Arrow a generation of.., p.23
Arrow - A Generation of Vipers, page 23
That couldn’t happen.
The branch to the left was dark. The one to the right dropped as it traveled out, but some light filtered up.
Green Arrow signaled down that corridor. “I’m on point. Then the Flash. Cisco, watch our backs.”
“Me?” Cisco gaped and held up the tablet. “With this?”
Green Arrow led them down the shadowy hallway.
34
Felicity tried not to check the time on her phone again. But she did it anyway. Oliver would be leading the team in search of the server by now. She tapped her foot. Despite the noise all around her, the silence from the team frightened her. All her electronics were taken at the door except for her phone and it had a limited feed. She longed for mission chatter running through her head. She needed to hear Oliver and John and the others to be sure they were okay.
She tried to distract herself by scanning the room, marking various players who milled about. The crowd was smaller than the other night when Wallenstein demonstrated the generator. Only the team leaders were allowed in the auction. No advisors. No technicians. No muscle.
Felicity was facing off with top generals, spies, terrorists, and criminals from around the world. General Pyeng and Alistratov tried to look stoic. Simon Fowler and Colonel Kolingba conferred in whispers. Felicity let out a nervous breath. Fortunately, Lyla would be here to help her.
Unfortunately, Lyla wasn’t here yet. Felicity’s foot tapped faster.
The wormhole generator rested in its usual spot at the front of the chamber. A single spotlight illuminated it dramatically from above. Ten body-armored guards stood around it with assault rifles strapped over their shoulders. A small desk was off to the side with a notebook computer on top.
Felicity checked her phone again, then dropped it to her lap with an annoyed huff. Stop it, she chided herself. Act like a global mover-and-shaker. Not the girl from the IT department.
“Felicity Smoak!” Malcolm Merlyn appeared next to her with a self-satisfied grin.
She jumped in surprise, although she should be used to him showing up out of nowhere by now. His suit was immaculate, as always. She rolled her eyes and looked away.
“How’s the budget?” He leaned close. “Are you checking your bank account?” He nodded toward her phone.
“No, I was texting my people back home to clear a spot in my office for my new wormhole generator.”
“Droll.” Malcolm sat in the chair next to her. “It’s heartening to see you can keep up the old Team Arrow spirit. Misguided though it may be.”
“I was saving that seat.”
“Really?” Malcolm made a show of glancing back toward the main door. “We’re going into lockdown in a few minutes. How about I just wait here? You’ll need a partner.”
Felicity turned. Two of Wallenstein’s guards flanked the double doors with their hands on the huge brass handles.
“What did you do to Lyla?” Felicity shot Malcolm an angry glare. She flashed on the memory of Cisco’s vibe. The horror of Malcolm acquiring the generator.
“Do? Me? I resent the implication. Felicity, we’re practically family. All these people are strangers. We should really be working together.”
“Oh shut up.” She turned back to the door, craning her neck, praying for Lyla to appear.
One of the guards glanced at the antique clock mounted high over the generator. He tilted his head as if listening to something in his ear, then he nodded to his partner. The two men began to pull the massive doors closed.
Felicity rose in alarm.
Just before the two oaken slabs touched, an arm jutted between them accompanied by a shout. One guard manhandled his door to a halt and pushed it open.
Lyla slipped inside the room.
Felicity sank back into her chair with a relieved sigh. Malcolm gave a little grunt of surprise. Lyla held out her auction card for the guards to scan. She caught sight of Felicity and weaved through the crowd. Some of the gathered grandees nodded to her. Others stared quietly. Lyla reached Felicity, but her eyes pinned Malcolm.
“You’ll have to do better,” Lyla said to him with a bland professional tone.
Malcolm shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Let’s just say you have an opening for a new assassin.” She grinned savagely.
Malcolm nodded slow acceptance. With a wan purse of his lips, he stood and gallantly offered his seat to Lyla.
“I’m impressed you made it,” he said.
