Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 49
Five Days, Twelve Hours, Thirty-Seven Minutes
"Frank?"
Parker thought he heard someone call his name, but he wasn't certain. All he saw was darkness, and all he heard was rainfall ... a slow, steady tapping of heavy droplets falling down from the sky and banging against a sun-beaten aluminum roof.
"Frank?"
The pounding of the rain was measured, with pauses timed almost perfectly between the spank-spank-spank of water on metal. It was perfect, synchronized by an unseen metronome, producing an oddly resonant musical cadence ... one that only lulled the chrononaut further and further into slumber.
"Frank ... wake up."
Startled, he opened his eyes. Finkle was leaning over him, his face pressed close.
"What?" he said.
"Shhh!"
"What is it?" he whispered.
"Listen."
Staring up at the ceiling, Parker knew what he was hearing: it wasn't rain, but that's how the stress on the elevator cables sounded in his black dream.
"Sonuvabitch," he whispered.
"Someone's coming down," Finkle stated the obvious.
Shifting so that the sleeping Nina dropped into his arms, he caught her and put his face close to the helmet. "Nina," he tried softly, "wake up."
She didn't respond.
Hurriedly, he brought up his hand and tapped a fingertip on the glass plate over her eyes.
"Nina?"
Groggily, she moved her eyes under her closed eyelids. "What is it?"
"You have to wake up now," he told her. "The soldiers are coming down."
Her eyes opened. "What?"
"They're coming for us."
The three of them turned to face the Mallathorn. Larnord was hovering again – floating gently within the elevator car – several of his tentacles reached up from his head and lightly scraping the ceiling.
"Good morning, Frank," it said.
"Morning, Larry," Parker replied. "You wouldn't mind telling me what you're doing?"
"I'm listening."
"It looks like you're trying to clean the ceiling."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, it is."
"Actually, my tentacles can absorb sound at a far greater clarity than can your human ears."
"Well, there's a comfort. I'd thought you lost your tiny little alien marbles."
The alien's eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't know what that means."
"Forget about it," Parker told the being. "What can you hear ... or should I say 'feel'?"
Another tentacle gracefully ascended to join the others, and the Mallathorn tilted its head slightly, as if trying to gauge a better vantage point from which to sense the vibrations. "Three aggressors of above-average adult human male build are presently descending the cable," Larnord announced.
"Geesh! Can you tell me how much change is in their pockets?"
"Would it matter?"
"It's just a bit more detail than I'm used to."
"I apologize, Frank."
"No problem, Larry."
Finkle took a step closer to the alien. "I don't suppose those bright tentacle of yours can drum up some way to get us out of this mess, can they?"
"My tentacles are not cognizant tools," the Mallathorn said. "They are principally sensory organs, much like the human tongue."
"Are you trying to tell me that you're wiping your tongue on that elevator?"
"In a matter of speaking ... I am."
"That's gross, Larry," the old man observed.
Suddenly pulling his head away from the ceiling, Larnord said, "After brief reflection, I would concur."
"Enough of the small talk, boys," Parker snapped. "Larry, when the Pentagon brass installed this elevator, I don't suppose they told you how deep it goes?"
"I only know for certain that it descends into the Catacombs."
"Which is what ... exactly?"
"It is ... it is more reading material."
"What are you talking about?" the chrononaut asked. "More books?"
"No," the alien answered. "It is not books, Frank. It is the Pentagon's reserve of files."
"Files?"
"I've heard of that," Nina offered. "Some of the folks down at the CDC said that they had performed some research from the Pentagon's vast storehouse of files. They were working on a project involved a strain of the Ebola Virus detected in the American northwest, somewhere up in Oregon. They weren't given unrestricted access to the storehouse, but one of them had seen through an open door into the stockroom. He said – from what he saw – it went on forever, row after row of shelving units, all of them lined with files."
"Just what we need," Parker said tiredly. "Another library."
"But, Frank, if it is that large," Finkle began, "then maybe we can hide out down there for awhile."
"Indeed," the alien agreed. "The Catacombs have an extensive transport system – a monorail – which allows its custodians to quickly travel about its several miles."
"Miles?"
"Yes."
"Several miles?"
"Yes, Frank. That is what I said."
"Why didn't you say so?" The man pulled his pistol out of his waist. Turning, he held it out to Nina. "You take this."
"What am I going to do with this?" she asked, taking the pistol in her gloved hand.
"You and Ebdon are going to stand guard while Larry and I get this door open."
"Guard?"
