Project Northwoods (28 page)

Thankfully, the car ride was mercifully quiet. Dylan “Claymore” York, her partner, could be quite respectful when he wasn’t talking incessantly about his workout routine or what his love life entailed. She was never sure if he was trying to impress her with his endlessly aggressive shallowness or if it was his attempt, no matter how inexpertly managed, to relate to her as a human being.

“I really think Arbiter meant it when he said he was going to honor your father’s memory,” Claymore said, jarring her from her thoughts. She looked at him, annoyed that he interrupted the silence. He was wearing a black sleeveless tactical vest and a pair of black cargo pants, which, she suspected, might have been specially tailored. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of red shades that caught the sun as he alternated between looking at her and the road. “If anyone could do it, it’s him.” Julia didn’t feel like answering. She resumed gazing out the window. “It wouldn’t kill you to talk to me, you know,” he muttered petulantly.

“I don’t feel like talking,” she said simply. She hadn’t felt like talking for days. Neither to the reporters when they asked her about her father, nor to the Enforcers she had suddenly found herself responsible for. Even when they managed to find Zombress, she couldn’t muster a single word. The battle had been pitched, for sure, but Zombress had made a mockery of the heroes involved.
Fat lot of good controlling my bullets does when the bitch is a bullet sink,
Julia thought with a snort. It took Claymore, Arbiter, and an elite squad of Enforcers led by their colonel to finally bring her down. In that entire time, Julia couldn’t utter a syllable.

Even at the Heroes’ Guild, her boot on Zombress’s neck, she couldn’t speak. Even when the villain threw the hero off and the piercing tendrils of fear wormed into the girl’s brain, she couldn’t muster a sound. And even when the Queen of the Dead mouthed, ‘I didn’t kill your father,’ and stared at her with such intensity that it seemed true, Julia couldn’t even tell her how much she hated her.

“I’m your partner, Gunslinger,” Claymore said, once more jostling her back to reality. The use of her hero name was jarring. She looked at him, hoping he saw just how tired she was.
Did you not have parents? Did you not appreciate what had happened to me? Did you ever, in your entire, shallow life, lose a friend, family member, cat, dog, or turtle?
Her train of thought derailed when he leaned over and put a hand on her leg. “I want you to be alright.” His eyes never left the road, so he didn’t notice that his touch was unwelcome and uncomfortable.

Although she doubted he would care even if he had noticed.

She yanked her leg away and stared straight out the windshield. Claymore gently braked as the SUV in front of them slowed, nearing what appeared to be a tiny red and white striped wooden gate in front of an entrance to a quarry. Two guards flanked the front vehicles and produced hand-held PDAs attached to a retinal scanner. They scanned the three occupants, then waved back at the large gatehouse. Shakily, the barrier lifted. The SUV drove under the still-rising barricade before appearing to descend below the horizon. Claymore eased up on the brake pedal and neared the Enforcers waving him forward.

The window came down as the car ground to a halt. The guard, who Julia recognized as one of the Enforcers that had been under her temporary command, looked into the window. He smiled upon seeing Julia, a gesture she half-heartedly returned. She rolled down her own window as the other guard approached.

“I don’t see why you have to do this,” Claymore said, removing his shades for the guard. The scanner flickered, and the handheld device blipped eagerly. Julia turned to her respective guard to be scanned.

“Even the colonel needs to be scanned, sir. It’s just a precaution,” the Enforcer said, businesslike. Julia blinked away the scanner light’s visual remnants as her guard nodded at the result and waved to the gatehouse. “Nothing personal.”

Claymore arched an eyebrow and rolled up both his windows. “Losers,” he muttered as he released the brake.

The car moved under the gate and seemingly floated above the chasm that had pulled the first SUV downward. It was a disconcerting effect, watching a swath of what looked like steam distort their vehicle as they passed through the optical camouflage. To outside observers, it looked like they began a descent into the quarry proper. To their own eyes, the facade melted into nothing, giving way to a large courtyard penned in by ten foot high walls. Even the rickety wooden gate evaporated into a thick steel door which steadily closed them in.