“Malcolm.” Felicity looked up with a smug smile. “You really need to work on your consistency. Either be a good guy or a bad guy. You’re confusing.”
“Thank you for that advice.” Malcolm laughed, but his eyes were cold and unwavering. “Good luck with the auction.” He gave a half bow and drifted into the crowd.
They watched him until he moved behind another man and didn’t appear on the other side. Felicity shook her head at Malcolm’s incredible ability to slip in and out of anyone’s life he chose. Then she gripped Lyla’s arm.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “Did one of Malcolm’s goons attack you?”
“Just one.” Lyla waved her hand dismissively. “He won’t make that mistake again.”
“No, he probably won’t,” Felicity agreed without humor. “Are you injured?”
“No.” Lyla scoured the room, sizing up the competition. “Merlyn’s guy was good, but not great. I don’t appreciate him trying to cut me out of the game though. How have you guys not taken him out by now?”
“It’s complicated.” Felicity took a deep breath as the lights in the chamber flickered like a theater signaling the end of intermission. She whispered, “Mainly because Oliver doesn’t take people out anymore.”
“Too bad.” Lyla kept track of the suits and uniforms drifting toward their seats. “You’ll regret not eliminating Merlyn.”
“We already do. Every day. But it’s not that easy. He’s a master assassin with an army of ninja-type guys. He’s also Thea’s father.”
“It is complicated, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s sort of Dynasty with hoods and arrows.”
“You need to watch more recent TV.” Lyla laughed. “Sounds more Game of Thrones.”
The lights went out except for the theatrical spot centered on the generator. Cursing and the sounds of shins banging off furniture filled the room as the bidders finished bumbling to their seats. Frantic whispers drifted through the dark with last-minute negotiations.
Felicity checked her phone. Now there was no signal. Wallenstein had shut it down. Those surrounding her now found the same thing, followed by complaints and more cursing.
Bernhardt, Wallenstein’s assistant, stepped out on stage and sat at the desk. He opened the laptop and tapped out a few phrases on the keyboard. Sitting back, he waited.
Count Wallenstein emerged from the dark and moved in front of the generator. Someone in the shadowy audience started to applaud before realizing it wasn’t appropriate. Wallenstein smiled and nodded to people in the front.
“Welcome,” Wallenstein announced. “Everyone check in, please.”
Felicity held up her auction card. She pressed her thumb against the square in the center. Every participant did the same.
Bernhardt watched his computer screen. Finally, he nodded to the count.
“Good evening, everyone,” he said. “I’m glad you all made it. After last night’s festivities around the castle, I applaud your persistence… if not your aim.”
Nervous laughter crept through the crowd.
Felicity scowled. There were people dead from the fighting, but it was just a clever joke to these people. None of them cared about any of their soldiers who may have been killed, except that they represented lost assets.
It reminded her again that while Oliver existed in this world, he was not a part of it.
“We all know the object of your desires.” Wallenstein extended his arm toward the generator. “And there is no need for more delay. Shall we begin the bidding at twenty-five million American dollars?”
An overhead light clicked on and shined down onto General Pyeng. Felicity noticed spotlights fixed on the ceiling above every chair.
“Thank you, General, for the opening bid,” Wallenstein said. “Fifty million?”
Now General Pyeng went dark and Simon Fowler, the Englishman, lit up. The bidding continued quickly with the lights flicking on and off over members of the crowd with a strobe effect. The bidders sat with little movement and no discussion.
Seventy-five million.
One hundred.
Felicity pushed her thumb onto the biometric square on her card and found herself bathed in light. She nearly laughed with excitement. A diode readout on her card showed $125M in green as her bid and $150M in red as the next level. Felicity couldn’t believe she could even offer to pay one hundred and twenty-five million dollars for a single object. Then she was in the dark again, already outbid. Felicity slumped, dejected by the end of her brief time in the lead.
Activity began to ripple through the room. Whispers. Consultations. People turned from one side to another. Some rose from their seats and sought out partners.