"Yes," he said. "If those men get to the top of this elevator car, then they're going to have easy access to that hatch. Now, keep in mind that these are military we're dealing with. They aren't going to drop in and take heavy casualties. They're going to force that hatch open, and they're going to toss in a smoke bomb, tear gas, something like that." He pointed up at the ceiling. "If you hear them touch down, you start firing ... up ... through this roof. You keep them away from that hatch as long as you can ... or at least long enough for Larry and I to get these doors apart."
Following his directions, she moved with Ebdon along the rear of the car. The Mallathorn glided through space, stopping at Parker's side.
"I do not possess tremendous strength, if that's what you were thinking, Frank."
"No," he agreed, "but you're handy with that telekinesis."
"All Mallathorn are psychically-inclined."
Fine," he said, stepping up to the door. "You use your brain, I'll use my brawn."
"What I am doing ... exactly?"
"Concentrate on these doors opening." Quickly, Parker reached up and tapped the alien's forehead. "See the ball, be the ball."
Again, its eyes closed slightly. "I don't understand what that means."
"That's not the first time you said that."
Parker slipped his hands along the crack between the elevator panels. They were sealed tightly. Pressing with his fingertips, he dug in, and they parted slightly. He couldn't lodge an entire finger in the gap he had created, but he had enough of a edge to create some leverage. Leaning to the side, he used all of his body weight, crouching with a low center of gravity, and he readied himself.
"All right, Larry," he announced. "One ... two ... three, think!"
The doors gave a full inch under their added force, and Parker quickly slipped his hand into the divide. He felt the edge of the rubber guardian, and he pressed hard onto it. In normal circumstances, the door would've opened; this time, however, it was perfectly sealed.
'Probably a safety measure,' he thought. 'I wouldn't want anyone breaking into the Pentagon, either.'
He heard a muffled thud overhead.
"Someone's on the car!"
"Shoot!" he ordered. "Don't fire continuously! Give them one shot at a time!"
Nina fired first. Her bullet easily tore through the metal, producing a hiss of air draining from the elevator shaft into the car.
Angrily, Parker kicked at the gap, driving the heel of his foot into the opening. He slid down to the floor, pressed his back against the wall, and steadied himself.
"All right, Larry," he said, "again ... on three ... one ... two ... three, think!"
The man pushed with his legs, the Mallathorn with its mental ability, and the door cracked, separating at least another three inches.
Finkle aimed at the ceiling, targeting the metal strip directly beside where he guessed the trapdoor to be, and he fired. His shot ripped through, and they all heard the muffled screech. The bullet sliced into his leg, and he stumbled backward, falling into the support cable he had used to rappel the elevator cable.
Through the narrow, Parker saw light.
"Nina!" he cried. "Get over here! Pull that other door!"
She holstered the pistol, lunging past the hovering alien, slamming into the other door. Sliding to the floor, she smacked her feet up against the edge opposite Parker, and she nodded.
"Altogether," he ordered. "One ... two ... three!"
Again, the door barked angrily back at them, but the panels slid away another ten inches and then another ten more, given them more than enough room to get out.
"That's good! That's good!"
Hustling, Parker sunk to his belly and stuck his head through the opening. He looked down the hallway, found it empty, and knew they had their escape.
"Let's go, people! Let's go!"
Taking the pistol from Nina, he helped her down to the floor, through the opening, and watched as she dropped to the floor, rolling to absorb the shock. As quickly, she rose, reaching up to help the Mallathorn through the opening.
"Ebdon, let's go!"
The old man lowered himself to the floor. Parker took him by the arm, sliding him through the gap and into the arms below.
The trapdoor suddenly snapped open.
"Dammit!"
In one move, Parker threw himself onto his back, into the far corner of the car, and he raised the nine millimeter.
BLAM! BLAM!
He fired twice into the darkness but not before the smoking canister dropped in through the hatch and fell straight down to land in his stomach. Closing his eyes and holding his breath, he swiped hard across his torso, knocking the bomb onto the floor, and he rolled toward the doors. He slipped his head through and caught a breath of fresh air, opening his eyes in time to see Nina slap his hands to his shoulders, drop to the floor, and pull him out of the car, tumbling in the air until he came to a rough landing on top of her, their faces pressed up against the respective sides of the protective glass bubble. Then, after the surprise wore off, she laughed at him, and he laughed at her as Finkle managed to close the door with the push of a button on the wall.
"That's enough, you two," the old man swore. "Get up off your asses, and let's get out of here!"
END of Chapter 49
