Chapter 35

The four of them were marched through the big underground hangar by the six armed guards. Baker walked up front with the guards' leader.

He's never been here before, either, Stoner observed. Looking around, he saw that their plane was one of more than a

dozen scattered around the vast cavern. A crew of technicians was working on one of the planes, off in the distance, a huge four-engine jumbo jet. Scaffolding ran half its length, and Stoner could see the flickering blue sparks from a welding torch scattering like shooting stars. The cavem was so big that sound seemed to be swallowed up. There were no echoes of the men working off in the distance. Stoner could hear the clicking footsteps of the guards' boots on the stone floor and the softer footfalls of his own soft-soled shoes.

It was cold inside this mammoth cave. He felt no movement of air, which meant that there must be giant doors sealing off the airstrip from this underground hangar. Still, the icy chill of the snow-covered mountains seemed to seep into his bones.

They came to an elevator set into the rock wall, a big open platform for carrying freight. It bore them down even deeper into the mountain. Stoner counted four levels before they came to a stop. The leader of the guards stepped off and gestured them down the long corridor that lay before them.

"Right this way, ladies and gentlemen," Baker said with malicious gaiety. They followed him, with the other five guards trudging silently behind them.

At least it's warmer down here, thought Stoner. The corridor was wide enough for three or four people to walk abreast and too high for him to reach the ceiling with his outstretched fingers. Bare pipes ran along the ceiling, with fluorescent tubes every few feet to provide an eerie bluish light that made the skin of his hands look sickly gray.

They came to an intersection of corridors and stopped.

The guard leader said in halting English, "Men this way"--he jabbed a thumb to his left--"women this way." And he gestured to his right.

"Separate facilities," Baker said. "I'll stick with the ladies and make sure they're comfortable."

Jo shot a frightened glance at Stoner, but he tried to reassure her. "I'll see you in a little while," he said.

Baker's sardonic little smile curled his lips. "Don't bank on it, friend."

Stoner looked into his eyes. "I can see what you've gone through. Don't let it twist your judgment. You're just as much a prisoner here as we are."

The crooked smile melted away. His lips tightened. For a

long moment Baker stood immobile, staring back at Stoner. Finally, with a visible effort, he jerked his head away and turned toward An Linh. "Come on, love, I'll show you to your quarters."

Stoner nodded to Jo, and she went with An Linh and Baker. And two of the armed guards.

Stoner and Markov tramped down the other corridor until the guards opened a pair of doors, side by side.

"We will be neighbors," said Markov. "Just like the Siberian salt mines."

Stoner grinned at him. "I hope the food's better."

"I think we will see a lot of rice while we're here. And yak meat."

The guard leader pointed emphatically toward the open doorway. With a shrug and a final look at Stoner, Markov stepped in. Before the leader could swing the door shut, Stoner walked into his own cell.

It was dim inside, with no light except that coming from the corridor. Stoner felt along the wall next to the door and found a switch. He flicked it, and a single small lamp turned on.

Turning, he said to the guard who was closing his door, "Thanks for showing us to our accommodations."

The young man looked shocked that Stoner spoke his language. But before he could say anything the door swung shut. For an instant Stoner heard nothing. Then the lock clicked.

It was a Spartan little room, but far from a jail cell. The bunk looked comfortable enough, though a little short for Stoner's lanky frame. There was a sink and a chest of drawers and a wooden chair. On his left, as he stood by the locked door, was a curtained alcove. Stoner could reach the drape without moving from the spot where he was standing. As he suspected, a toilet. Everything seemed clean. And reasonably warm.

I've seen college dorms worse than this, he reflected.

But how to get out? He tried the door, and it was indeed locked. And quite solid. No one posted outside that he could talk to; or if there was, no way to talk through the heavy door.

Kirill's just next door. Maybe in ten years or so I could chisel through the wall, like Edmond Dantes in The Count of

Monte Cristo. He sat on the bunk to think things over. No ideas came to him. No possibilities of escape presented themselves. He was solidly locked into a cell deep underground in the middle of the Altai mountains of high Asia. Moscow lay thousands of miles to the west, Beijing almost an equal distance east.

Stoner leaned back against the stone wall and laughed. Talk about being in the middle of nowhere!

