Steve took another look just before he left the room. Shane was still seated, his back against the plexiglass wall, both hands on the gun, which was resting on his knee. About 10 feet away, Lawrence remained on his side. He had not moved or said a word since Steve had revealed how he had built up an immunity to the toxin.
Lawrence isn't going anywhere, Steve told himself. Shane has him.
But Steve felt strangely uneasy as he started down the corridor. Stop it. Shane has it under control. You need to keep your head in the game. There's still Ivan Marais to take care of. Steve forced himself to focus on the hallway. He thought back to how he had entered. It had probably been less than an hour ago, but it seemed like forever since he had been escorted at gunpoint into Lawrence's hideout.
Focus.
This was no time to get lost in the underground bunker. There was a school full of little kids out there who needed Steve to escape. He took a deep breath and studied the corridor.
This way.
Cautiously, he made his way down the hall toward the room at the far end. That had to be the surveillance room he had come through from the outside. If Steve was right, the man who had reported on the Spectator attack had returned there to monitor the video fees from the refinery.
As much as he wanted to rush, he knew he had to be careful. He tried to figure out how much time has passed. Lawrence had said the toxin would be released in an hour, and that had probably been about 10 to 15 minutes earlier. That meant Steve still had time, and it was worth a few minutes to ensure he got out of the building without being captured.
Steve crept slowly to the room, keeping close to the walls so he could not be seen by anyone inside the room. His suspicion proved correct when he saw the man sitting at the control center. Steve started forward, but froze when he heard voices. The technician was talking with someone over a radio. Ducking out of sight, Steve listened, grimacing when he realized the voice on the other end was Ivan Marais.
Dammit. That was not something he had considered. If Marais was in contact with the refinery, any sign that something was wrong might cause him to release the toxin before the one-hour deadline. Steve couldn't take out the technician while he was talking with Marais.
And what if the technician realized Steve and Shane had stopped Lawrence? All he had to do is radio the information to Marais. Steve looked around the room at the different video screens, trying to see what they were showing from the interior of the bunker. To his surprise, he did not see anything. At first that made no sense; he knew there were cameras in the other room. Lawrence had made a big deal out of showing the video to his "buyers."
But then the answer came to him. Lawrence Alamain had no reason for cameras inside his hideout to be monitored, because he was the type of arrogant SOB who would refuse to believe he would need them for security. Sure there was a camera in the other room, but its sole purpose was to record Lawrence's big speech and Shane's death. Steve felt pretty certain that the camera was not hooked up to the video network; it probably just had a videotape inside.
Chuckling at Lawrence's arrogant stupidity, Steve refocused on the technician. He was still talking to Marais. Damn, Steve thought. He remained in his hiding place as time seemed to move agonizingly slowly while the two men continued to chat.
Finally, Steve decided he could wait no longer. The clock was ticking and he had to act.
He crept silently toward the technician, who was so focused on whatever Marais was saying that he did not notice Steve approach. Over the man's shoulder, Steve caught sight of the controls and breathed a slight sigh of relief. When the technician spoke, he pushed a button to open his end of the channel. So as long as Marais was talking, he couldn't hear what was happening on the other end.
Gotcha.
Steve jumped forward, his gun raised. Before the technician could react, the barrel of the gun was against his temple and Steve was jerking him away from the radio controls.
"Gonna sound the alarm?" Steve asked. "Not today, dude."
The man's eyes were wide. "How-"
"How did I get away from your boss?" With a chuckle, Steve grinned. "Not telling. You're just gonna have to be disappointed on that one. Now hands up." After the technician complied, Steve heard Marais' voice from the other end of the radio. He sounded concerned.
"Hans?" Marais asked.
Steve pressed the gun to the technician's head. "Tell him you were distracted." He thought quickly. "Then tell him Alamain needs help moving the bodies and you have to go."
The technician swallowed as Marais called his name again. The man was sweating profusely.
"I can shoot you right now," Steve said.
That got the technician moving. He reached for the radio and pushed the button to open the channel. "Sorry, sir," he said. "Master Alamain needs my assistance. . . ." He hesitated, but Steve prodded him with the gun. "Um . . . to move . . . uh . . . bodies."
Steve reached over and switched the channel closed. "Very good, dude." On the other end, Marais seemed to agree.
"This is a proud day for Alamainia, Hans. Go do your duty," Marais ordered. "Tell the Master that I await his command or I will act on his deadline - which is in . . . 25 minutes."
As the radio fell silent, Steve let out a breath of relief before he told the technician, "Very good, Hans."
The man looked down at the radio and Steve could detect some indecision.
"Don't even think about it," Steve warned. "Not unless you want your blood to be decorating this nice console." The man stiffened, telling Steve he was not going to try to activate the radio, but Steve was not going to take any chances. He pulled the technician away from the radio. "Sorry you won't be doing your duty today. But it's okay. Ol' Larry's not going to be docking your pay for this. But then again, he won't be making payroll this month." Steve motioned toward the stairs. "Now why don't you push whatever button you have to push to open up the trap door and then we can go take a ride?"
The man swallowed tightly.
"Now!" Steve ordered. He tightened his finger on the trigger. "I've had one hell of a day already and if I have to shoot you and start pushing every button on your console, I'll do it."
That worked. The technician reached down and pushed a button. Above them, a motor started to whirr and the ceiling began to slide away. "Now come with me," Steve told the technician. "I'm sure the Salem PD will have a lot of questions for you about exactly what you've been up to down here." He pressed the barrel of the gun into the man's back and put a hand on his shoulder.
The man hesitated at the stairs, but Steve prodded him forward. "Go!" he ordered. During the climb, Steve tried to figure out his next steps. He would have to convince the cops that there was another target, that the Spectator really was just a decoy. Would they believe him? Or would it be a repeat of the day before? And he needed a car. Shane's car was shot from being driven off the pier and over icy refinery grounds. Steve had lost track of time. How much time had he lost while the technician talked to Ivan Marais? Steve had no idea.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Steve impatiently shoved the other man toward the door and forced it open. Dragging the technician with him, Steve stepped into the cold and the light.
The refinery site was quiet. Steve looked toward the entrance, but saw no sign of the police that had been there earlier. That was a problem. He looked over at Shane's car, its flat tires and misshapen wheels confirming his fear.
Its better than nothing, he told himself, as he pushed the technician forward.
Then he remembered Shane's car had a phone. Of course, he could call the police. At this point, after the Spectator attack, someone would have to believe him. As they reached the car, Steve felt some hope.
That hope was quickly dashed when he opened the door. Where the phone had been installed, all that remained were a bunch of loose wires sticking out of the console. The same was true of the ignition and gear shift. Someone had ripped them free.
Even if the wheels could still work, the car was going nowhere.
Steve felt helpless. He looked at his prisoner, at the ruined car, and then at the empty refinery site.
Time was running out. There was a school full of kids and only Steve knew they were in danger.
And Steve had no idea how he was going to save them.