Fowler lit up again at the same time as Kolingba. The first alliance revealed.
Conversations grew even more animated as the bid reached two hundred million. Three hundred. Four.
Lyla bid five hundred million.
Her light was extinguished by the duo of General Pyeng and Alistratov. At the same time, the Russian glanced off into the darkness. Malcolm’s spectral figure lurked on the edge of the crowd. The assassin nodded with a faint smile. Alistratov consulted his card. One light switched off Pyeng, but stayed on Alistratov at the new price of one billion dollars.
Alistratov’s light shifted to a blue tint.
Wallenstein regarded Bernhardt. He looked up from the computer and shook his head. The blue light went dark.
“What the hell!” Alistratov shouted from the dark and bolted to his feet. “What is this, Wallenstein?”
The count held up his hand. “You don’t have the funds for your bid, sir. You are excused.”
“Merlyn is with me!” Alistratov spun around. “Merlyn, where are you?”
There was no answer. Heads swiveled, searching for Malcolm. The Russian raised his arms in desperation. Then he pointed at General Pyeng.
“Come, I will join you again.”
Pyeng glanced quickly at another man before raising innocent eyebrows. “I think not.”
“But we were just allied!” Alistratov clenched a fist in the general’s face.
“Get your money from Merlyn, you traitorous idiot! He played you out.” General Pyeng batted Alistratov’s hand away and followed it with a mistimed blow to his former partner’s jaw.
Alistratov grabbed the general by the lapels. The grappling men pushed into Felicity, who shoved against Lyla to get out of the way. Others cleared space around the two. The men jostled and grunted, exchanging angry accusations like spurned lovers.
In the dark, a patch of air glittered next to Felicity. Ghasi stood a few inches from her. He snatched Alistratov by the arm and yanked him free of the general. When Alistratov whirled angrily, Ghasi shifted his grip to the wrist and with a simple twist brought the Russian to his knees screaming.
Ghasi looked toward Count Wallenstein while holding the crying man.
“Show Mr. Alistratov out, please.” Wallenstein hadn’t moved an inch.
General Pyeng arranged his jumbled medals. He glared at the Russian and looked for his seat.
“General,” Wallenstein said, “you are also excused.”
“Me? I did nothing. I was attacked.”
The count didn’t reply; he merely stared. Ghasi crooked a finger at General Pyeng.
“No!” the general argued. “This isn’t fair. I was attacked!”
“Sir.” Ghasi’s voice was steady and quiet. “Follow me.”
The general spun to his fellow bidders, appealing to their good graces. “Gentlemen, are you comfortable with this?” No one made eye contact. He looked directly at Felicity. “Won’t you speak up? You seem to be a fair-minded person.”
“Sorry.” Felicity smiled uncomfortably. “You did throw the first punch.”
“I wish my man had killed you.” General Pyeng glared at her.
“That was you?” Felicity surged to her feet, but Lyla grabbed her.
The general sniffed at her and retrieved his cap from the floor. He placed it carefully on his head. With a stiff back, he followed Ghasi, who was leading the moaning Alistratov by the wrist. Felicity tried to kick the old soldier as he passed, but Lyla shoved her back down.
“Stop it!” Lyla hissed.
“He tried to kill me!”
“You should be used to that by now. Relax or Wallenstein will boot you out.”
When the doors boomed shut on General Pyeng and Alistratov, Wallenstein said, “I apologize for that interruption. Shall we continue? Our last legitimate bid was—”
“Seven fifty,” Bernhardt replied, “to A.R.G.U.S.”
The light bathed Lyla again, but quickly slipped off to another bidder. The auction proceeded with the light flicking from one person to another. As the price again topped one billion dollars, several bidders sat back in surrender, legs crossed, out of the running. Clearly Wallenstein had brought in many of them as fodder, merely to raise the price so the big money players would have to wield their financial power at full strength.
Billion one. Billion two.
