The portal's incinerator had stayed inactive and didn't burn them alive, which was good.

Damn good, R.J. thought, guiding Amy into the staging room.

She halted in the doorway blocking his way. The bright lights seemed to daze her. Amy's face tilted up and the harsh glare reflected off her eyes. But it became obvious that it wasn't the lights that overcame her but the novelty of this place. Slowly, first one step then another, she wandered around the room gawking at the hazmat suits and the decontamination shower.

In some ways it was sweet. In others, it was sad. But however he viewed her raw innocence, they simply didn't have time for it.

"Amy, you need to change into these clothes now." He put the duffel on a narrow plank of wood that served as a bench. The seat was Spartan in design but necessary for people wearing bulky equipment. There was one on either side of the room in front of the racks of neon colored plastic suits and air tanks.

Amy looked down at her camisole and bare feet, suddenly reluctant to get dressed, as though she would be giving up something of herself if she put on the clothes he had brought. But curiosity drew her over to him and she started digging through the bag.

"What is all this stuff? Why is there a wig?"

"There are also glasses. We're going to disguise you as Emily to sneak you past security."

"But I don't look anything like her."

"The guards on duty are new. You're about the same height. Dressed the same way, with same hair color, hopefully they won't notice."

"Hopefully?" Amy frowned dropping the wig onto the bench. "That doesn't sound very promising."

"If all goes as planned, there will be too much confusion for them to take much notice." R.J. didn't elaborate on the distractions he was hoping for. Distractions that might never happen, a nagging voice reminded him.

"And if things don't go as planned?"

Amy was barely moving. Whatever she was thinking, it didn't involve the urgency that was beating like a totem in R.J.'s ears. His instinct was to be delicate with his words but perhaps the time for that was over. She needed to feel some of the panic that was invading every one of his actions.

"They'll kill us."

"And if you take me back to my room?" she asked.

"Then they'll just kill you."

R.J. put his hand on her shoulder. "Look, I know this sounds crazy, but we've gotten through the hard part. The bunker is deserted, so the guardroom is the only other obstacle. I've set everything up to give us the best chance but we have to hurry. I'll leave you too it." He gave the bag a nudge and headed for the door.

"R.J.?" Amy was looking upward, her body tense. "It's not deserted. Someone's coming." Her lips puckered with intensity. "A woman. I don't recognize her. Strong perfume. Flowers—smells like revolting dead flowers. From that direction." She pointed. Her finger moved through the air like a compass needle tracking magnetic north.

"I'll take care of it. Get dressed."

R.J. opened the door only the minimum required to slip his body through and into the hallway. He could hear footsteps ringing against the metal floor like someone was wearing wooden shoes. He hurried in the direction of the clatter.

No one was supposed to be down here. Could it be possible that the Agency was onto him? Did Maxwell just pretend to believe him and was currently ushering an armed contingent through the bunker to capture them?

R.J. was almost at the junction, when Marjorie Proulx turned the corner.

"Bon Matin, Dr. Blass. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Scheduling change. I took over the night shift at the last minute. What are you doing here...at this hour?" The words spilled out of his mouth too quickly. His mind was cycling in overdrive. Anyone could see how nervous he was. He wasn't even hiding it.

"At my age, I don't sleep much," Marjorie answered. Perhaps it had been a stroke of luck that it was her. Instead of showing the least sign of suspicion, she launched off in one of her frenetic, high-speed monologues. Her hands flying about in front of her like she was swatting away an imaginary swarm of gnats, gesticulating with each word. "Better spend the time working, I think. I'll be dead soon. Then there will be too much sleep. You know, I once knew this man, Stuart Hayward—no, Haywood. Brilliant man. A little rough around the edges—I don't know how he ever found a wife, but he did. It was so romantic. He met this girl and it was like: hello, how are you, then they were married with two children. Both boys, if I remember correctly. Ah, lucky to have boys, especially two—you know, in case something happens to one. Absolutely a brilliant man, the dear Dr. Haywood—I mean, Hayward. He once told me that sleep was the devil's greatest trick. He said—how did it go—oh yes—sleep keeps us from great things by stealing us away in the night. Beautiful, isn't it?"

