Page 32 of Shadow Boxed (Shadow Warriors #2)
Chapter twenty-six
Thanks to Clark’s nimble fingers and Comfrey’s fumbling, he managed to lock the security panel down again before the door opened.
By the time Comfrey twisted the handle, the screen was back to red and the door securely locked.
He changed the access code in the programming module a second time and waited, his fingers poised on the keyboard, his eyes on the red-lit panel beside the lab door.
His heart pounded so hard he feared it might sputter out on him.
Dizziness blurred the edges of his vision.
Who the hell had green-lit that security screen? It wasn’t him.
Doctor Comfrey twisted the handle again and nudged the door with her right shoulder, but to no avail. The panel remained red, the door locked.
But for how long?
The specimens went back to standing and staring. Only this time, he knew they were looking at the door. Were they waiting for it to open again?
After a few minutes of monitoring the security screen in case it unexpectedly turned green again, he did a thorough evaluation of the programming module.
He found no indication the previous code had been altered, no indication the module had been hacked, no indication there was a problem at all.
If he hadn’t watched the panel turn green on its own, he wouldn’t believe the incident had occurred.
What was to stop it from happening again? Hell, what even happened? Could the TermX virus be responsible? Doubtful—his computer system had been thoroughly scrubbed, and he’d found no evidence of a virus in the programming module.
This whole situation made no sense.
But if the panel turned green again before he caught it and those things escaped their cage.
..well...Washington, DC was in trouble. If the specimens remembered how to work the elevator, like Comfrey remembered how to work a door handle, they could reach the penthouse and infect everyone from the top floor down.
And then there was the basement tunnel. If the security failed there, they’d have access to the parking garage next door.
Within twenty-four hours, hundreds of Washingtonians would be infected.
And from Washington, DC, the entire east coast would fall, followed by the world.
The NNB26 prototype was engineered to replicate until turned off.
Without an active kill switch, nothing would stop them from infecting every human on earth—his gaze lingered on the Karaveht specimens—both living and dead.
He had to make sure the security panel couldn’t turn on. Ever.
Since electronic protocols were untrustworthy, he’d have to switch to a manual failsafe and physically destroy the system. Once the panel was inoperable, the door would remain locked no matter what happened to the computerized security system.
The first step was finding someone to dismantle the panel. But he needed to move quicky. God knew how long he had before the panel suddenly became operational again. The basement had its own security and maintenance staff, but he’d given them all time off after Christopher Lovett’s death.
He’d considered furloughing Dr. Comfrey and her assistants as well, but they were still collecting samples from the Karaveht specimens.
Besides, the specimen lab was at the opposite end of the basement.
Four rooms sat between it and the NNB26 testing tank.
If the prototype got protective again, Comfrey was far enough away to avoid danger.
Besides, there was no one in the testing room to threaten his little prodigies.
They’d been perfectly calm and well-behaved since Lovett’s death.
He almost called one of the basement maintenance workers in to disable the panel.
But they all had family or significant others, people who would miss them when they vanished.
Whoever accompanied him down to the basement would have to disappear.
..permanently. There were windows everywhere down there, including throughout the specimen’s lab.
While they were down there, his patsy would get an eyeful of secrets that had to remain hidden.
Whoever he chose for this task was disposable.
Splitting his attention between monitoring the lab’s security panel and programming module, Clark searched Nantz Industries’s maintenance employee files.
He found the perfect patsy, Oswald Brown, almost immediately.
No next of kin listed. Nobody listed in the contacts section.
No apparent significant other. None of which came as a surprise after he downloaded Oswald’s picture.
From his wispy raspberry hair and beard to his weedy face and his Star Trek t-shirt, the guy screamed loser. He was perfect for this job.
Clark looked him up online. None of his social accounts indicated he had a girlfriend or a boyfriend. There weren’t any pictures of friends, nope—just a bunch of convention photos with has-been science fiction stars.
Perfect.
Before calling him, Clark clicked back over to the lab. No changes there. Just more standing and staring. The panel was still red. Time to get Oswald up here before things went to hell again.
Using his disposable phone, he dialed the number listed on Oswald’s employee file.
