I pulled out a pair of green-Lensed spectacles and shoved them on.
The door burst.
I ignored it, instead focusing on the floor of the hangar. Then, I activated the Lenses. Immediately, a quick gust of wind blew from my face. It moved across the floor, erasing some of the footprints. Windstormer’s lenses, a gift from Grandpa Smedry the week after our first Librarian infiltration.
By the time the Librarians got through the door, cursing and muttering, only the footprints I wanted them to see were still there. I huddled down beside my wheel, holding my breath and trying to still my thumping heart as I heard a fleet of soldiers and policemen pile down the steps.
That’s when I remembered my Firebringer’s Lens.
I peeked up over the top of the 747 wheel. The Librarians had fallen for my trick and were moving along the floor toward the door out of the hangar. They weren’t walking as quickly as I would have wanted, though, and several were glancing around with suspicious eyes.
I ducked back down before I could be spotted. My fingers felt the Firebringer’s Lens – I only had one left – and I hesitantly brought it out. It was completely clear, with a single red dot in the center.
When activated, it shot forth a super-hot burst of energy, something like a laser. I could turn it on the Librarians. They had, after all, tried to kill me on several different occasions. They deserved it.
I sat for a moment, then quietly tucked the Lens back in its pocket and instead put my Courier’s Lenses back on. If you’ve read the previous volume of the autobiography, you’ll realize that I had some very particular ideas about heroism. A hero wasn’t the type of person who turned a laser of pure energy upon the backs of a bunch of soldiers, particularly when that bunch included innocent security guards.
Sentiments like this one eventually got me into a lot of trouble. You probably remember how I’m going to end up; I mentioned it in the first book. I’ll eventually be tied to an altar made from outdated encyclopedias, with cultists from the Librarian Order of the Shattered Lens preparing to spill my Oculator’s blood in an unholy ceremony.
Heroism is what landed me there. Ironically, it also saved my life that day in the airport hangar. You see, if I hadn’t put on my Courier’s Lenses, I would have missed what happened next.
Alcatraz? a voice suddenly asked in my mind.
The voice nearly made me cry out in surprise.
Uh, Alcatraz? Hello? Is anyone listening?
The voice was fuzzy and indistinct, and it wasn’t the voice of my grandfather. However, it was coming from the Courier’s Lenses.
Oh bother! The voice said. Um. I’ve never been good with Courier’s Lenses.
It faded in and out, as if someone were speaking through a radio that wasn’t getting good reception. It wasn’t Grandpa Smedry, but at that moment, I was willing to take a chance on whoever it was.
‘I’m here!’ I whispered, activating the Lenses.
A blurry face fuzzed into existence in front of me, hovering like a hologram in the air. It belonged to a young girl with dark tan skin and black hair.
Hello? she asked. Is someone there? Can you talk louder or something?
‘Not really,’ I hissed, glancing out at the Librarians. Most of them had moved out the door, but a small group of men had apparently been assigned to search the hangar. Mostly security guards.
Um . . . okay, the voice said. Uh, who is this?
‘Who do you think it is?’ I asked in annoyance. ‘I’m Alcatraz. Who are you?’
Oh, I – the image, and voice, fuzzed for a moment – sent to pick you up. Sorry! Uh, where are you?
‘In a hangar,’ I said. One of the guards perked up, then pulled out a gun, pointing it in my direction. He’d heard me.
‘Shattering Glass!’ I hissed, ducking back down.
You really shouldn’t swear like that, you know . . ., the girl said.
’Thanks,’ I hissed as quietly as possible. ‘Who are you, and how are you going to get me out of this?’
There was a pause. A dreadful, terrible, long, annoying, frustrating, deadly, nerve-racking, incredibly wordy pause.
I . . . don’t really know, the girl said. I – wait just a second. Bastille says that you should run out somewhere in the open then signal us. It’s too foggy down there. We can’t really see much.