The Traveler

“It’s a big compound in a suburban environment,” Maya said, scrolling through the information. “There are four large buildings constructed around a central quadrangle. A windowless building is at the center.”

“What’s the security situation?” Hollis asked.

“It’s like a modern castle. There’s a ten-foot wall. Surveillance cameras.”

“We have one advantage. I bet the Tabula are so proud and confident that they won’t expect an attack. Is there a way to get in without tripping all the alarms?”

“The building that was designed for genetic research has four levels beneath the ground floor. There are water pipes, electric cables, and air-conditioning ducts that follow some underground tunnels. One of the maintenance points for the ventilation system is about two meters outside the wall.”

“Sounds promising.”

“We’re going to need tools to break in.”

Hollis slipped in a new CD and the door speakers blasted out dance music by a group called Funkadelic. “No problem!” he shouted and the music pushed them forward across the immense landscape.

55

It was almost midnight when Gabriel’s body was brought into the research center. A security guard knocked on the door of Dr. Richardson’s room in the administration center and told him to get dressed. The neurologist slipped a stethoscope into his coat pocket, then was escorted outside to the central quadrangle. It was a cold autumn evening, but the sky was clear. The Tomb was lit from the inside and it seemed to float like a massive cube in the darkness.

Dr. Richardson and his guard met a private ambulance and a black passenger van at the entrance gate and walked behind the convoy like mourners following a funeral cortege. When the vehicles reached the genetic research building, two foundation employees got out of the van along with an African American woman. The younger employee said his name was Dennis Prichett. He was in charge of the transfer and was determined not to make any mistakes. The older man had spiky hair and a slack, dissipated face. Prichett kept calling him “Shepherd”-as if that was his only name. A black metal tube dangled from Shepherd’s left shoulder and he carried a Japanese sword in a scabbard.

The young black woman kept staring at Dr. Richardson, but he avoided her eyes. Richardson sensed that she was some kind of prisoner, but he didn’t have the power to save her. If she whispered, “Please, help me,” then he would have to acknowledge his own captivity-and cowardice.

Prichett opened the back of the ambulance. Dr. Richardson saw that Gabriel Corrigan was strapped to a gurney with the thick canvas restraints used on violent patients in hospital emergency rooms. Gabriel was unconscious. When the gurney was pulled out of the ambulance, his head lolled back and forth.

The young woman tried to approach Gabriel, but Shepherd grabbed her arm and held her tightly. “Forget about that,” he said. “We need to get him inside.”

They wheeled the gurney over to the genetic research building and stopped. No one’s Protective Link was authorized to enter the building. Prichett had to call security on his cell phone while the group stood outside in the cold air. Finally a technician sitting at a computer in London authorized the entry for their various ID cards. Prichett pushed the gurney through the doors and the group followed him.

Ever since Richardson had accidentally read the laboratory report about hybrid animals, he had been curious about the top-secret genetic research building. There was nothing imposing about the ground-floor laboratories. Fluorescent ceiling lights. Refrigerators and lab tables. An electron microscope. The building smelled like a dog kennel, but Richardson couldn’t see any lab animals-and certainly nothing that could be called a “splicer.” Shepherd led the young woman down the hallway while Gabriel was wheeled into an empty room.

Prichett stood beside Gabriel’s body. “We think Mr. Corrigan has crossed over to another realm. General Nash wants to know if his body is injured or not.”

“All I have is a stethoscope.”

“Do whatever you can, but hurry up. Nash is going to be here in a few minutes.”

Richardson pushed the tips of his fingers against Gabriel’s neck and searched for a pulse. Nothing. He took a pencil out of his jacket, jabbed the sole of the young man’s foot, and got a muscular reaction. While Prichett watched, the neurologist unbuttoned Gabriel’s shirt and pressed his stethoscope against the Traveler’s chest. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Then, finally, a single heartbeat.

Voices came from outside in the corridor. Richardson stepped away from the body as Shepherd led Michael and General Nash into the room.

“So?” Nash asked. “Is he all right?”

“He’s alive. I don’t know if there’s been any neurological damage.”

Michael went over to the gurney and touched his brother’s face. “Gabe’s still in the Second Realm, looking for a way out. I had already found the passageway, but I didn’t tell him.”

“That was a wise decision,” Nash said.