More bidders tried to work their way into alliances. A few additional members were dismissed by Wallenstein for overextending their resources.
Billion three.
Lyla pressed her card and nudged Felicity. With a terrible sickness in her stomach, Felicity added her account to Lyla’s bid. She stared at Bernhardt at the laptop, fearing the shake of his head and the air tingeing blue with rejection.
But the light stayed white.
Wallenstein observed the now mostly idle crowd of bidders. Heads swiveled as the seconds ticked off the antique clock looking for the next bid, if any.
Felicity sat on the edge of her seat. This was it. There were no counter-bids. They were going to win.
She found herself in sudden heart-wrenching darkness. She and Lyla spun around to see two men illuminated. A numbing cold seeped into Felicity.
Simon Fowler and Malcolm Merlyn.
Malcolm gave a pleasant tilt of his head.
All she could see was Oliver draped dead over the generator.
35
Green Arrow slid along the outer wall of the corridor while the Flash trailed on the inner. After a semicircle, the hallway opened into a room, large and poorly lit. The air hung thick and hot.
Blinking lights and bundles of cables nested amid the dark stone columns of the former dungeon. Old-fashioned torture racks had been replaced by metal shelves crowded with computer equipment stretching from wall to wall and reaching to the arched ceiling. The chamber vibrated from the machinery.
“Bingo!” Cisco edged past the Flash and Green Arrow, drawn by the siren call of the humming server array. He put a hand on his head and cooed, “Oh man, look at this setup! Somebody engineered the crap out of this thing! I don’t know if S.T.A.R. Labs has this much power in such a small space.”
Green Arrow reached into a pocket in his tunic and pulled out several objects. They were simple SD cards.
“Here. Find slots and load it up.” He handed the devices out.
Everyone spread out across the bank of computers and searched for access. Quickly the proper slots were found and the cards went in. In just a few seconds all the drives lit green. They pulled the devices out. Green Arrow checked the time.
“That was pretty easy.” Cisco tossed the SD card up and down in his hand.
“Help me,” came a strained whisper from behind the server bank.
Green Arrow dropped to one knee with an arrow ready. The Flash reacted instinctively and rushed Cisco behind a stone column.
Beyond the humming wall of processors and routers, the floor dropped two steps before reaching the far wall. Three wide doors of steel with barred windows were set in that wall. Eyes peered out of the shadows behind the bars of the center door.
“Help me!” the figure inside the cell moaned. “Get me out of here. Hurry before they come.”
“Who are you?” Green Arrow signaled the Flash to stay put. The archer rose slowly with bow drawn toward the voice.
“I’m a prisoner. Please help me.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Years.” The shadowy face dropped and sobbing started. Fingers clutched the bars. His hands were gnarled and misshapen, black as if burned and badly healed. “Please God help me.”
“Can you walk?”
“Yes!” Terrified eyes rose and fingers tightened on the bars. “I can walk! Hurry or they will come. Surely they know you’re here. He may come. He may be here now. He likes to stand here invisible and enjoy my tears.”
Ghasi.
Green Arrow slipped around one of the time-darkened columns. With one foot on the bottom step, he asked, “What’s your name?”
Teeth bared, the reply came back. “Why do you care about my name? Free me now if you have a soul!”
“What’s your name?” Green Arrow repeated. He wanted to hear a simple answer to a simple question.
“Evgeni Valov. I’m Bulgarian. Do you want my home address in Sofia? Why do you care?”
“Why are you locked up here?” Green Arrow asked quietly. Something didn’t feel right. Or it could have been the pressure of knowing Felicity was bidding for the key to saving Barry, while trying to keep a doomsday weapon out of murderous hands. Wallenstein’s tangled crimes didn’t compel Oliver to endanger his own plans in order to untangle them.
“You work for Wallenstein, don’t you? He sent you to torment me.” Valov bounced his forehead against the bars. He turned away from the door. “Go away. I won’t tell you anything.”
“We’ve got to let him out.” The Flash moved toward the door.
