Project Northwoods (19 page)

“Where are we?” Tim asked, regarding the significantly less dusty but nonetheless neglected room. Numerous stanchions sat in one corner, along with an assortment of folding chairs. The room was cluttered, cramped, and lit by a combination of the light above their entrance and Mollie’s version of a glow stick.

“Looks like a storage room,” muttered Arthur as he cautiously made his way through the detritus and toward the door.

Tim tentatively followed. “Why do they have that entrance down here?” He looked over his shoulder at the door. “It seems like a bad idea.”

“It’s a part of history.” Arthur reached the exit and knelt, extracting Mollie once again from his pocket. “Heard from my dad that there were talks of making it into a museum when the government took control of the heroes in the 60’s.” He slowly undid the latch, then quietly pulled the door open enough to slip the Home Drive through the crack. Arthur slowly rotated the drive in his fingers.

“Why didn’t they?” Tim seemed to want to keep the conversation going, if only to stave off fear.

“Ran out of money, probably,” Arthur posited.

“There is a camera,” Mollie chimed.

“Where?” Arthur asked, whispering.

“Above, right. Rotating, but not too quickly,” came the reply. “Close the door,” Mollie demanded. Arthur obeyed and looked at her, squinting in the faint light.

“What’s our exit strategy look like?” he asked.

“If she says anything other than the door behind us, Arthur, I swear…”

The light flickered for a moment, as though contemplating agreeing with Tim. “On my mark, exit the door and head right. The camera is right at the bottom of the stairs.”

“Beautiful,” Arthur said as he clipped Mollie back onto his shirt. He put his hand on the latch. “Follow me,” he said as he leaned against the doorframe. Tim leaned in close, nervously breathing down Arthur’s neck. Arthur turned to Tim. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready,” Tim explained.

“Well… give me some space.” He went back to leaning on the frame. Tim didn’t back away in the slightest.

Before he could complain, Mollie chirped, “Now!”

He pulled the door to the grey hallway open and stumbled as Tim shoved his way by. Arthur grunted as his friend darted toward the stairs to their right. He shut the door and half-jogged, half-walked after Tim as the camera continued its lazy arc away from them. He picked up speed as it reached the furthest point, stopped with a click, then traveled back toward him. Both of them were halfway up the stairs by the time it would have noticed anyone exiting the room.

Arthur recognized the style of hallway from earlier in the day the moment he crested the landing and looked further up the stairs. The only difference was most of the lights were much dimmer than before, giving an almost haunted house feel to the entire place. He started up the second flight when Tim whispered, “Where exactly are we going?”

Arthur was cresting the stairs as he said, “I think Arbiter’s office will – oh shi…” He cut himself off and slammed himself backward against the wall, nearly shoving Tim down the stairs as he did so.

“What?”

“Another camera,” Arthur explained. He slowly turned to look at Tim. “I think it saw me.”

Tim stared at him, his expression inscrutable. He nodded solemnly, then waved. “It was nice knowing you, Art.”

“Tim, that’s not funny,” Arthur hissed.

“You think I’m laughing?” He pointed vaguely toward the ceiling. “I’m here to make sure you don’t screw anything up. And guess what?” He gestured violently. “You just did!”

“Wait…” Arthur bit his lip, thinking back to his earlier visit. “I think the security office is by the entrance. We can take the tapes and wander around with impunity!” He smiled.

“Impunity? Really?” Tim deadpanned.

Arthur looked confused. “What?”

His friend remained emotionless. “You really are a stubborn idiot, aren’t you?”

“Come on,” Arthur said as he whacked Tim jokingly on the shoulder. “You’re having fun.” He quickly darted around the corner.

Tim winced and followed. “Fun is getting drunk and playing strip poker,” he muttered.

Arthur tried to remain quiet as he jogged toward the main hall. Yes, it was stupid and dangerous. But at this point, he didn’t care. Either he’d end up a puffy red cloud at the end of a Bestowed’s fist, or Arbiter would have an aneurysm due to their shenanigans. Sure, if they got caught, Tim would be declared a free target, too… which was a decided downer, but in his darkest moments, he always imagined that if he didn’t die of old age, in combat with his best friend was a pretty righteous way to go.

Selfish, but righteous nonetheless
, he thought, pleased with himself.

An idea struck Arthur. He patted his front pocket. “Shit,” he muttered when he realized his phone was at home. He slowed to a stop and looked at Tim, who was shielding his face and staring as much at the floor as possible. “Did you bring your phone?”

