Soldier (Talon, #3)(62)
“En route,” said the soldier quietly through the earbud.
The information desk came into view, a long wooden structure with a pair of computers and one bored-looking human sitting behind it. A little to the side, in plain view of the desk, was the door we needed to get through. A large employees-only sign hung prominently to the side of the frame.
The desk clerk hadn’t noticed us yet. Before she could, Ember and I slipped into a nearby aisle, pretending to browse but watching her through the shelves. I eyed the door to the left of the desk, the first barrier between us and the Vault.
“Excuse me.”
The soldier’s voice buzzed quietly in my ear. I peeked through the shelves to see the human walk up to the desk, a slip of paper in hand. The clerk raised her head and gave him an expectant look.
“Hi,” St. George said casually. “I’m trying to find this book for class, but I’m having trouble. It’s supposed to be in aisle E-14, but I don’t see it there.”
“What’s the title?” asked the clerk, and when he told her, she clicked her keyboard for a few seconds, staring at the computer. I tapped my foot on the floor and tried not to growl as she studied the screen. “Hmm, it says we have a copy in. Are you sure you were in the right aisle?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She blinked at him, perhaps surprised he’d answered so politely, then smiled. “Well, it might’ve been shelved incorrectly,” she said, and slid off her chair. “Let me see if I can find it for you.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
He stepped back and followed her away from the desk, toward the front of the library, where he had deliberately chosen an aisle as far from the information desk as possible. I waited until they had vanished, then stepped away from the shelves.
“Wes. Now.”
“Roger that. Starting the playback loop again.” A heartbeat of silence, and then, “Live feed is dead. Anyone watching is seeing a recording. You’re clear.”
“Let’s go, Firebrand.”
We hurried from the aisle, passed the desk and hit the door without breaking stride, slipping through into the hallway beyond. The door closed behind us with a squeak and a soft click, but we couldn’t relax just yet. Our window was closing fast.
Quickly, we moved down the short, plain corridor, passing a break room with a table and a couple vending machines, until we came to the last door at the very end. This one was definitely locked, with a numbered keypad that glowed green as we came up. “Wes,” I growled, feeling highly exposed in the short, brightly lit hallway. “Door’s locked.”
“Working on it,” was the terse reply, just as a faint beep sounded from the door handle. “Okay. You’re clear.”
We entered, and I looked around a small dark room. It was filled with gray totes, wheeled carts and books, some piles stacked halfway to the ceiling. A musty smell lingered in the air.
Across from us, a pair of elevator doors stood against the far wall. They were old and gray, paint peeling off in narrow strips, and they sent a stab of recognition through me. I’d seen them before, many years ago, when I came through this very room. The ancient, faded sign beside the doors read Storage, with an arrow pointing down, which I found as ironic as I had the day I first came through. “Storage” didn’t quite cover what was really hidden down there.
I took a deep breath. Here was where things got complicated. We couldn’t just press a button and be taken down to the Vault. That would be far too easy, and Talon was way too paranoid for such lax security. The elevator required not only a key card to make it work, but a numeric code to get past the basement and, from what I knew of Talon, it probably changed every couple weeks. I hoped Wes had been watching the last person to use the elevator closely. I also hoped he had hacked the camera that was inside the elevator, otherwise this was going to be a very short mission.
“Get out of sight,” I whispered to Ember. “Hurry. They’re changing shifts now—we don’t have a lot of time until the next—”
The elevator dinged.
We had just enough time to dart back and press ourselves into the wall before the elevator doors opened and a man stepped out. Dressed in a sweater-vest and slacks, he yawned, scratched the back of his head and started across the room.
I hit him from behind, striking right below his ear, the “knockout button” in humans. His head jerked, and he collapsed into my arms without a sound. Laying him on his back, I quickly searched his pants and wallet until I found what I was looking for.
“Got it,” I said triumphantly, pulling a key card out of a pocket, where it dangled on a stretchy cord clamped to his belt. “We’re in business. Wes, St. George, get back here now.”
“On our way.”
I dragged the unconscious human to the corner and dumped him carefully behind a stack of crates and totes, while Ember watched the doorway and elevator like a hawk. I heard Wes’s voice buzz in my ear, though he wasn’t speaking to me. A few minutes later, the door opened and Wes slipped quietly into the room, followed by the soldier.
“How’d you guys get past the desk clerk a second time?” Ember wanted to know.
Garret smiled. “I informed her that there were a couple teenagers smoking weed in the bathrooms,” he replied. “She didn’t seem very happy at the notion, though she did thank me for telling her.”