In the middle, a positively massive and mostly windowless building squatted in the sunlight.
Massive really isn’t the word for it
, Julia thought on the approach.
If half of it was demolished, it may qualify for preposterously huge, but even that’s pushing it
. The structure spread in four directions from the center of the yard, an angry ‘X’ carved into the landscape. Five towers, one in the middle, one at the end of each wing, overlooked the area. Julia was sure there were Enforcers within them, but any movement was obscured by angle and distance.

The tallest tower was the central one, offering a full view of the entire area, possibly even parts of the surrounding countryside. The optical illusion shielding the area from the outside world was one-way, a perfect tactical advantage. From what she knew, every sector of the building had its own security, but it was all superseded by the central tower’s total access. Inside were all types of redundant equipment and controls, designed specifically to circumvent any possible security breach.

The SUV ahead of them stopped in front of the entrance, and their jeep quickly followed suit. Claymore was the first to get out, the dusty courtyard a sudden, unwelcome atmosphere compared to the climate-controlled cabin. Julia exited the vehicle, coughing slightly at the swirling dirt. The movement jostled the sheathed Bowie Knife on her belt, secured just below the small of her back. She made sure that the binding keeping the blade in place still held before walking to the other parked vehicle. Arbiter clambered out of the car, followed by the colonel of the Enforcers and his subordinate.

“Shall we wait for Archetype, High Consul?” the colonel asked with his gruff South African accent, pushing his shades further up the bridge of his nose.

“There is no need for that,” Arbiter grunted as he looked at the building appraisingly. “How close is it to fully operational?” he asked before heading toward the entrance.

“It already is,” the colonel answered. “It can function with minimum staffing at one hundred percent efficiency.”

They passed into the merciful shade of the large overhang above the entrance. The colonel approached the security panel and punched in a seven-digit code. “And without staffing?”

“Forty-eight hours at maximum efficiency.” He leaned into a microphone that slid out of the panel, a tiny red light glaring angrily at him. “Colonel Alain Morant.” The red light turned a pleasant green, and the microphone retreated inside the panel. With a click, the large doors unlocked and slid open. As they passed into the climate-controlled building, Claymore let out an impressed whistle at the pure scale of the lobby.

Julia was significantly less in awe – she had seen the proposed Fort Justice in the pictures that her father had shown her years ago. To be entirely fair, the architectural renderings of the outside were jet black and terrifying, and the inside was made to look despairingly abysmal. The new grey exterior and lab-sterile white interior were actually an improvement, even though they gave the place an overwhelming hospital vibe.

“And the barracks?” Arbiter asked.

“Connected to the perimeter’s northern wall in order to maximize riot control, at the suggestion of the late Dark Saint,” Morant responded. He turned toward Julia as they walked. “Again, I express my deepest condolences for your loss, Miss Lovelass.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” she said, noting with a degree of satisfaction that it irritated Claymore.

Morant cleared his throat in preparation for their minimalist tour. “This facility was conceived as a solution to the violence encountered by Bestowed villain inmates in standard prisons,” the Colonel explained amidst the thud of boots on metal. “Soon, problem cases across the country will be brought here to serve their sentences rather than among the hostile neutral population.”

Claymore snorted. “Still don’t see what the problem is with letting them get torn apart.”

“The problem is that prisoners should be allowed to pay their debt without bloodshed,” Morant said with a tone bordering on hostile. When they reached the elevator, Morant summoned it and turned to the group. “Each wing is dedicated to handle convicts of different ranks. Most members of Tiers One and Two, as the least likely to be able to escape, will be held in A- and B-Wing cells.” Morant turned to the progress bar of the elevator. “Tiers Three and Four will be in C- and D-Wings. These areas have the greatest proportion of sleep chambers to standard cells in order to mitigate potential threats.” He cast a glance at the others. “If they were to wake, their abilities would be temporarily nullified.”

“What about late-bloomers, though?” Julia asked. “I heard that the chambers are ineffective against them.”

“A few inept Tier One villains are nothing to worry about,” Arbiter answered.

“They should all be kept asleep,” muttered Claymore. Arbiter nodded silently.

The colonel grunted in annoyance. “Only those who pose a direct threat of escape are to be put under,” he said without taking his eyes off the elevator. “There will be no excessive measures taken.”

