“Superconducting Linear Accelerator,” Kobayashi explains patiently, albeit with a hint of surprise that Jonas isn’t familiar with the term.
“Yes, exactly. Didn’t know the acronym,” Jonas covers.
Kobayashi gestures down the hall. “This way,” he says, leading them out to a massive circular steel walkway that runs inside the circumference of the entire building. “We call this the ‘Upper Outer Ring,’” Kobayashi says, playing tour guide. “It’s used mainly as an observation deck.”
“I can see why,” Eva says. “This is incredible.” Her voice echoes slightly in the massive cavern.
Kobayashi points to a steel tube that wraps around the inside of the Outer Ring, coiling around and down the SLA like a snake around a caduceus. “And that’s the Inner Ring. It’s how the SLA itself is accessed.”
Plunging through the center of the Inner Ring is a vertical channel of steel. Veins of cable run along its surface. The complexity of the technology is enormous, but overall, it appears similar to CERN’s Large Hadron Collider. The main difference, Jonas notes, is that whereas the LHC is arranged in an underground loop, the SLA thrusts straight down through the Spire’s core 130 miles or more, he suspects. If he’s correct, the construction alone would be a remarkable achievement, surpassing his own universe’s record for underground digging by more than 99 percent.
“It’s breathtaking,” Eva observes.
“You picked an interesting day to visit,” Kobayashi says as he leads them around the Outer Ring. “We haven’t had an earthquake here in over a year. Then it stopped, as if someone just snapped their fingers.” He illustrates this by snapping his own. “No warning. No aftershocks. Remarkable.”
“Was any damage done to the SLA?” Jonas asks, his interest more than academic.
“No. It runs over one hundred miles below ground, so it’s extremely well anchored. Essentially, the building just shakes around it.”
“I’m surprised there’s not more security,” Jonas notes. “Metal detectors, that sort of thing.”
Kobayashi chuckles. “It wouldn’t do much good to stage a robbery here. The lightest component of the SLA weighs seven thousand tons. No, the only things here to steal, I’m afraid, are ideas.”
“What about security cameras?”
Kobayashi wrinkles his brow. “We had to take them out. The electronics were wreaking all manner of havoc with the equipment.” Then suspicion worms its way back into his tone. “Why so many questions about our security?”
Jonas’s hand lashes out, and Eva holds Kobayashi steady as Jonas presses the cloth to the scientist’s mouth. Kobayashi’s eyes roll back to white courtesy of the chloroform Jonas cooked up in the kitchen of his rental apartment. He slumps, and they ease him down to the steel floor.
“No reason,” Jonas answers.
Two minutes later, Jonas and Eva are heading along the catwalk toward the Upper Inner Ring. The tunnel is fronted by an enclosed structure that looks to be the size of a small room. Jonas fears its door is locked and hopes the key ring he lifted off the unconscious Dr. Kobayashi contains the requisite key.
“How long will he be out?” Eva asks.
“Ten minutes, assuming the universe doesn’t have any more surprises for me. You’ll have some explaining to do once I’m gone.”
“Oh, I’ve got that covered,” she says, her voice light. “I was your hostage.”
Jonas nods at the simplicity of that and asks himself why he hadn’t thought of it. They arrive at the Inner Ring’s entrance, and it’s unlocked. Kobayashi hadn’t been kidding about the Spire’s lax security. Jonas heaves open the steel door and heads inside.
He’s moving with such urgency that he doesn’t see the men standing there, side by side. Reflections. Twins. Their faces identical in every respect, save that one’s beard is trimmed back to a goatee. One wears khaki combat fatigues, the other black wool and Kevlar. Both wear tether bracelets.
Both look like Macon.
Jonas feels his stomach bottom out with the horrible understanding that Victor has sent them, each from a different universe. The energy required, the sheer effort, is almost beyond calculation. Such is the intensity of Victor’s vendetta.
Jonas commands his body to move—turn, lock the door behind them, figure out another way into the SLA—but his feet are rooted. Every artery crackles with adrenaline, but he’s frozen. Vulnerable. Trapped.
“Dr. Cullen,” one says.
Jonas feels Eva tense behind him. A short gasp escapes her lips.
“We’re here with a message,” the other Macon intones. “Turn around. Leave. Never come back. Do that, and he’ll let you live.”
Jonas stands his ground.
“He’s avoided killing you up until now,” the first Macon says. “This is about karma for him. His version of it, at least. And he hasn’t wanted to put your death on his ledger.”
How considerate, Jonas thinks, wholly uninterested in the moral calculations of a malignant narcissist.
“But he will,” the second Macon adds. “If that’s what it takes to stop you. So . . . leave. Final warning.”
Jonas opens his mouth to speak, but he has to strain to keep fear from seeping into his voice. “This isn’t your concern. I know Victor is paying you, and probably paying you well. But this is between him and me. Now . . . step aside.”
The two Macons don’t confer. They don’t glance toward each other or engage in any other form of silent communication. They just charge toward Jonas in unison, their faces expressionless, betraying no anger or affect of any kind. This is just a job to them, Jonas notes. Killing him will produce no more emotion than taking out the trash.
Without warning, a thunderclap echoes in the chamber. The Macon in Kevlar staggers back as the one in khakis surges toward Jonas . . . and past him. Jonas spins toward him just in time to see the man’s head snap back in a grotesque replay of Macon’s demise back in Switzerland. This time, though, the entire base of his skull explodes and pulls Macon backward like a string.
Then Jonas notices Eva with a gun in her hand. It’s a Glock, just like the one the original Macon once gave him. She holds it in a two-handed grip, her stance wide. She’s had training—that much is clear. Her expression holds a steely-eyed confidence as she pulls the trigger again, and Jonas watches the top of the Glock trombone back and forth as it spits out a shell casing, which pinwheels away.
The next shot strikes the other Macon in the center of his forehead. He collapses next to his doppelgänger, instantly dead. The two Macons share the same vacant stare.
Eva lowers the gun. “Are you okay?”
Eva shoulders past him toward the entrance of the Inner Ring. “C’mon,” she says. “Someone might have heard those shots. We have to keep moving.”
As he follows her into the Inner Ring, his power of speech returns. “You brought a gun?”