Tim looked up at Arthur incredulously. “What? Why would I do that?”

“Pictures. No one’s going to believe that I messed up the big man’s office without proof.”

“Pic…” Tim rolled his eyes. “No, I left it at home so if someone tries to call me, the cell phone signal shows I was there, not in the middle of the damn Heroes’ Guild!”

“Tim, you are the most paranoid human being on the planet.” Arthur was rapidly growing annoyed with Tim’s attitude. He pointed at his friend. “It’s just a little mischief.” Arthur waited for a response. Satisfied that none came, he turned and continued toward what he hoped was the security office. Unnoticed, Tim shook his head before following Arthur as before.

The front hall was just as before, only the rain seemed ready to break in through the windows. The lights were dim, presumably for whatever skeletal janitorial or security personnel were given reign over the huge building.

The security office was situated under the stairs, a polished bronze plaque on the door labeled ‘SECURITY’ indicating the chamber’s purpose. Arthur wasn’t really surprised to find the tiny room both unlocked and devoid of occupants. “What exactly would a security guard for the Bestowed do, anyway?” he muttered to no one in particular.

Tim shut the door behind them after making sure they weren’t being followed. “Loss prevention, mostly.” He walked to the bank of computers connected to a wall of blank monitors. “Probably to help corral neutrals on field trips and the occasional office drunk.”

“Shouldn’t these be on?” Arthur apparently wasn’t interested in the answer to the rhetorical question when there was a more intriguing mystery at hand. He pointed to the monitors.

“Well, then turn them on,” Tim muttered as he reached for the monitors but Arthur stopped him.

“They are,” Arthur said as he nodded toward the screens. Tim realized he was right; what he had mistaken for dead screens were in fact displaying disconnected feeds.

“What’s going on?”

“Maybe the monitors are on the fritz,” Arthur offered. He took Mollie out of his pocket and crossed to one of the computers. Undoing the cap, he plugged it into a free USB port before instructing Mollie. “Mol, I need you to see if they’re recording anything.” He gave the room another look, debating whether or not he should ask her to use the card maker in the corner to give him a Heroes’ Guild ID.

“Of course.”

“Tell her to delete anything with my face,” nervously ordered.

Arthur looked back at him. “I think that’s implied.”

“Yeah, you said that about the time she ‘touched up’ that photo of you and Kirsten,” Tim chided. Arthur nodded in concession.

“Mol, you hear that?” he asked. A moment passed without a response. “Mollie?” More time passed. “Are you trying to tell a joke again?” he asked.

“What’s wrong?” Tim seemed legitimately concerned. Arthur looked back at him, then back toward the computer.

“AMALIA, where are you?” he half-whispered, mostly to keep Tim calm. But the proximity was too close, and Tim immediately got fidgety.

“Art, please tell me she’s alright.”

Arthur couldn’t really tell him that. He felt suddenly nauseated as his hands trembled, numerous awful things cropping up in his head. His eyes scanned along the wall, looking for a high-speed internet cable. When he saw the familiar grey wire, Arthur felt relieved but disheartened. She hadn’t been deleted or absorbed at all.

She escaped.

“There you are, Mollie,” he muttered, his voice cracking. Tim appeared to immediately relax. “Don’t scare me like that,” he scolded softly as he unplugged the Home Drive. His eyes flicked to the cable again, the same way a child might look down the same road a cherished pet had disappeared on.

“Did she find anything?”

“Hm?” Arthur asked before almost immediately remembering what Tim had requested earlier. “There’s no data to speak of.” Which was technically true, as far as he was aware. But the less said about it, the better. “Let’s get to Arbiter’s office and get out of here.” Tim must have noticed the sudden shift in mood, but said nothing.

As they made their way to the main hall, they came to a sudden, panicked stop. A woman in a red coat was there, staring up the steps. Her brown hair glistened in the low light, damp from the rain, no doubt. Time passed imperceptibly before they could move again, and instead of retreating, they opted to stare at each other, each hoping that the other would have an inkling of a clue as to what to do. She must have noticed them, as her green eyes flashed over their paralyzed bodies.

“Are you the ones who contacted me?” Her voice was thick and Russian-accented, prickling at their ears in a way that was simultaneously dangerous and alluring. The two stared gormlessly at her in the dark, their minds apparently stuck in between gears. Her eyes flitted between them before shooting toward the bag of spray paint cans. She huffed, annoyed. “Of course not. How would a couple of idiots like you have gotten my number?” The woman briskly started toward the steps.

