“Rhea save me from stubborn women,” Jonas muttered. A second later, he was gently pressing some sort of padding on both the front and the back of the wound.
“I'll be okay.” I raised a hand and wiggled a couple of fingers. Needles of fire raced upward in response. “See? Still got full movement.”
He made a disparaging sound. “Let's just hope that the ruse works, otherwise you've incapacitated yourself for nothing.”
“It'll work.” It had to. It might be the only real hope we had of getting into the true heart of the place.
The scooter stopped its upward movement and began to rotate again. Jonas reached into the medikit for the sealer, spraying the exit wound first. It ran out before more than a fine mist hit the entry wound.
“It's probably better that I'm bleeding when I get in there.” I took the padding from him and held it against the wound with my good hand. “You’d better get back to the pilot seat.”
He hesitated, seeming ready to say something, then half shrugged and went back to the driver seat.
I followed him over. Despite the pressure I was putting on the wound, blood seeped past my fingertips and soaked my coverall. I just hoped the pain was worth it—that it did, in fact, stop them noticing the ill fit of the uniform and the weapons it concealed.
A large section of the wall directly ahead of us had begun to slide to one side, revealing a brightly lit loading dock. Six well-armed soldiers lined either side of the small runway.
“They're not taking any chances,” I murmured.
“I'd be more surprised if they were.”
I sat down and scanned the area as the scooter was slowly drawn into the heart of the loading bay and parked at an angle to the left of the strip.
“Echo three-two, please lower the ramp and prepare for inspection,” the metallic voice said.
Jonas glanced at me, eyebrow raised. “Ready?”
I nodded. He opened the door and then spun around in his seat. Three men flowed into the scooter before the ramp was fully down, their gazes doing a quick sweep before resting on us.
They didn't say anything. They just watched us, weapons raised and ready to use. After another minute or so, a fourth man appeared. He was holding a scanner rather than a gun.
“Present RFIDs, please,” he said, his voice as deep as his body was wide.
“Commander Jenkins, at your service, sir.” I rose and held out a blood-slicked arm. “I've a man who needs urgent medical care—”
“All in good time, Commander.” He ran the scanner over my stolen chip and studied the screen for a minute. When the light flicked from red to green, he looked at Jonas. “Your turn.”
Jonas held out his arm without comment. When the scanner beeped approval, he moved on to the driver Cat had attacked. Once the scanner had cleared our victim, the big man finally relaxed.
“Right, Commander, we've approval for you and you people to be taken to the med center for treatment.”
“I believe Officer Grant might have a serious head injury—”
“And our facility is state-of-the-art. If for any reason we can't handle it, we’ll certainly stabilize his condition and move him on to a larger center.” He paused and glanced at his screen. “Headquarters wants a full report once the two of you have been cleared by the docs.”
“Of course,” I said, voice cool.
He nodded and glanced at the nearest soldier. “Escort the commander and Officer Wright to med center one. I've called an airbed for Officer Grant. He's to be taken immediately to trauma in med center two.”
The armed man saluted and then glanced at us. “This way, if you please, Commander.”
We followed without comment. As we walked down the ramp, a second soldier fell into step behind us. Our footsteps echoed almost forlornly across the loading bay’s vastness. There were no other vehicles parked here and the only people evident were the remaining nine armed men. As we passed them, they turned as one and then spread out around the scooter. No one was getting in or out of that vehicle without going through them first.
There were three doors leading off the loading bay—two of them were large enough to allow vehicle access, but the third was smaller, and obviously meant solely for foot traffic. It was to this one we were led.
The door silently slid aside as we entered. I quickly scanned the door but couldn't see the telltale signs of inset scanning equipment. Relief stirred but didn't last. Just because this door didn't have it, didn't mean others wouldn't.
The corridor beyond was bright, white, and soulless, and it very much reminded me of every military corridor in every bunker I'd been in. But there were no doorways here, no windows for natural light, and certainly no signs to give an indication of where we might be headed.