Steve checked his watch. 9:42. His timing was perfect as he looked down the dark and empty corridor that ran outside the Immunology Lab.
Over the past several days, Steve had made evening stops at the hospital and had scouted out the lab staff, security, and even the cleaning crews to find out their timing and movements. After a few days of the last researcher leaving at 7:30 p.m., security guards changing their shifts at 9:45 p.m., and the cleaning crew arriving at 11:00 p.m., Steve had settled on the time of the shift-change. He would be inside the lab well before any security guards passed by.
The hardest parts of his scouting efforts had been slipping his ISA tail so regularly and keeping Kayla in the dark. She had asked questions after his second late night, so he had spread his last visit and this - his intended final trip - over a couple of additional days.
He knew Kayla would be furious if she found out what he was doing. She had sworn him to secrecy about the video.
Well, nobody has to ever know you said a word, Sweetness. One visit and I'll get everything I need to know.
The big question was whether it would give him some clues about Lawrence. Steve knew that the ISA's research project involved Lawrence's toxin. But he had no idea if it would actually tell him anything about Lawrence's actual plans or where Lawrence was.
Still, it was the best place to look right now. Steve's only other option was breaking into ISA headquarters in D.C. or the field office in Salem. Both seemed rather suicidal and, in any event, Steve doubted he would be able to access the ISA computers where the information likely was being stored. The lab would be a lot less secure.
Steve checked his watch again. 9:45. Time to go.
He pulled his black ski cap lower down so it covered some of his face. If, by chance, someone came around a corner and spotted him, they wouldn't see his blond hair or the patch. Steve was not about to make it easy for anyone to catch him.
Reaching the lab door, he made quick work of the lock. It was bizarre that a top-secret research facility would be so easy to open, but then the ISA seemed to have this lab hiding in plain sight. A lot of visible security might make the lab stick out and make people suspicious.
And invisible security?
Steve couldn't worry about that. He was already committed.
Slipping inside, he shut the door and turned the inner lock. Anyone who turned the outside doorknob would suspect nothing. He debated turning on the light, but decided against it. There were glass panes near the top of the walls through which the light would be visible from the corridor.
Slightly annoyed, Steve tried to let his eyes adjust and then began to move through the darkness. He had a vague sense of Carly's office being the back but had never actually looked for it before.
"Ouch!" he snapped, barely managing to keep his voice down. He had bashed his knee against the edge of a lab table. He heard the sound of something break and then something dripping. He raced as far from that table as he could, worried that whatever was now leaking might be poisonous. Then he regained his senses and chided himself for panicking.
"They won't keep anything that dangerous just sitting out," he said to himself. At least, I hope they wouldn't.
Deciding not to risk jarring anything else in the darkness, Steve pulled out his flashlight. He had hoped not to use it until he got to Carly's office, just in case the light carried through the windows. But he could probably keep the light low enough to avoid detection.
With the light, he was able to reach the hallway to the back of the lab and the researchers' offices. Dr. Bishop. Dr. Manning. There it was, on the left.
Steve examined the door carefully, looking for any sign of an alarm. He saw no wires or a keypad like Shane used on that secret room at his house, so Steve decided there probably was no alarm.
Once again, he went to work on the lock. This was a little tougher than the outer door, but the pins eventually gave way with a click. Once inside, Steve did not bother pulling the door closed and began to immediately sweep the room with the light.
The wall was lined with boxes. He walked over to one and unsealed it. Inside were dozens of vials. He lifted one and studied the label on the vial, which read: "Polyvalent Scorpion Antivenom." Scorpion venom? That's what that stuff was? Unfortunately, that told Steve nothing about Lawrence. Seeing that the rest of the boxes lining the wall were of identical size and bore the same markings, he figured those also held antivenom.
Turning around, Steve spotted Carly's desk. Without hesitating, he adjusted his gloves and began sorting through the papers on the desk. Invoices were useless. There were some notes about some testing - he knew that from the title "Series 3 Testing" - but they otherwise could have been written in Greek for all Steve could understand.
Finishing with the papers on the desk, he pulled open the center drawer in the desk.
Bingo.