R.J. felt a single drop of sweat, growing colder as it passed over each vertebral arch. Once this damn woman started talking, she never stopped. He was chanting in his brain: shut up, shut up, shut up.

"Like I always tell Pierre: nothing like a good shot of blueberry juice first thing in the morning. Braces the kidneys. But he never listens to me. He..."

Why should he care about offending her? After today he'd never see her again. But a confrontation would only prolong the encounter. And being aggressive toward her might be the only thing to arouse her suspicions. From experience he know the trick with Marjorie was to remind her of the work she was doing and get her back on track. But that was not easily done.

"Could—" he tried and failed to interrupt.

"But then this desert humidity is just awful for my skin. Now he says—he says, Marjorie dear, the desert is arid. But my skin knows better. That's why I have been importing this special liniment from France..."

"It's just—"

"I remember our first trip to Paris. Pierre was so young and dashing back then. Only fifty-two, he was my young stud. And we took full advantage of the romantic nights. There was this one night after I drank too much wine, when we got a bit crazy and—"

R.J. grabbed at and caught one of her flailing arms by the wrist. The physical contact shocked her enough that she paused and R.J. was able to slip in an excuse. "That's incredibly fascinating, but I hate keeping you from your important work. The Agency is extremely excited about your latest development and I wouldn't want to waste anymore of your time than I already have."

"Ah, right you are. Pierre and I are so excited to create a litter of little loups garous in our lab. Very exciting. We shall catch up later, Dr. Blass.

They both turned and walked away in opposite directions. The clacking of her shoes headed away from him but toward the staging room.

She never goes in there. She's just heading to her lab. Don't panic. R.J.'s steps slowed as he passed the junction. The further he got, the more his control of the situation eroded.

What if she did discover Amy? What would he be willing to do to stop her? A mental image of Aikman popped into his head. Aikman with his brains blown out against the floor.

I don't have gun this time. But the thought only invoked the violent sensation of his hands around the loose, wrinkled skin of her neck.

When he reached the end of the corridor, he risked a glance back, pretending to idly look to his left as he turned. Dr. Proulx was gone. The hall was deserted.

R.J. dashed back to Amy, sprinting the entire way to the door. He gave a small knock, scared that Marjorie was still close enough to hear.

"How's it going," he whispered.

"I'm ready. I think."

R.J. made sure no one was coming before going back inside.

Amy had changed. She stood awkwardly by one of the mirrors with her arms folded tight in front of her.

"I look ridiculous," she said turning toward him

"No, you don't," R.J. said, although his hesitation deflated his lie.

The gray hoodie with the Diamondbacks logo was a match for the one Emily often wore. Its bagginess helped hide Amy's smaller frame. The glasses perched on her nose made her look older although they didn't make her look much like Emily. Their faces were too different. But at a glance it would pass.

The real problem was the hair. It was a perfect match to Emily's shade and the expense had been worth it to get something so natural looking. The problem was size. It was too large for her head. It sagged loosely over her scalp like a strange, furry hat. It might be okay at a distance—like from across a football field—but up close it was glaringly fake.

"It'll have to do," he said. "Here put the hood up." R.J. helped her cover her head without dislodging the wig, leaving only a few wisps of the bangs sticking out on top. "Let's go."

R.J. led the way down the submarine-like corridors, with Amy following close behind. The compact space of the bunker seemed elongated and it felt as though physics itself was against them and was distorting reality to keep them there.

The elevator was in sight. R.J. looked at his watch: 4:46. They were still on schedule.

Unfortunately, when he looked up, the elevator's massive door was opening, sliding up to the ceiling.

"Back. Back." He dragged Amy behind the corner. "Why the hell are so many people here at five in the morning?"

Peering around the corner, he saw Barbara Gracie getting out. She had that cold immaculate look that he was used to seeing. She wore a creaseless white blouse and a navy blue pencil skirt. She took a step and hesitated, stooping to adjust the strap on her shoe.

