Chapter 18
Koenig wants to see me?” Colt asked as he and his grandfather followed a pair of DAA agents down a path that led to a bank of trees lining the Potomac River. Aldrich Koenig was the former president of Trident Biotech. He was not only responsible for the murder of Colt’s parents but was also supposed to be the leader of the largest Thule army on Gathmara.
“He said that he’ll provide certain information if you’ll talk to him, but he won’t say what it’s about.”
“Where is he?”
“In a prison beneath the tunnels.”
“Here? On campus?” Colt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re telling me the mastermind behind this entire invasion has been locked up here since he was arrested back in October?”
“That about sums it up.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You never asked.”
“Is it about what happened with the Black Sun Militia?”
“Hard to say,” Grandpa replied. “But we’ll know soon enough.”
The academy grounds used to belong to a private university founded by Thomas Jefferson. The president of the university was an abolitionist who constructed a series of tunnels to help fugitive slaves escape to the North. Colt found the tunnels when he accidentally fell through a shaft. Since then he had been down in the tunnels on more than one occasion—including the night that Heinrich Krone, the Thule assassin Oz’s dad had hired, was killed. And Colt didn’t remember seeing a prison anywhere down there.
“Is that why they attacked?” Colt asked. “Were they looking for Koenig?”
“It’s hard to tell, but if they were, they didn’t find him.”
They followed the DAA agents down a trail that led to a small cabin that had a sagging roof and broken windows. One of the agents reached for a rusted mailbox that hid a biometric scanner. He placed his hand against the glass; green circles flashed around his fingers and thumb, and the door opened.
“In you go,” Grandpa said.
Colt stepped into an elevator car without buttons, and a moment later they started their descent. “How far down are we going?” he asked.
“Far enough,” Grandpa said.
The elevator stopped, and the doors opened to a long corridor where the walls were metal instead of dirt. Grandpa stepped out and Colt followed, but the DAA agents didn’t move.
“This shouldn’t take long,” Grandpa said.
As the doors to the elevator closed, Colt couldn’t help but feel trapped. Sure, there were agents from Whitlock Armor Systems stationed every ten feet, but for all Colt knew they were Thule in disguise. For that matter, Grandpa could have been a Thule too. It smelled like a trap.
“You’re a bit jittery,” Grandpa said as he led Colt through a series of checkpoints where the DAA agents simply saluted and let them pass.
“I’m fine,” Colt said, even though the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. But if he admitted his suspicion, and it really was Grandpa, he was going to look like he was losing his mind. And if the man with him was one of the Thule, then Colt would lose the element of surprise. Either way, he figured it was best to keep quiet.
There were no pictures on the walls, the doors were evenly spaced, and thanks to their armor and helmets, all the agents looked exactly alike, give or take a few inches, all of which meant that it was easy to get turned around.
“This place is a maze,” Colt said. “How do you know where you’re going?”
“I’ve been down here a time or two over the last few weeks,” Grandpa said as he took long strides. “You start to pick up on the patterns, but it’s confusing on purpose. Makes an escape—or a rescue, for that matter—that much harder.”
“No kidding.”
They turned down what looked to be a dead end, where two guards stood on either side of an average door.
“What’s his mood like today?” Grandpa asked.
The nearest guard shrugged. “Same as always, I guess,” he said as a panel in the wall opened up. A metal sphere flew out and hovered next to Grandpa, who didn’t seem to notice. “Sorry, sir,” the guard said. “You know the routine.”
“No need to apologize, you’re just doing your job.” Grandpa watched as an arm with a needle on the end extended from the sphere. He held out his hand, and it slammed into his index finger like a woodpecker taking to its favorite tree. A red dot of blood formed on Grandpa’s fingertip as a second arm unfurled, this one holding some kind of swab. It dabbed at the blood and held the swab under its belly where a door opened up, revealing a green light.
“What’s it doing?” Colt asked, backing up until he hit the wall.
“It’s just a blood test,” Grandpa said as the orb extended a third arm.
“Would you care for a bandage?” it asked with a polite, if synthesized, voice.
“That won’t be necessary,” Grandpa said.
“Very well,” the orb said. “One moment, please, while I complete the analysis.”
“Take your time.”
Colt started to calculate what he would do if Grandpa weren’t actually Grandpa. He figured that he could get one good shot—probably to the throat—before he took off down the hall, but the only way it was going to work was if the DAA agents weren’t part of the ruse. He’d need them to tie fake-Grandpa up, or there was no way he was going to make it back to the elevators without a fight. But if the agents were Thule too . . .
“Thank you, Colonel. You are free to visit the prisoner,” the orb said, interrupting Colt’s thoughts.
“Your turn,” Grandpa said. “Go ahead; it doesn’t hurt any more than a bee sting.”
“Yeah, all right,” Colt said, wondering if the needle was strong enough to pierce his skin. He swallowed hard as he raised a nervous hand. As the orb scuttled over and raised its arm to strike, Colt closed his eyes.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Colt hadn’t felt a thing, and as he opened his eyes he saw Grandpa standing there with his arms folded across his chest.
“How . . . ?” he asked.
“The needle?” Grandpa said. “Thule tech from Trident Biotech.”
“Interesting,” the orb said, as though a machine could be surprised by the results. “I’m detecting an alien contaminate.”