Tim snapped out of his torpor at the mention of his lack of intelligence. “Hey! I am not an idiot!”

“Yeah!” Arthur was quick to agree until he realized that Tim had used a singular pronoun as opposed to plural. “Wait…” he began, turning to Tim in annoyance.

She was almost to the stairs now. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve spent the last three hours at a bar and have had my night ruined. I don’t have time for a couple of frat boys fighting the system.”

Arthur snapped his fingers the moment her foot touched the first step. “Wait a minute… you’re from VWN!”

Her head rolled toward the ceiling. “Oh, great. Fans.” She spun to face them as they both exchanged excited looks.

“You’re kidding me. What’s going on?” Tim’s apprehension from earlier had vanished in a gush of celebrity worship. “What are you doing here?”

Talia squinted at him. “Shouldn’t you be asking yourself that?”

“Come on, you can trust us,” Arthur goaded, self-confidence bolstered by the addition of the reporter.

She took her foot off the step and folded her arms. “None of your business.”

“If it involves you, it has to be,” Arthur countered.

Tim adopted a low, television personality style voice. “The name of villainy.”

Arthur followed suit. “With the face you trust.”

“Villain World News presents,” Timothy said with a flourish of his arms.

“Talia Gregor Illyanovich!” Arthur struck a pose along with him.

Talia smiled, tight-lipped and annoyed. “Thanks. Because I don’t hear that every day. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She turned and mounted the stairs, leaving Arthur and Tim to their poses.

The shock was wearing off. “That didn’t go nearly as well as I always imagined it,” Tim muttered.

Arthur scoffed, now irritated himself. He could feel his face contort into a scowl aimed directly at the back of her head. “I knew the daughter of a super hero would be too good to talk to us.”

Tim turned to Arthur, preventing them from seeing Talia stop as she climbed the steps. “Didn’t you make me a bet about that?”

“What did you say?” the reporter asked. The two looked up at her, equally surprised she deigned it appropriate to talk to them again.

Tim was clearly pleased with the chance to explain. “He bet me fifty bucks…”

“Not you, you idiot,” she hissed. She looked at Arthur. “You.”

“I don’t know…”

She rolled her eyes. “About my father. What did you say about him?”

Arthur’s pulse quickened.
Did I say something wrong? Did I manage not only to annoy but infuriate the one celebrity on the planet I would ever meet?
“Super hero?” he offered. “Look, I’m sorry, but…”

She waved her hand as though expunging the needless apology from the air. “It’s fine,” she said as her eyes flitted between the two again. “I was contacted to show up here. There’s… a corpse… of interest, I guess.”

“You wanna see a dead body?” Tim slurred before chuckling to himself.

“A corpse?” For the first time that evening, Arthur felt the same fear that had pricked at Tim’s heart. “Who would…”

“You were supposed to come alone,” came a voice like smoky silk, a low alluring alto. Arthur and Tim looked to the landing at the top of the stairs as Talia turned around at the sound. A dark-skinned woman, easily six-foot-four, stood in an onyx business suit, a skinny tie with a skull on it nestled in the white button-up beneath the jacket. Her long black hair fell dreamily past her shoulders, and thick-rimmed spectacles balanced at the end of her nose. Dangling from her ears was a set of skull earrings, eerily bright in the darkness.

“Dude…” Tim gasped, hitting Arthur hard on the shoulder with excitement.

“Stop it, dick!” Arthur hissed in response as he rubbed his shoulder.

“They were already here, Zombress,” Talia explained as she jogged up the steps. She extended her hand, which the other woman accepted. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yes. It’s unfortunate that this isn’t a social call,” Zombress said, releasing Talia’s grip. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Tim was already mounting the stairs. “Um, Zombress, ma’am…” She looked down at him and cocked an eyebrow. Tim stopped and, with a polite gesture to himself, introduced himself. “Timothy McFadden, local manager of the Tibetan Mob.” Arthur didn’t have time to process the lie before Tim jutted a finger toward him. “And my secretary, Arthur.” The self-proclaimed official didn’t see his newly-appointed subordinate’s look of confused disgust. “I did a report on you in high school, and I have to admit that the way you orchestrated the attack on Atlanta in 1988 was amazing.” She did not respond. “You’re also like… super gorgeous.”