WAYWARD PINES: GENESIS by Steven Konkoly

Author:Steven Konkoly [Konkoly, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2018-09-18T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 32

The armory door thunked, drawing Hassler’s attention away from the pile of gear assembled on the linoleum floor. Access to the weapons was strictly controlled, requiring one of five known keycards for entry. He held one of the cards. Nobody he fully trusted held the others. His right hand drifted to the concealed holster hidden in the small of his back, a precaution Pilcher insisted upon for anyone given an access card to the armory. Trust was scarce in the superstructure.

Easing the pistol out of the holster, he waited for the door to open. A few seconds later, Pilcher’s shiny, bald head poked through the opening.

“Just me. Sorry, I should have called,” he said, stepping into the bright light.

Hassler stood up, nestling the compact pistol into the leather holster. Pilcher’s eyes caught the movement, eliciting a grin.

“Glad to see you’re taking my suggestions about security seriously,” said Pilcher. “One can never be too cautious in a closed system like this.”

“On that note, you should probably shut the door,” commented Hassler.

“Actually, I was hoping to drag you upstairs for dinner.”

“I grabbed some food during the first seating. Wanted to finish packing early so I could study the maps and recheck the glider rig.”

“I mean a real dinner. Filet mignon drizzled with herbed butter. Fingerling potatoes and asparagus.”

“You put cows into suspension?” said Hassler, raising an eyebrow.

“No, but we did manage to preserve some specialty items,” said Pilcher.

“For eighteen hundred years?”

“It’s not the same as a fresh cut, but I guarantee you won’t complain. Shall we?”

“Is this my last supper?” said Hassler.

Pilcher laughed. “I knew you’d draw the comparison. Let’s hope not.”

Hassler followed him into the hallway, stopping at a featureless door halfway down the long corridor Pilcher inserted his keycard, and the door slid to the right, exposing a closet-sized, stainless steel room. The elevator travelled smoothly for several seconds before opening to a world Hassler never expected to see again. Modernistic yet comfortable by design, the warmly lit interior carried the scents of cooked garlic and steak.

“Welcome to my residence,” said Pilcher, nodding at a man dressed in chef whites.

Fully emerging from the hallway behind a richly appointed, Shaker-style dining room table, the impeccably dressed, plump man carried a covered silver tray in their direction.

“Can I pour you a Scotch?” said Pilcher, motioning toward a wet bar behind them.

“I shouldn’t drink and fly,” said Hassler, eyeing the inbound silver tray.

“Nonsense. You’re not scheduled to leave until zero-one-hundred. Five hours. Your usual?”

“Sure,” he said, focused on the silver dome hovering just out of reach. “Thank you.”

“Chef Tim likes to surprise me during cocktail hour. He’s really outdone himself with the limited resources on hand.”

I bet. One slip up here might get you assigned to guard duty outside of the hatch.

“Thank you, Mr. Pilcher. Always a pleasure. Tonight, we have delicately toasted crostini with roasted tomato and goat cheese spread,” he said, lifting the cover.

Waiting impatiently while Pilcher tipped a generous pour of amber liquid from a crystal decanter into each tumbler, Hassler strained to keep his hand from snatching one of the appetizers off the tray.

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