Vwoomp.
Michael kept going. He somehow knew he was almost there. Weber had said the location didn’t matter so much, just to plant the Lance somewhere in the heart of it all. That he’d know when he’d arrived. So down he went, his neck and shoulders strained, his arms aching.
And then he saw it.
He’d descended at least twenty feet. Twisting carefully around, hugging the closest rung with his left arm, the Lance still cradled in his right, he stared at a cluster of burning blue lights that slowly flashed along with the throbbing hum of noise—vwoomp, vwoomp, vwoomp—that filled the world around him. Everything was brighter, hotter, shinier in the cluster, packed in and thrumming. The air vibrated; he could feel it buzz on his skin, and goose bumps broke out across his neck and back.
If this place had a heart, this was it.
“Running down the hallway!” Sarah shouted down; he couldn’t even see her anymore. “You’ve only got a few seconds!”
Bryson finally lost his cool. “Hurry, man! What’s taking so freaking long?”
Michael ignored him, steadied himself on the ladder. He slipped the Lance down his arm a little, then carefully slid his hand to the corner of the device until he could get a good grip on it. His fingers slipped from the sweat and the Lance almost fell from his grasp; he jerked forward and caught it against his ribs.
“They’re at the door!” Sarah yelled.
“Almost done!” Michael shouted up.
Time seemed to stretch out, measured between those pulses of sound.
Vwoomp.
He strengthened his grip on the Lance, then held it away from his body, stretching his arm out, leaning forward into the cluster of lights and wires.
Vwoomp.
Muffled shouts filtered down from above. A door slamming open.
Vwoomp.
Michael found a little nest of wires among the throbbing lights and gently pushed the Lance into them, wiggling the device until it lodged firmly. Slowly, he let go, making sure it wouldn’t slip before he pulled his hand away.
Vwoomp.
The thud of footsteps rattled the catwalk and a man yelled, a woman shouted.
“Do it, Michael!” Sarah yelled. “Weber will Lift us out!”
Vwoomp.
His hand slipped on the ladder behind him and he lurched forward, face-planting into the hot cluster of Kaine’s mind. He was tangled in a sea of wires, metal burning his skin. The Lance was right in front of him, the keypad at his fingertips.
Vwoomp.
Sarah screamed, followed by a heavy thump that shook the catwalk above. Bryson released a strangled yell. Another thump. Rattling. Shouts. More footsteps.
Michael entered the first number of the code.
Vwoomp.
A man yelled down, a booming voice that overpowered everything else.
“Stop what you’re doing! Now!”
Michael ignored him, pushed the next number. The next. The next.
Vwoomp.
He felt the rattle of someone clambering down the ladder. His fingers slipped, found the next number, pushed. The next. The next.
Vwoomp.
The man’s voice again, closer, louder.
“Do not move another inch or I will shoot!”
Michael pressed the last number of the code and heard a click.
A shot rang out, the bullet pinging against something right next to Michael’s ear.
“Okay, okay!” Michael shouted. He held his hands up to show he’d stopped. It didn’t matter. The deed was done. Lift us out, he thought, almost like a prayer to Agent Weber. Please, now. Lift us now.
“Untangle yourself and slowly back away from the device,” the man said much more calmly. “Get yourself back on this ladder. Now.”
“Okay,” Michael said, but his eyes stayed focused on the Lance, waiting to see what it would do. As he maneuvered out of the nest of wires, he watched. Waited. Hoped. So far, nothing.
His feet finally found the ladder, and he planted them on the closest rung. He crouched on top of wires and ducts and pushed himself backward, then turned around, hugging the ladder, the man with the massive gun right above him.
“Nice and slow,” the guy said. “Up we go. Don’t try anything. I promise you, the next shot won’t miss.”
Michael nodded, then gave one last glance over his shoulder at the Lance, planning to obey the man completely. And hope that Weber would get them out of all the …
Suddenly his chest went cold. He’d just started to turn away from the Lance when it caught his full attention again. Riveted, he stared, not sure exactly what he was seeing. The whole thing was … melting. Its corners were no longer square, its edges no longer sharp. The wires drooped off the sides as the metal of the device warped and bent, turning into a goopy soup of molten silver. It started to seep through the wires it was wedged into and then transformed into droplets that fell like rain to the circuits below.