Well, he told himself, if they want something from me, they're going to have to come to me. Then I'll have a chance to do something. Until then, there's nothing I can do except wait.

Then he remembered Baker, and the thought made him sit up straight. The way he looked at Jo. Hatred there. He's been through hell, and he wants to get back at Nillson through Jo.

There's no time to wait, he realized. I've got to protect Jo. But how?

He went back to the door, spread both hands against it, then slid down to his knees. He could feel the metal of the lock against his fingers.

Why this urge to protect the woman? a voice inside his head asked. Instinct, he replied silently. The male instinctively reacts protectively. Built into us. Women bear the children, propagate the species. Men protect women and children. Otherwise the species dies out.

But why this particular woman? Surely the human species will not be endangered if this one is harmed. Do you act on principle or because this one human female is important to you as an individual?

Stoner grimaced, pressing his fingertips against the metal of the lock. She is important to me as an individual. I owe her my life. I can't stand by and allow someone to hurt her, not if I can do anything to prevent it.

The metal of the lock was almost entirely steel, compounds of iron with strong natural magnetic fields. Closing his eyes, Stoner could imagine the whorls and loops of the magnetic field lines, overlapping, intertwining, tiny glimmers of electromagnetic energy emanating from the iron atoms in the steel. He felt sweat trickling down his face, but with his eyes squeezed shut he could picture the magnetic field lines. He could see them. He could feel them.

Concentrating every atom of his being, he focused all his

energy on those magnetic fields. He moved the upraised index finger of his right hand a bare centimeter. It slid across the metal of the lock on a film of perspiration.

The lock clicked.

He slumped to the floor, as soaked and exhausted as a man who has run twenty miles. For long minutes he lay there panting, his only movement the ragged heaving of his chest. His eyesight was blurred, his thoughts a spinning whirl of confusion.

That's why they want you, the voice within him was whispering. They know you better than you know yourself. The tests they put you through at the laboratory. The sessions with Richards. They know that there is knowledge locked within your brain that you yourself are barely aware of. Talents. Abilities. And they intend to get it out of you, so that they can use it for themselves.

An Linh watched Baker carefully as she and Jo were marched down the long corridor. The walls were featureless stone, except for occasional doors set into them. The place looked like a prison to her.

Cliff has changed, she thought. His face looks different, hard. There are no scars showing, but it's almost as if his face had been disfigured. He's ugly now. Brutal and ugly.

They tramped along the corridor in silence, the guard leader up front, Baker striding at An Linn's side, Jo hanging back slightly. Two more guards brought up the rear.

"You're going to love it here, pet," Baker suddenly said. "This is the hub of the bloody universe. They've got everything here: old missile silos, workshops, mess halls, barracks for troops, officers' quarters, cells for prisoners, even a couple of nicely equipped interrogation rooms. They're for your friend with the beard--and for this lady captain of industry we've got with us."

Torture, An Linh knew. He expects to torture Keith. And he's looking forward to torturing Mrs. Nillson.

She kept her voice calm and even. "Cliff, what happened to you? I thought--"

"You don't want to know what happened, love. Don't even ask."

"I thought they had killed you."

"No," he muttered. "That would have been too easy."

The leader of the guards halted their little procession. Two blank doors, side by side. He touched the keypads on their locks, and both doors popped slightly ajar.

Baker swung the nearest wide open and made a mocking little bow. "Special quarters for the president of Vanguard Industries."

Jo stared hard at him, then made a tense smile. "I presume you'll send my luggage?"

"Oh, don't make any presumptions at all, Mrs. Nillson. You're not going to need much in the way of clothes, not with what I've got in store for you."

Jo lifted her chin a notch and stepped into the room. Before Baker could shut the door, she herself grabbed at it and slammed it closed. Baker grinned as the guard tapped one of the buttons and the lock clicked shut.

"And this is your chamber, my dear," said Baker, gesturing to the next door. "Actually, these were officers' quarters when the Chink army used this base."

An Linh asked, "The Chinese army? Then how did you get. . ."

Laughing, Baker told her, "The World Liberation Movement has friends in high places, as well as low."

He pulled the door open and reached inside to turn on the light. An Linh saw a Spartan little cell with a bunk, a chest, a sink. The floor was bare rock. No window.