"It's just, Barbara," Amy said as though she wanting to go out and say hello.

"Don't think she won't sound the alarm if she sees you," he said in hushed tones. "Wait here. I'll deal with her,"

R.J. tried to look like he was casually on his way home, walking as calmly as he could with adrenaline pounding in his veins and sweat running down his neck.

Barbara eyed him as he approached. Her lips held an expression that was almost suspicion. "Blass, what are you up to?"

"Up to? I'm not up to anything?"

"I thought you were on the eight to four?"

"O'Bree needed a break, so I switched with him. You're here bright and early."

"No, just punctual." Her slight frown silently added, unlike some people.

A realization came to him and R.J. felt a rush of humidity, as though every pore of his body had just released the floodgates: to get to the OC Barbara would have to pass by Amy. There were other paths she could take through the bunker's maze, but Barbara was definitely not one to take the scenic route. He needed some way to let Amy know to get the hell out of there.

"Are you looking forward to when we run." R.J. yelled out the word run, then faked a cough. "Excuse me. When we run the MRI."

"Why should I care about the stupid MRI. The purpose is photography not diagnostics. Amy isn't sick, you know. It isn't like she is in any danger." Barbara was scanning his face, as though she was peering into every cell to see what secrets lurked beneath the surface. "Is she?"

"Of course." It was a fight to keep his voice even. "I guess the test has been a bit of preoccupation of mine ever since the agency gave it the go." He spoke the word go as loudly as he dared.

"You don't seem well, Blass. Maybe we should be running the MRI on you?" Barbara raised herself on her toes, and peered over his shoulder.

Could he fend of Barbara Gracie if it came to it? She was smaller than him. But she was also a killer.

So are you, a voice reminded him. Yes, but she's a cold blooded killer.

"You know, we never talk, Barbara. Would you like to grab a coffee? And catch up."

She stared at him blankly as though waiting for him to spontaneously combust in front of her. "I do have some time before my shift starts. I think I will get some coffee. Alone. I suggest you get some rest. Goodbye, Blass." She headed off toward the break room.

R.J. watched her walk away from him, his body wilting in relief.

But he didn't have time to enjoy it. He had told Amy to run. Where did she go? How would he find her in time? What if she ran straight into Gracie?

He was about to dash off in a frenzied search, when she came around the corner.

"You didn't run away?"

"You told me to wait. Why would I run?"

"Back there, I tried to...never mind, let's go."

They got into the elevator and he initiated its long half mile climb out of the ground and slumped in the corner. His body felt worn out like a shirt run through the washer one too many times—thin and pale and ready to dissolve into shreds.

"Are you okay?" Amy asked

"Just having a minor heart attack. Otherwise, all good."

"Um, I don't know if this matters or not," Amy was speaking in slow hesitant words while she looked down at the canvas ballet flats on her feet. "But I think Barbara might have seen me."

R.J. was standing straight again. "Are you sure?"

"No, not really. I was peeking out but I ducked back when she looked my way. I don't think she saw me. But she might have."

R.J.'s mind fizzled with the information unable to make a coherent thought. He gazed into space without really seeing what was in front of him but then the scrolling lines on the little display screen took form.

They were still moving. No alarm had been raised.

There was absolutely no way that Barbara Gracie would have let them go out of the goodness of her heart. Such a thing didn't exist. Even if she had been indifferent to Amy's escape and was willing to risk the wrath of the Agency, she never would have let him go without an explanation. She was far too nosy.

"It's okay," he told Amy. "She didn't see you."

"Now what happens?" she asked.

"The last step. We'll arrive in the guardroom and they'll sweep us with a metal and electronics detector. Then we walk out of here."

"And what if they notice I'm not Emily?"

Then we're shit out of luck, R.J. thought. "Don't worry about it. It will be fine."