The elevator hummed quietly before the doors opened. All but the spare Enforcer climbed aboard. The doors closed and the car whispered upwards. Julia felt that the ascent was mercifully quick in comparison to the earlier wait. When the doors finally parted, the group stepped out into the control room. Numerous technicians were double-checking a multitude of computers while others tended to the rows upon rows of security feeds.

“Welcome to the Panopticon of Fort Justice!” came a jolly German accent. A short, plump man with wild, grey-streaked brown hair waddled toward them. His left hand occupied with a sloshing coffee cup, he extended his right to Morant. “Welcome back, Colonel,” he said with a hearty shake before looking at the others. With a degree of reverence that seemed almost too eager, he approached Arbiter. “Mr. Arbiter… it is always an honor.” He offered his hand, which Arbiter took with professional courtesy.

“Figures they’d hire a quack for that job,” Claymore whispered in Julia’s ear. She couldn’t help but smirk. The man looked the part of a medical lunatic, with his unkempt and stained lab coat. He offered his hand to the others, missing by a wide margin due to the fact that he didn’t take his eyes off of Arbiter.

“It is our greatest pleasure to have the assistants of Arbiter here as well!” he said emphatically as Claymore and Julia pumped his hand once apiece. “Where are my manners?” he asked, finally turning his attention to the two. “I am Dr. Maelstrom, the medical and engineering specialist.” Before anyone could introduce themselves, he turned to gesture widely to the room behind him. “As you can see, here is the heart of our security system, just as it was dreamed up years ago. Cameras give us feeds from every inch of this place.” He pointed to a short set of stairs in the corner. “Below us is the observation deck, affording a complete view of the courtyard, outer walls, and beyond.” He motioned from his eyes outward. “The optical camouflage, of course, is only one way.” His hand fell to his side as he puffed himself up. “And, on a separate system, we have the maintenance room with its hard-crash reboot failsafe. Useful in the impossible chance anyone unwanted breaks in.” He came off as a child with a new toy, eager to show off all the features of the latest model gizmo.

“Seems like a bad idea to stick this place outside the main building,” Claymore said. Maelstrom turned to him, beaming. When no one said a word, he continued, trying to maintain his standoffish attitude, “You take out the core, the other security systems have to operate on their own.”

“Ah, yes. But we have the proverbial ‘ace’ up our sleeves,” Maelstrom said, barely suppressing a giggle. He motioned them to another elevator. Instead of a button to summon the lift, a card reader glowed softly on the wall. Maelstrom swiped his clearance card, opening the elevator doors instantaneously. He waddled inside, then motioned the others. Morant approached the front of the car and turned around, facing back toward the Panopticon.

The doors shut, and five buttons lit up on the wall. “How many elevators does this place need?” Claymore muttered.

“Do you always have to whine?” Julia snapped before she could stop herself.

“If you wish, there are stairs,” Dr. Maelstrom gestured vaguely toward what Julia assumed were the stairs’ location. “OSHA and all that. But they’re concealed behind panels on each floor in order to keep the visual aesthetic.”

“Guy’s a loon…” Claymore muttered to himself.

Maelstrom hadn’t heard him. “There are four remaining floors, depending on your clearance level.” He pointed to each one sequentially. “Minimal staff quarters, the penthouse,” he turned and winked with a smile before skipping the next button to point at the one above, “communications.” His pudgy finger pressed the skipped button.

The car hummed but did not betray any other hint of motion. After a moment, the noise ceased. The doors opened to a room startlingly vast in its darkness. As Maelstrom stepped into the pool of light created from the elevator’s meek offering, fluorescent lamps around the room clicked and sputtered. Slowly, the rest of the room revealed itself. Rows of computers and other equipment were arranged in a mishmash of positions, wires running in every direction, but the real distinguishing feature was the three large, vertical tubes against the back wall.

The two flanking cylinders were open, their lids having slid upward to show their contents. The interior consisted of a vertical bed, as well as a set of restraints, unused but looking tough in the fluorescent light. The central chamber was closed, the clear glass frosted over at the edges somewhat.