Her thoughts churning, she turned to Baker. "Cliff, I don't want to be alone. Could you . . . stay with me? For a little while, at least?"

Baker actually licked his lips. He turned to the guard and said loudly, "You go now. I stay with her."

How very English he can be, despite his Australian mistrust of Britain, thought An Linh. How instinctively he lapses into the old theory that if you merely speak English slowly and loudly, a foreigner will understand you.

But the guard eyed An Linh like a man shopping in a whorehouse, then gave Baker a knowing grin. He spoke a single word to his two compatriots, and the three of them headed off down the corridor.

Baker ushered An Linh into the cell, then closed the door. She turned and immediately slid her arms around his neck. He held her tightly and kissed her fiercely. An Linh opened her mouth and let his tongue probe into her.

After several moments, Baker whispered huskily, "What's the matter, pet, didn't the space man treat you right?"

"He never even touched me," she replied. "He isn't interested in such things."

"Really?"

"Even if he were, I would save myself for you, Cliff."

He gave out a low chuckle. In days long gone, An Linh would have interpreted his laugh as pleasure at her words. Now she was not sure. There was an edge of sarcasm to it, an undertone of bitterness. He could be telling her that he didn't believe a word she was saying.

But he moved her swiftly to the bunk and unzippered her coveralls. An Linh responded to him eagerly, knowing that every moment he spent with her was a moment he would not be tormenting Keith.

Stoner took a deep breath and hauled himself slowly to his feet. Cautiously, he pushed his cell door open a crack. No one in the corridor. He stepped outside, then closed the door again, gently.

He looked down at the buttons on the lock of Markov's door. After an instant's hesitation, he tapped out a four-digit code. The lock snapped open.

Smiling inwardly, Stoner thought, It's much easier doing it that way than using mental energy to move the magnetic fields. That must be why human beings developed speech and tools instead of mental telepathy and telekinesis: speech and tools take far less energy. Faith really can move mountains, but it's a helluva lot easier to use bulldozers.

He swung the door open and found Markov sitting on the edge of his bunk, eyes wide with apprehension, both hands gripping the bunk's thin mattress, his body shrinking away from the door.

"It's all right, Kirill," he said softly, stepping into Markov's cell. "It's only me."

"Keith! How did you get out of your own cell?"

"I picked the lock," he answered half-truthfully. "Come on, let's find the others."

Markov stayed on the bunk. "Do you think that's wise? Won't it make them angry to have us wandering around the corridors?"

Stoner looked at his old friend sadly. Already Kirill is

thinking like a prisoner: Don't break the rules, don't call attention to yourself, don't do anything to make them angry at you.

"Kir," he said, "they didn't ask us to come here. Why should we stay if we don't have to?"

Markov got to his feet slowly, shakily. "How can we escape? We're a million kilometers from anywhere."

With a laugh, Stoner said, "Maybe we can commandeer one of their planes. You can fly a jumbo jet, can't you?"

Markov smiled back weakly. "Oh, yes, certainly. And I can crash one even more easily."

"Great. Come on, Kirill. Let's find Jo and An Linn."

They walked along the corridor side by side. No one else in sight. Stoner told himself, There aren't all that many people here. The World Liberation Movement may have taken over this base, but they certainly haven't staffed it very fully.

They came to the intersection, and Stoner turned down the corridor to the left.

"You're sure that this is the right way?" Markov asked.

"Certain."

After passing several unmarked doors, Markov wondered, "How will we know which one--"

"That one," Stoner said, pointing to the next door on their right. "Jo's in that one."

"How do you know? ..."

"Trust me."

Stoner looked at the digital lock for a moment, then tapped out four numbers. The door sprung slightly open.

Jo was standing between the bunk and the sink, her face set determinedly, her back rigid, arms at her sides, hands balled into fists, her jaw stubbornly clenched. Then she realized who had opened the door, and the tension sagged out of her.

"Keith!"

"Don't get your hopes up," he said as he and Markov entered the little room. "We're just visiting."

"But I thought they had locked you ... I mean, I tried that door. . . ."

"I have a way with locks, it turns out."

She dropped down onto the bunk. Markov sat next to her, looking worried.