He had no idea why the word popped into his head, but he knew the file folder had something important in it. Not only was it stamped with the words "Top Secret: Classified," but it held the only papers in the entire center drawer, as if someone wanted to make sure it was easy to locate.
Steve pulled out the file and opened it. The words "CLASSIFIED - TOP SECRET" were stamped across the top. Underneath it, he saw words that chilled him: "Salem Attack - Worst Case Scenario."
Taking a deep breath, he skimmed the document. It broke down possible attacks on places in Salem - the Salem Auditorium, the Salem University basketball arena, the local high school - with estimates of casualties based on various mortality rates, responsiveness of local officials to recognize the emergency, and antidote potency. The report had a footnote next to the "antidote potency," with a note on the bottom of the page that researchers did not know the exact toxin so were experimenting with known antivenoms.
The numbers of anticipated dead for some of the listed scenarios ran into the thousands.
"Alamain. . . ." Steve shook his head in disbelief as he read. Could anyone be that crazy? Would Alamain really kill thousands of people just to get revenge on Salem? "It's insane," he said aloud. "Just insane."
Insane and useless, Steve added silently. The report might talk about the possibilities, but it had no predictions about Alamain's specific targets or the timing. Knowing what Lawrence might be planning in theory was not a big help.
Steve stuffed the file back in the drawer and began rooting through the other drawers. Nothing jumped out at him. He next went to the file cabinet and began searching through the files there, but they generally contained studies and reports. Reviewing them, he kept seeing the same symptoms over-and-over. "Constricted breathing." "Convulsions." "Pain."
"No," he told himself. He took a couple of breaths, using the techniques Kim had taught him to ward off flashbacks. Silently, he told himself, You've been treated. Dr. Friedman cured you.
It worked. The flashback turned into something distant, like a harmless move where he was just an observer. Now able to continue, he read some more. "Ptosis." Steve had no idea what that was. "Muscle weakness." He knew how that felt, remembering how the strength had leached out of his body, leaving him helpless.
He was beginning to feel helpless - helpless and frustrated as he got to the bottom drawer in the filing cabinet. There was nothing on Alamain in there that Steve did not already know.
"Dammit," he snapped, then froze as he heard sounds outside the office. The door, he thought. Someone's unlocking the lab. Steve flicked off his flashlight just as he heard the sound of the door opening. An instant later, the light outside Carly's office snapped on.
Shit. Steve rushed to the door and peeked around the door-jam. He had stayed in the lab too long. A janitor had just entered. Steve checked his watch, raising his wrist so the light from the main lab made it possible to read that it was 10:38 - 20 minutes before the janitors were supposed to arrive.
Great. Just my luck that I picked the one night this guy started early.
Staying by the doorway, Steve pulled the door closed, but kept his hand on the knob. He waited until the janitor finished moving around in the main area. Steve wondered if the man had cleaned up whatever Steve had broken or if that was just something to be left for the lab researchers to notice. Steve hated leaving any sign behind that someone was in here, but maybe it would get chalked up to a clumsy janitor.
He continued to wait and held his breath as he heard footsteps approach the door. Closer. And closer. Then they stopped right outside. I can't let him find me, Steve told himself. If he had to, he would knock out the janitor and slip away.
Steve heard the sound of a door being unlocked. It was the other door - the one for Dr. Bishop's office across the hall. Carefully, Steve opened his door just a crack and saw the back of a powder-blue uniform.
Time for me to bail.
Moving swiftly, Steve snuck through the door and pulled it closed. He had no way to lock it and no time to worry about that, so he slipped silently down the hall and into the main area before the janitor came out of the other office. The light made it easy to reach the main entrance, where the door was already open. With a quick glance in both directions, Steve made sure that nobody else was in the hallway. Then, he slipped out of the lab and sprinted for the closest hospital exit.
As he ran, he felt a whir of emotions. Exhilaration at having accomplished his mission mixed with disappointment that he had not learned much to help his search for Alamain. But he promised himself that he would find away. His search through Carly's office gave him a general idea of what Lawrence might be up to and he had an idea of how the ISA intended to react to an attack. That was all well and good, Steve thought, but that was just reacting to Alamain. Steve would not settle for reacting.
I'm going to stop you, Alamain. You got that? I'm going to stop you.