Jeremy Robinson - SecondWorld

Miller stopped his advance next to the security station, which reminded him of a bookstore help desk, thirty feet from the vault door. C’mon, he thought, open.

And then it did. Security was responding to what they must believe was some kind of malfunction. A terrible accident.

As the door slid silently open, Miller turned to Pale Horse and the robo-Betty. “Point it at me!”

Pale Horse complied without pause. The red light on the front of the machine began to blink as it scanned and analyzed Miller’s DNA. Knowing full well what the end result would be, Miller smashed the sensor with the butt of his gun, took the device from Pale Horse, and tossed it toward the opening door. He ducked behind the security station with Adler and Pale Horse.

The robo-Betty stopped in front of the door just as it revealed ten guards—ten very surprised guards.

The Betty bounced into the air and fired its payload. The men, who stood at point-blank range, were cut down before any of them could scream. As metal beads rolled up the ramp, Miller jumped from his hiding spot and sprinted toward the now-closing door.

He reached it with time to spare. He stepped into the dimly lit hallway on the other side of the door. Adler and Pale Horse followed him. The hallway grew darker still as the big door closed over several guards’ bodies behind them with a crunchy squish. Miller ignored the sound and motioned the team forward. “Almost there.”

The hallway was dimly lit by two rows of LED lights running the length of the hall where the walls met the floor. Miller holstered his handgun and readied his UMP, sliding the rack. “Straight ahead, I assume?”

Adler stepped up next to him, handgun gripped like a pro. “This hallway was bright when Brodeur brought me through. There’s a set of double doors at the end. No security. Just doors. They open to a large chamber, like we saw in Antarctica, but there’s nothing natural about this. It’s a smooth dome. There’s a control center in the middle, but it’s at least four times the size of the one in Antarctica. Security is based to the right of the control area, past rows of storage arranged like a warehouse.”

“A warehouse?” It struck Miller strange that they would keep things stored in the space designated for security and control.

“I think it is older equipment. Relics from the war. Maybe art. Gold. Souvenirs. I am not entirely sure, but it is all crated.”

“Like the warehouse in Indiana Jones ?” Pale Horse said.

“ Ja. But not as big. Security is past the warehouse area, through a pair of double doors that are locked. Cryogenics is to the left via an open tunnel. Same as Antarctica.”

Miller slid up to the double doors and peeked through the windows. The space was just as Adler described it. A large octagonal control center lit in bright white filled the center of the large space. A massive viewscreen hung above it all, displaying a mix of active screen captures from the computers below as well as a mix of video feeds. Miller squinted, trying to make out the images, but distance and glare worked against him. Polished walkways outlined by white lines cut through the place, and reflected the bright lights. The ceiling of smooth concrete arched up over the hanging lights, its peak at the center concealed in darkness high above. A maze of large shipping containers, crates, and oversized canisters blocked his view of Security to the right, but he trusted it was there. He counted twenty soldiers wielding World War II–era weapons, which helped level the playing field a little bit. But there were also at least forty other, nonmilitary people dressed in lab coats or white coveralls. Most of them sat at the computers, no doubt monitoring the purification of the human race.

He pointed to Pale Horse. “We’ll go in first. Everyone is a target, but start with the brownshirts. They’ll be the ones shooting back.” He turned to Adler. “Once things get chaotic, come in and make your way to the computers. We’ll give you as long as we can.”

“I will get it done.”

Miller once again wondered where Adler’s confidence came from. He remembered how quickly she’d accessed the computer in Antarctica. With Brodeur’s traitorous revelation and Miller’s nearly melting, and then freezing, he hadn’t given it much thought. She’d said it was a “Linux-based system,” but who the hell used Linux? Certainly not Interpol. Most people hadn’t even heard of the operating system. But the woman was a whiz with a computer, and a gun. And she could understand complex math. She’d claimed to not comprehend some of the other equations, but Miller didn’t believe that anymore. Once she figured out the page confusion, the rest had fallen into place, and she’d understood the math without tearing out the pages and lining them up as she had done for him.

Focus, Miller, he told himself. She’s on your side. For now. Sort it out later.

“Ready?” he asked Pale Horse.

“Let’s do it.”

Miller pushed through the double doors, raising his weapon. He picked out five targets, each a little farther away than the other. By the time the fifth registered what happened to the first, they’d all be dead. Then he’d have fifteen soldiers left to deal with, minus any Pale Horse shot, plus however many were behind the locked double doors to Security. Miller’s finger squeezed the trigger.

A gunshot rang out so loud and so close that it threw off Miller’s aim and made his ears ring. Miller spun around, searching for a target.

He found it at the center of Brodeur’s head.

The man’s arm was raised. Smoke drifted from the barrel of a handgun. He turned to Miller and flashed him a smile. “Hello, Survivor.”

Miller was about to pull the trigger when he saw Adler struggling and a gun to her head. The face of the man holding her made his hands shake: the executive assistant director of the NCIS, Fred Murdock. His friend. He was dressed in a standard brown uniform, but smiled in the same superior way as Brodeur. Miller glared at the man for a moment, but then saw movement to his right and glanced in that direction. The movement came from a twitching foot.

Pale Horse’s twitching foot.

Miller looked at the man. Blood covered his chest, flowing from a wound over his heart. His eyes were already glassy. Pale Horse was dead. Just like that.

The two men shared an exchange in German and then laughed.

Miller backed up, assessing the situation. Adler had a gun to her head. He could hear the footfalls of soldiers approaching him from behind. More soldiers filed in behind Brodeur and Murdock.

“I have to admit, Miller,” Murdock said, “I always knew you were good, but making it here. Even I’m impressed. But as much as I’d like to pat you on the back and say good job for old times’ sake, I think I’ll just put a bullet through that Jew-boy half-breed head of yours.”

The two men laughed again.

“He’s seeing red,” Brodeur said. “Better put the boy down.” He turned his weapon from Pale Horse to Miller.

Seeing red.

Red.

Red!

An image of Vesely dressed in red coveralls flashed through his mind.

Miller lowered his UMP and held out an open palm. “You win,” he said, placing the weapon on the floor. He slowly drew his pistol and placed it on the floor next to the submachine gun. Miller hated giving up his weapons. It went against all of his training. But he needed time. He raised his hands and stood up.

“Sorry,” Brodeur said, “I’m going to kill you and then spend the next year breaking this one’s will.” He motioned to Adler with his head. “I think she’ll come around after our first child.” He looked to Adler. “Won’t you?”