"Baker is vicious," Jo said. "He's looking forward to hurting you. And me."

"He won't get that chance," replied Stoner.

Markov shook his head. "Do you think you are just going to walk out of here, leading the rest of us like the Pied Piper?"

Stoner grinned. "Leading the children out of the mountain instead of into it? Yes, that would be a new twist on the old story, wouldn't it?"

"You laugh," Markov marveled. "Doesn't this frighten you? Have you no fear in you?"

No fear, Stoner thought. No anger. No love or hate or joy. They've all been buried in ice. All submerged, frozen in an ocean as deep and cold as interstellar space.

Aloud, he answered, "Fear has two components to it, Kirill. There's the intellectual awareness of something that might harm you. And there's the emotional, glandular reaction to that perception. I'm fully aware of the danger we're in. But it won't do us any good to let our glands dominate our brains, will it?"

Markov stared at him. "Cool as ice. You must have little glaciers running through your veins in place of blood."

How close you are to the truth, my old friend, Stoner replied silently.

The door slammed open suddenly, and Baker stood there, mouth agape.

"How in the hell . . . ?"

An Linh appeared behind him, her eyes wide, too.

"Don't look so surprised," Stoner said as pleasantly as if the man had just dropped by for a cocktail. "You brought me here to learn about things I can do. Well, it turns out that I'm pretty good at handling locks."

Baker's eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. "You're in a jovial mood, are you?"

"Come on in, don't stand out in the hall," Stoner invited. "Join the party."

Baker took An Linh by the arm, and they both entered the little room. Now it felt crowded, and Stoner could feel the heat of their bodies, make out their different scents.

"You must think you're pretty clever," Baker said.

Stoner shrugged. "And you must think that I've got some tremendous secrets locked up in my brain, and if you can get

me to tell what they are, your World Liberation Movement will be able to topple all the governments and take over control of the whole Earth."

"Something like that."

"Fine," said Stoner, "I'll tell you everything I know. Happily. It won't help you much, but I'll hide nothing from you."

"Really?"

"Providing you let my friends go."

Baker smiled crookedly. "So that's it. Let them go, and you'll sing sweetly for us."

"That's it."

"And if we don't?"

"I won't sing at all," answered Stoner.

"Then we'll have to persuade you, won't we?"

"Do you think you can?"

Baker turned his gaze toward Jo, still sitting on the bunk. "Oh, I think maybe she can. Properly encouraged, of course."

Stoner looked deep into Baker's eyes and saw the cynicism, the anger and hurt that went far back into his childhood. Very early in his life, Cliff Baker had learned that he could not trust people, especially people who held authority over him. As a youngster he had feared his father and known that his mother would never protect him against her husband. The university instructor who had recruited him for the World Liberation Movement had played on that distrust, Stoner knew. He could envision the moment. The instructor, as youthful and cynical as Baker himself, turning the student's angry bitterness at his parents into an angry bitterness against Them: the invisible, ubiquitous, all-powerful Them; the enemy, the university administration and big corporations and national governments and banks and politicians and corporate executives and anyone and everyone who held more power, flaunted more wealth, stood one step higher in society than he did himself.

Stoner smiled back at him sadly. "Cliff, I know who you want to hurt, and it's none of us."

"You'll do for starters," Baker snapped.

"No, Cliff. You don't want to hurt us. You don't want to hurt anyone but yourself."

"You think so?" Baker said uncertainly.

Stoner noticed the rhythm of his breathing had increased

ever so slightly. Baker's mouth seemed suddenly dry.. He swallowed hard. Picturing the living heart pumping beneath Baker's ribs, Stoner watched it skip a beat.

"I know it's true," he said. "You want to die. I can see it in your mind. And you will die, unless you turn away from the violence you're planning."

Unconsciously rubbing a hand across his shirt, Baker growled, "Stop trying to hypnotize me. It won't work."

Stoner went on, "Cliff, you want to know what's stored up in my head. I don't know the full extent of it myself. AH I can tell you is that whatever's there seems to come to the surface of my consciousness when I need it. It's as if the alien is inside my skull, like another person, and when I need his help he gives it to me."

Baker said nothing.

"So don't push me to the point where I need to show you your own inner self. That would kill you, Cliff. You'd kill yourself, willingly."