This call would show an unknown number. Hopefully, his patsy would be curious enough to answer it.
He couldn’t use his personal or company phone, as he didn’t want a record of his name and number on Oswald’s phone.
After the nerd disappeared, the cops would check his phone records.
“Hello?” a pitchy voice answered on the first ring.
“Is this Oswald? Oswald Brown?” Clark asked, although he was almost certain he had the right person. The voice coming through the receiver sounded like Oswald’s picture. Timid and nerdy.
“Yes. Who is this?” Incredibly, Oswald’s voice went squeaky, turning the question into an apology.
A flare of conscience hit Clark. Who knew lack of friends, family, and relationships, along with a mousy personality, could lead to a death sentence? But business was business. Besides, he was doing the nerd a favor; what kind of life could Oswald possibly be living?
“Yes. This is Clark. Clark Nantz. I have a task—”
“Clark? Nantz? Like in Nantz Technologies?”
Clark cringed when the idiot said his name. He’d hoped to keep his identity secret from anyone who might be near the nerd. No matter, he’d just have to deny he’d called if anyone questioned him.
“Yes. The guy who signs your paychecks. As I was saying—”
“No way.” Oswald’s voice was caught between suspicion and surprise. “Why would Clark Nantz be calling me?”
“If you gave me a chance to talk, I would explain,” Clark snapped, annoyed that the moron had said name twice, now.
“Oh. Yes. Of course,” Oswald squeaked, back to timid and mousy.
Clark scoffed. At least his short-tempered reply had convinced the moron of his identity. “Are you alone?”
“Yes.” The squeaky voice dropped to a whisper.
Clark relaxed. Well, that was ideal at least. Nobody else knew Oswald had received a phone call.
“Don’t tell anyone about this call, or what I’m about to tell you.
It’s of the utmost importance that this task remains secret.
Do you understand?” He didn’t wait for assurance, just rolled right on.
“I need you to come to my office immediately. Go to the elevator banks and wait for an empty elevator. If the elevator is empty, go inside and close the doors. If anyone enters the elevator after you’re inside, go back out and wait for the next one.
When you find an empty lift, close the doors and punch the following code—1535—into the security panel next to the controls.
This code will order the elevator to take you straight to the penthouse floor, without any stops. ”
“Oookay,” Oswald stammered. “What is it you want me to do?”
“I’ll explain when you get here,” Clark said briskly. “You’ll need to bring a tool kit.”
“What kind of tools will I need.”
Clark thought the question over. “You’ll be disabling a malfunctioning security panel, so I suppose you’ll need the normal small tools—screwdrivers, wire clippers, maybe a hammer.
Remember this is of the utmost secrecy. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going or what you’ll be doing.
My office is 2901. Come now. Time is of the essence,” Clark said.
He didn’t wait for questions. Just terminated the call.
He'd given the penthouse staff the afternoon off, so the corridors and desks would be empty when Oswald arrived. While he waited, he checked the security panel again. Still red. The camera showed the specimens were still standing and staring. As he awaited Oswald’s arrival, he unlocked the bottom desk drawer and dropped the phone in, then removed a black, 9mm Glock.
He slipped the gun into the pocket of his Armani suit jacket and spent a few seconds straightening the cuffs and arms.
Too bad he didn’t have blinds on the lab windows, or no windows at all. No doubt Oswald would be wishing the same thing once he got down there and saw the specimens inside the lab. The Karaveht subjects were obviously dead, yet resurrected. And they were impossible to conceal.
Plus, the panel Clark needed destroyed was right next to the door, which had a large window. Even if Oswald missed seeing the resurrected dead standing in the lab on his way down the basement corridor, he’d get a perfect view into the room through that window.
There was no way Clark could hide the room’s contents from him.
But at least Oswald would die serving a purpose.
He’d destroy the panel. Or, if the specimens inside the lab escaped, he would serve as a distraction while Clark raced for the elevator.
The elevator only went to the penthouse suite, and he’d disable it as soon as it arrived.
Nobody would follow him up. He’d make sure of that.
Either way, he couldn’t allow Oswald to return to the penthouse. By bullet or infection, Oswald had to die down there. It was the only way to keep Clark’s secrets safe.