The Cradle of Life (22 page)

A gun fired.

The guard toppled over backward and fell to the floor, crimson spreading across his chest.

A gun went off again and a bullet whizzed just past her shoulder, and Sean let go of her and dove, for the floor. Reiss dove, too, and it was only then that Lara realized what was happening.

The cavalry had just arrived.

Terry—somewhere up ahead, hidden in the shadows, in perfect sniper position. He'd gunned down Lara's would-be killer before that man could shoot her and was now spraying covering fire all over the room, pinning down Sean and Reiss and what looked to be a half-dozen newcomers, as well, providing Lara with a chance to escape. Which she fully intended to take advantage of—once she'd attended to two minor details.

Number one, Reiss's translation of the Orb.

She snatched her gun off the floor and shot out the last NEC.

Reiss roared out a series of curses totally out of character with the polished, urbane image he'd been so careful to project.

Lara somersaulted clear across the room and snatched detail number two—the Orb itself—out of its robotic cradle. She placed it carefully into her backpack.

“Good luck with the farm animals,” she shouted to Reiss and turned to run.

One of the newcomers popped up from behind the desk in front of her and took aim.

She dodged and a bullet took him square in the shoulder—courtesy of the unseen Mr. Sheridan.

Lara jumped over the man's body and ran back the way she had come.

Two rooms down, she saw half a dozen more reinforcements heading straight toward her.

No good, she thought, and turned to her left. There was another glass wall directly in front of her.

She charged at it full speed, and at the last possible second, fired at it.

The wall exploded and she ran straight through.

A second wall loomed before her, and then a third, and she did the same thing—shot them out and ran through. Turning around, she saw Terry backpedaling right along with her, laying down covering fire as he ran.

“I was beginning to think you weren't coming!” Lara called out.

“Would I forget about you, Croft?” he shouted back.

Lara was about to respond when she looked up and saw a final glass wall straight ahead—final because just beyond it she could glimpse the mall concourse itself, sublevel eight, and directly ahead of them, the elevator bank.

She raised her gun as she ran, intending to blast away that last wall.

Click. Out of bullets.

Terry was catching up to her, still firing. Reiss's men were getting closer. Bullets ricocheted off the floor and zinged past.

Lara didn't slow down for a second.

She shouted out a war cry and jumped straight for the wall, covering her face with her arms, aware that if she'd misjudged her companion, something very, very embarrassing was about to happen.

But she hadn't.

Terry blew out the glass a split second before she smashed into it.

Lara went sailing through the air and landed on the tiled floor of the mall beyond.

A second later, Terry was running right along with her.

“The elevators!” he shouted, pointing straight ahead.

Lara shot him a glance. Elevators did not sound like the best plan to her.

“Trust me,” Terry said, seeing her look. “Escape Plan A.”

They dashed into a waiting car. At that exact moment, Reiss's man Sean—followed by at least half a dozen guards—raced out of the lab's main entrance.

Terry hit the button for the top floor.

“A hundred and ten?” Lara couldn't keep the uncertainty from her voice.

“Trust me,” Terry repeated.

She shrugged. Not as if she had much choice.

Terry opened the elevator panel and pulled the emergency button. Smart, Lara thought. Now the car wouldn't stop anywhere else. They were on an express route to…

Well, wherever.

The doors began to close. Sean and his men were running full out toward them.

But they'd never make it.

Lara waved good-bye.

Inches away from shutting, a little hand poked in between the elevator doors and they popped open again.

Lara looked down at a little Chinese boy—the same boy, she realized, who'd scooted aboard Reiss's elevator earlier.

“Kay-bee,” the boy asked. “Toys ‘R' Us?”

Lara looked up and saw Sean, twenty feet away.

She pushed the little boy firmly out the door.

“Not this car, sonny,” she said.

Terry slammed the door close button and the car rose upward. It—like the walls of Reiss's lab, like the walls of the skyscraper housing the mall—was made of glass, giving them an incredible view of first the New Century mall, and then Hong Kong itself, as they rose up along the side of the skyscraper.

Lara looked down and touched Terry's elbow.

“Look,” she said.

Two other elevators were rising right along with them. Each filled with Reiss's men.

“You know we're not going to be able to get back down,” she said. “They'll have men covering the stairwells.”

“We'll get down,” Terry said. “Don't worry.”

The car pinged to a stop then and the doors slid open. Terry raced out, Lara a step behind.

“There.” He pointed to a staircase labeled in Mandarin, Portugese, and English:
Rooftop Access
.

He shot out the knob, and they jogged up a small flight of stairs onto the roof itself.

The naked sunshine, after so much dim, artificial light, was dazzling,

The rooftop was empty.

Terry spun about wildly.

“This is Escape Plan A then, is it?” Lara asked, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yes.”

“What about B? Is there a B?”

“No,” he snapped. “No Plan B.”

Lara opened her pack. She was going to have to destroy the Orb. A fall of one-hundred-ten stories, she judged, ought to do it.

Perhaps she would accompany the object on the way down. That would be a relatively quick, relatively painless way to go. As opposed to what Reiss—and in particular, Sean—might have in mind for her.

“Ah.”

She looked up and saw Terry running for the edge of the roof. Seconds later, he'd dragged two backpacks out from underneath the ledge and begun pulling out swaths of colored nylon from within one of them.

