.
They reached another door. This one was shut, and it was larger than the others. Travis heard a faint humming noise. He touched the surface of the door. It was vibrating slightly.
Vani gave them sharp looks. The message was clear: This was it. Grace and Travis stepped back as Vani gripped the handle of the door. Once she turned it, the time for subtlety was over. It was up to Grace and Travis to stay close but to stay out of Vani’s way while she worked. And they had to get to Beltan the moment they saw him.
“Now,” Vani whispered.
In one fluid motion she turned the handle, threw open the door, and dived through in a black blur.
Travis and Grace rushed after. He tensed, expecting to see Vani’s limbs moving at impossible speeds, throwing Duratek agents around like rag dolls, clearing the way.
“Oh,” Grace said next to him, her voice echoing.
Vani stood motionless, hands on her hips. Travis took a staggering step forward and tore off his sunglasses.
“Empty,” he said. “It’s empty.”
The room was large, a hundred feet across, and there was nothing in it. A few empty boxes, some crumpled papers; that was all. High walls stretched toward bare beams and shadows overhead. There were only a few murky lights, and on one wall was a large exhaust fan, spinning slowly—the source of the hum.
“Maybe they’re somewhere else,” Grace said, hugging herself. “There are more doors.”
“No,” Vani said, her words like knives. “They are gone. All of them.”
But it didn’t make sense. They wouldn’t all have gone after him and Grace. “How can this be?” Travis croaked.
Vani turned toward them. “They knew we were coming.”
It struck him like a blow. Somehow they had known and had cleared everything out. The artifact. Beltan. Everything. He felt Grace’s weight as she sagged against him.
“Now what?” he said, holding on to Grace, wondering what was going to prop him up when his own legs gave way.
Vani started to move. “Now we must—” Her words ceased, and she halted.
“Vani,” Grace whispered. “What is it?”
Even as Grace said this, Travis saw them. Lean, gangly, hunched shadows scuttled from behind fallen boxes, crept from dim corners, and dropped down from the steel beams above.
“It is a trap,” Vani said.
59.
Deirdre sank back against the leather seat as the limousine accelerated, leaving behind the dilapidated rental house where they had made their phone call to the police.
“You know,” she said, arms crossed over her black-leather jacket, “that was completely illegal.”
“Only on this world,” Farr quipped.
He didn’t look well. He hadn’t shaved that day, and the stubble of his beard cast a shadow over his face. His dark eyes were sunken, and his lips—usually so full and sensual—were drawn in thin lines. He fiddled with the controls on a small radio. Voices crackled out of the speaker. He was scanning the police bands.
Deirdre sighed and supposed she didn’t look so marvelous herself. “So, do you think the police will really come?”
He bent his ear to the radio. More voices hissed and popped. Farr looked up, eyes glinting. “It seems they’re already on their way.”
If the police were coming, Duratek couldn’t be far behind. Which meant the plan had actually worked—at least their part of it. Deirdre could only hope the others were having similar luck.
Not that luck would have much to do with it. Travis and Grace had described the things Vani was capable of. Duratek would leave the complex sparsely guarded in order to follow the police, and Vani would get them inside, get the artifact, and free Beltan. Even if they couldn’t find a way to activate the artifact and return to AU-3, at least they would be able to escape with it, which would keep Duratek from discovering the secret of the artifact themselves. It wouldn’t be a total loss.
And