Prodigal Son (Orphan X #6) - Gregg Andrew Hurwitz Page 0,133
jaw. He looked good and liked looking good, and she would use that vanity to crush him.
She’d left the door open, the radio wailing, She just might be your dream come true.
“Goddamn it, it’s hot for December.” She took a wide stance, her stockinged legs shapely above the boots, hips cocked to one side, and lifted the hair from the base of her neck with both hands, a gesture that pushed her chest out and upward.
Moore’s focus moved where she knew it would, and she stepped forward again, letting her hips swing, her body transformed into a hypnotist’s pocket watch. The second MP came out from the guard station because—how could he not?—and said, “Ma’am, this is a classified base. You can’t—”
She pretended to trip, tumbling forward into Moore, her chest pressed to his, her face in his shoulder. Surprised, he caught her under her arms, the M4 sandwiched between them.
A quick glance past him showed the guard station’s door open, the monitors providing a panoramic view of the base perimeter, all that hardware safely ensconced behind the concrete-slab walls.
She giggled—“My gosh, thank you”—untangling but keeping his right arm, clutching it at the triceps so it pulled straight, the elbow locking, her forearm flexing the joint the wrong way. The second MP was stepping closer, and she brought her cheek to Moore’s, whispered, “I’m sorry,” and dislocated the shoulder. As he fell, she stripped the M4 from him, guiding the sling neatly over his head and torso, and wound up holding the carbine aimed directly at the other man’s chest.
Her purse remained slung over her shoulder, tight against her hip.
It held a gaggle of zip ties and the portable EMP weapon.
Moore curled at her feet. To his credit he neither cried nor reached for his backup pistol, but he was breathing hard enough to stir the dirt beneath his mouth.
The MP in front of her kept his arms raised like a good little boy, gloved fingers spread.
“Well,” Candy said with a wink, “aren’t you gonna invite me in?”
* * *
Evan felt the movement in the ground first, a deep rumble rising through the worn tires of the Honda Civic, and then the rear access gate parted.
He drove onto the base.
Abundant testing fields lay ahead, resting for another day. They were sleek from a recent rain, moonlight shining through silver puddles, seeming to bore into the earth itself. Carving through them, he clung to a narrow dirt path worn down with Humvee tracks. No signs of life. Eventually hangars rolled past him on either side like barns rising from farmland. A trio of MQ-9 Reapers slumbered beneath a steel overhang, $50 million taking a break. Light tactical vehicles were lined like dominoes in several outdoor parking zones, waiting for war games.
The base was light on personnel as promised, ghost-town desolate. The security breach, which would present as a power-grid glitch, hadn’t roused anyone yet.
He continued along the wagon-wheel spoke toward the center of the base, where the collection of buildings constituting headquarters were arrayed. Finally a few signs of life—a lone truck rattling toward the perimeter, two airmen halted on the street talking into their phones.
Evan waved. They waved back.
The disk of the lab building loomed ahead, its shiny black doors presenting a unified front. The Mimeticom box truck and dueling SUVs were parked at a slant in front, and he pulled in next to them and hopped out.
In case Joey wasn’t watching, he said sotto voce, “Now.”
As he mounted the stairs, the door buzzed open. He entered.
The outside corridor was dark and desolate, but the massive lab below threw sterile light up through the interior windows. He peeked down, spotting the private contractors way below in the distant rear of the lab, mostly blocked from view by a metal contraption the size of two soccer goals but filled in with various layers. He could barely make out their movement through the slats.
He counted five forms back there—no, six. Assuming that was the full transport team, where was Molleken? Evan scanned the space, found the OpsCenter at the dead middle of the lab. That’s where he’d have to insert the Yubico key and the Hak5 USB Rubber Ducky.
He pulled back to avoid being seen, walking along the curved corridor to the elevators, the wall lights turning on as Joey illuminated his way.
The sensor pad blinked green before he could touch it, summoning the elevator.
The front doors banged open behind him, two MPs moving inside. The beefy one spotted him. “Hey!”