“Hot pipe!” Dean pointed with his revolver.
“Look there!”
Over by a tiered array of wooden crosses was a large familiar-looking canvas lump, big military-style tires clearly discernible under the stiff covering.
“Dark night, it’s Leviathan!” J.B. cried. “We can blow our way out the door!”
Rushing over, the companions dashed underneath the canvas,and there was the massive tank, covered with hundreds of metallic cylinders.
“Run!” Krysty yelled, backing away. Instantly, there was a hissing sound from Leviathan and from the ground underneath them. The redhead weaved drunkenly and then dropped.
“No!” Mildred screamed in frustration. She suddenly realized that the entire courtyard had to be one huge trap! Holding her breath, the physician tried to race away on melting legs and fell onto the cobblestones, taking the unconscious Ryan with her.
Spitting curses, Doc collapsed, followed by Dean, Jak and Shard. In raw desperation, J.B. wildly fired the Thompson at the ropes holding the canvas awning in place, hoping to cut it loose and let in the wind to disperse the gas. But the shots ricocheted harmlessly off the granite and only a single rope was parted. The world began to spin around him, and the stubborn Armorer tried once more to trigger the weapon as he gently floated off into a bottomless hole of warm inky blackness.
Chapter Fourteen
The long windowless corridor was lined with wall torches and electric lights. A plush blue carpet covered the stone floor, and every five yards a grating closed off the passageway with sec men standing rigidly at attention behind iron kiosks. The lieutenant hurried along the corridor, the sec men rushing to open the grates for him, and then hurrying to close them behind. No password was asked for, or given. The dire expression on his face was more than enough security clearance.
The corridor opened to a small room with a squad of sec men in attendance. All gambling stopped as they silently watched his approach with growing trepidation. Two heavily armed guards flanked a high-vaulted portal suitable as a bank-vault door.
The large sec men stood at parade rest, the butt of the M-16s resting next to the soles of their boots, the barrel held in a tight grip a full arm’s distance from their spotless uniforms.
“Lieutenant Anders,” the officer said crisply, “to see the deputy and lady ward.”
“Password,” the corporal guard muttered, his black face without expression. It was as if he had been carved from obsidian.
“Raincloud.”
“Pass,” said the white private. “And good luck.”
The lieutenant paused, his hand an inch away from the door. “They’re in a bad mood?”
“Been talking to their father,” the corporal said, still staring straight ahead.
Sighing, Anders polished his boots on the back of his trousers, then exhaled into the palm of his hand to check his breath. Straightening his collar, and adjusting his dress uniform of Army fatigues with gold epaulets, he knocked firmly on the door and stepped through without waiting for a response.
WHATEVER FUNCTION the audience room had originally been used for was impossible to tell, after so many generations of decoration and alteration. There were countless tapestries and embroidered curtains, some hiding secret doorways, some covering blank wall space to confuse invaders. A fireplace large enough to roast a person stood on either side of the cavernous room, yet walking along the slim blue ribbon of carpeting Anders could feel no heat from the crackling flames. Overhead, the cathedral-style ceiling was dotted with crystal chandeliers, bathing the place in the unnatural illumination of electricity. A chained pack of pit bulls was growling in a corner, chewing on some femur bones and tiny skulls. In the opposite corner sat a strictly utilitarian nest of sandbags fronting a squat and ugly large caliber machine gun called a Maxwell. A three-man team stood behind the machine ready to unleash its awesome destructive powers.
Ten steps, pause, ten steps, pause. Anders exactly followed the formula for approaching the presence of the ward and his heirs. Their massive chairs rested on a raised marble dais. In one chair sprawled the lady ward, half dressed as usual, although heaven and hell save the commoner who noticed her lack of clothing. Young servants were brushing her hair and massaging her feet as Amanda sipped wine from a golden chalice and stared angrily at the lieutenant. Not a good sign.