"You're really scared." Amy spoke as though stating the blindingly obvious to a total idiot. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah. I know." R.J. had never been good at keeping things from her. She always seemed to know how he was feeling even when it wasn't written all over his face and body like it was now. He had hoped to be strong for her, to give her someone calm to hang onto during this ordeal. But of the two of them, Amy was the calm one.

"I've never done anything like this," he confessed to her. "Hell, I've never shoplifted and here I am breaking out of a top secret government facility." R.J. took a breath and pulled his hands through his damp hair. "When we get up there, stay behind me as much as you can, without looking like you're hiding." He explained to her the security procedures they'd pass through and the route to his car. Once he started talking he found he couldn't stop. He was as bad as Marjorie Proulx, prattling on nervously about the plants in the lobby.

"Once we get to your car, then what?"

But the elevator stopped and there was no time to tell her the rest of the plan.

R.J. stepped out and waited in position for the electronics scan. "Hey, Gonzalez, isn't it? How's everything this morning?"

Gonzalez got up and switched on the scanner, looking annoyed. The other seven guards remained at their positions but a distracted nervous tension permeated the air. Their long shift was almost over and they were getting ready to bolt.

"Same old, same old," he said running the wand along R.J.'s arm. He completed the sweep with routine boredom, then waved Amy to come forward. She took two awkward steps toward the guard, her eyes down, firmly fixed on the floor.

A seeping panic began to creep into R.J.'s blood. He looked passed Gonzalez to the other guards, hoping for something to happen. And there it was: a red light on the console was flashing. Its soft crimson glow bounced on the cheek of a young officer called Kasturi.

"Sir," Kasturi called. "Someone in the lab has triggered an alarm. There's been a containment breach."

Gracie must have gotten to the Observation Center and found Amy's room empty. R.J. had been counting on that, but now he began to worry about the reaction it would have. Would they be able to get out of this room if the officers thought a biohazards downstairs had gotten out? He'd been hoping this distraction would keep them busy while they were on their way to the parking lot, not still in the lion's den.

Major Brennon raced out of his office. And the rest of R.J.'s hopes fell. He hadn't counted on Brennon being on duty.

The original security chief, Delgado, had been quick with a smile or a joke but his replacement was always grim. He acted as though the civilians at Aira were an inferior but dangerous species. He was tall and lean, and the dark skin of his shaved bald head gleamed with severity. He was always on alert, eyeing everyone who passed through the center with suspicion.

"Lock it down," he ordered as he leaned over Kasturi's console. "It was initiated manually. Proceed with emergency protocols and try contacting whoever set it off. I want details of what we're looking at." To the rest of the room, he yelled, "Who the hell is still down there. Get me the manifest."

Not good. There would be no record of Emily being in the labs. Nobody at all who would match Amy's description.

"Only Dr. Gracie and Dr. Proulx," R.J. said. When Brennan turned his scowl on him, he added, "Sir."

The Major's eyes examined him like he'd just found a spider crawling on his hand. And then his vulture-like gaze shifted away, moving toward Amy.

Crap.

A siren pierced the silence.

"Perimeter alarms triggered," someone called out. "We have bogeys approaching from the east."

Brennon was on the move. "What the hell is going on?"

"Looks like motorcycles—dirt bikes traveling over the desert terrain. Hard to get details from the cameras. They have the sun at their back."

It was working. His plan was actually working.

R.J. felt a faint smile on his face but it retreated as quickly as it came, when he looked over and Amy was gone. Desperately, he scanned the room for her until he spotted her on the floor crawling to the door. Amy had seen their chance and reacted—far quicker than he ever would have. He wondered if she ever even needed his help, as he dashed after her.

"Rally an intercept team. I don't want to take any chances."

R.J. dodged the soldiers, charging for the gun lockers. He barely remembered to retrieve his wallet and car keys from the storage bin in his rush. By the time he reached the door, it was swinging shut behind Amy. The handle almost slipped through his sweat greased fingers but he got through it.

He couldn't believe they'd made it this far. It seemed as though all the forces in the universe had been against him, but somehow he'd gotten her out. Now they just had to get to his car before his luck failed him.