Armen Gharabegian - Protocol 7

The power outage had provided the precious few seconds that Simon needed. Once shut, and with the electric motors disconnected, the door could not be opened from the outside, and as the guards shouted and cursed, he used every ounce of his strength to pull himself high up into to the lattice work, holding himself tight against the ceiling itself. He spotted pinpoints of light reflected from the soldiers’ helmets into the darkness of the grid work, over their heads and directly on the other side of the wall. He only had to move slowly, silently to the right and over the wall.

Eight more inches and he was above them. He looked straight down and watched the three soldiers as they pounded relentlessly at the door to the cell.

He heard the chatter of automatic gunfire off in the distance, too many shots to count. Fifty, a hundred-he simply couldn’t tell. Something is happening to Max, he thought, and suddenly he was overcome by an unfamiliar strength, outraged by the torture of his father, driven by the will to survive.

He held the gun in front of him as tightly as he could, both arms extended, pointing straight down. He gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger, and the sound almost shattered his eardrum.

One of the soldiers flew away from the others and slammed against the wall opposite the door. The shot entered through the man’s collarbone and exited through his stomach; blood splattered on all three of them from the force of the exploding bullet.

For a few brief seconds, panic rose inside him, filled his mind. It was almost a state of delirium. Too fast, he thought. There was no time to ponder what he had done. And it had been so easy, so-

No, he told himself. It’s too horrible to think about. But something had changed in him-changed who he was. He didn’t feel like a calm and comfortable scientist from Oxford. He didn’t feel angry or afraid.

He felt no remorse.

The two other soldiers had no clue what had struck their companion. Simon didn’t waste time; he didn’t hesitate. He fired again, and the second bullet hit the next soldier the instant Simon pulled the trigger. The helmeted man fell instantly to his knees as the third soldier, panicking, started firing frantically in all directions. The automatic rifle exploded in a barrage of bullets that lit up the hallway and filled it with a deafening sound. Wild shots hit all four walls, pounded into the floor-and pierced the ceiling.

Simon pulled back desperately, as fast as he could. He felt an ice-cold shock in his right shoulder as one of the bullets cut through his deltoid, and pain turned from ice to fire in a heartbeat. He bit off a groan, pushed himself back to the right, away from the gunfire. In mere seconds his arm failed him, and he lost his grip, falling heavily, slamming to the floor of the cell hard enough to knock the last of the air out of him.

The sound of gunfire outside the room intensified as the frenzied soldier shot aimlessly, fearing for his life. Several of the bullets penetrated the door and the wall around it, cutting through the room, barely missing Oliver and Simon.

And then it stopped. Suddenly. Completely. Silence assaulted them, somehow more solid and more terrifying than the gunfire had been.

Simon, still on the ground, gripped his throbbing shoulder and felt the blood well up between his fingers. He looked up at his father and saw the horror on the old man’s face.

His son was right in front of him, lying on the floor, obviously in pain, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Simon,” he whispered, deathly afraid that whoever was outside could hear him.

“I’m all right,” Simon said under his breath, struggling to fight the pain. He forced himself to stand, still half-blinded by pain, and tried to make a casual, comforting gesture to Oliver, using only his left hand. I’m fine, he wanted to tell him. Don’t worry. But he knew it was useless.

He stood there for a moment feeling his arm shake, trying to control the adrenaline that surged through his body. Neither man spoke. There was a moment of silence that stretched on endlessly, though he knew it could have been no more than a few seconds.

“Simon,” Oliver said, weak but clear. “You need to get out of here. You are in grave danger and there is no time. Leave me. Esca-”

Simon cut him off with an angry, awkward, one-armed gesture. “What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t risk my life, I didn’t come halfway around the world just to leave you in this hell.”

“You must,” Oliver said.

“What? Why?”

“I’m in no condition to leave. I will not make it.”

“I don’t care! You’re coming with me.”

Amazingly, Oliver’s tone grew stronger, more certain. “Listen to me, Simon,” he said. Simon had heard that tone many times before as a child, but it didn’t have the same effect on him now. He was a man-a desperate, weary man, a man in pain-and the power of his father’s commanding voice did not sway him. He watched Oliver’s shadowy form, a shadow against a shadow, visible only from the meek light that reflected through the ceiling.

“There are many, many things I never shared with you, Simon,” he said, his voice trembling and weak. “They did not kidnap me from the surface. I decided to come here.”

Simon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You knew all along?” Simon’s stomach tightened as he locked eyes with his father, and in the silence that grew between them he felt a new and awful separation. A great void opened, black and full of secrets, and it did not dissipate even when his father finally began to speak again.

“There is too much to tell you and not enough time, Simon. The fate of mankind now rests on your shoulders. You must escape this continent immediately and do as I say.”

Simon opened his eyes instantly. He could not believe what his father was telling him. This is not real.

“The fate of mankind?” he repeated. “What the hell are you talking about father? Your medication-”

“Stop,” Oliver cut him off. “I am perfectly coherent, Simon. I must be. They have made sure of that.”

“‘They?’”

“Vector5.”

Simon shook his head stubbornly. “Father, none of this can be happening.”

The old man almost smiled. “Believe me, Simon, it’s more real than you can imagine. This continent is being robbed of its resources.”

Quickly, grimly, Oliver outlined the massive, multi-billion-dollar theft that Vector5 had been committing for years-the same staggering story that Lucas had relayed to him earlier. Simon stood stock still, listening to every word that his father spoke almost against his will.

“But all of that-all that conspiracy, all that money and power-that is not why I am here.”

“I don’t understand,” Simon told him, shaking his head wearily. “I don’t.”

“There is something far greater that is down here. I did not have the will or the strength to tell you before, even when you were old enough.”

Simon listened without a word, as if the world had stopped to give them this moment-a moment they had never shared before. Oliver’s head dropped. His tears-the last tears his body had the strength to produce-slid down his face.

“The children…history…mankind’s love and struggle to live…our effort to make sense of our place in the universe…all of this was in our hands, Simon.”

“Whose hands? Father what are you saying?” He does not sound like my father, Simon thought. I have never met this man.

“Simon, all I want you to know is that I am sorry. I regret every moment. I should have done something…or at least tried.” Oliver said.

Simon stood in silence feeling his father’s compassion in a way he had never imagined existed.

The next words changed Simon forever. They changed everything he had imagined and known since childhood, everything he believed in and learned throughout his life.