Lara smiled. “Parachutes.”

“Not exactly.” Terry tossed her one of the packs. “Something a tad faster.”

She began to pull out the contents of the pack and soon saw what he meant.

 

Reiss paced back and forth in the lab, willing himself to remain calm.

“Excuse me, sir.”

He looked up and saw Holliday, knelt over the last of the NECs Croft had shot out. She was shaking her head.

“I'm afraid the data is compromised. It will take approximately eighteen hours to reconstruct.”

Reiss shut his eyes a moment. This was not happening. He'd been within seconds of Pandora's location. Now Croft was going to beat him to it.

“Croft,” he said, opening his eyes.

“Sir?” Holliday asked.

He drew his pistol and shot her.

“If you'd stayed in position,” he said, standing over her corpse, “instead of running, perhaps this wouldn't have happened.”

He dropped the gun to the floor then, as angry with himself as anyone. This was his fault, for not shooting Croft himself when he had her helpless. Never again.

His phone rang.

“Team A in position.” It was Sean. “Teams B and C are flanking.”

“English please,” Reiss said. “I'm in no mood for paramilitary acronyms.”

“We're ready to storm the roof. We have the stairwells leading down blocked and surrounding rooftops manned, as well.”

“Excellent. Proceed—but Sean.”

“Yes, doctor?”

“The Orb is paramount. Croft and Sheridan are secondary.”

“Yes sir. Understood. The pack is our target.”

“Good work. Notify me when you have it.”

Reiss snapped the phone shut.

The guards in the room shifted position and eyed him nervously.

 

“What do we have to reach?” Lara asked.

She and Terry stood on the roof ledge, looking out over Hong Kong, back toward the mainland.

“That ship.” Terry pointed due west of the Kowloon harbor. Lara was barely able to pick out a spec on the horizon.

“Great,” Lara said—and at that second, the door to the rooftop behind them burst open.

Sean and his men stepped out, rifles raised.

“Hands up!” he shouted. “Throw down the pack, Croft. And I'll make it quick.”

“That's sweet of you!” She looked down and saw more of Reiss's men coming into firing range, on the roofs of the buildings nearby.

This was going to be harder than it looked.

“Backup plan?” she asked Terry.

“Stand here and get killed.” He smiled. “Why? Losing your nerve?”

“Please.” She adjusted the straps on her pack then, cinching them as tight as possible. Nylon—the jumpsuits she and Terry had donned over their clothes—bunched beneath the cloth as she fastened it securely.

“Last chance, Croft! Drop the pack.”

Lara turned.

“Say hello to Reiss for me,” she said, and jumped out into space.

Terry was right alongside her. They dropped twenty stories in a heartbeat.

Then she spread her arms and the webwings woven into her suit caught the air.

Gliding high above the city streets, she and Terry sailed toward the harbor, the Orb secure in her pack, whatever curses Sean was shouting after her lost in the swirling winds above Hong Kong.

 

Reiss did not kill anyone else.

Neither did he curse, or stamp his feet, or smash things.

He simply waited in silence for Sean's return, for an explanation of Croft's escape. When he heard it, he laughed.

“Jumpsuits—with wings?” Reiss had to chuckle again. Had to, because the alternative was simply to give up, and he refused to do that.

He had won the Nobel Prize twenty years ago, fresh out of university. He had evaded the intelligence agencies of every country in the world for the last decade—evaded with ease, and impunity. He was not going to have his plans thwarted by some dilettante of an archaeologist and her steroid-enhanced paramour.

He strode past Sean, surveying the wreckage of the lab. Guards gave way as he walked, his brow furrowed in concentration. Was there anything salvageable here? No. Croft had seen to that. She had been very thorough in her destruction of all the data relating to the Orb. And yet…

Destruction was not all she'd been intent on. Or she would have shot out the last Earth Simulator long before he'd arrived.

So what else had she been doing?

He cast his mind back in time and pictured Croft, standing next to the Orb, as she'd been when he first entered the lab.

She'd been wearing an earpiece of some sort.

Reiss walked to where the Orb had been and bent low, rummaging among the wreckage on the floor.

A second later, he rose to his feet.

“Sean. Have the field team assemble at the airfield.”

“Where are we going?”

Reiss held up the object he'd found in the rubble. It appeared to be a digital camera of some sort—with a transceiver built right into it. A transceiver whose signal, he realized, could be traced back to its point of origin.

“Our destination?” He smiled. “Why, Lady Croft is going to tell us that.”

Terry and the ship's captain were arguing details of their passage in the hallway. Lara couldn't hear all of it—and her Tagalog was not up to snuff—but the conversation had something to do with money, of that she was certain. From Terry's tone of voice, the captain apparently wanted more.

She was inclined to tell Terry to pay it. The cabin they'd been given was surprisingly spacious and comfortable-looking, considering the condition of the freighter that housed it. Twin beds, clean sheets, and in an adjoining bathroom…

A shower. Hallelujah.

Lara turned the knobs and was even more pleased to discover actual hot water.

She returned to the main cabin area and found Terry juggling the Orb in his hands like a soccer ball.

“So…this rock is the map.”

He didn't seem at all concerned about her finding him with it.

“That's right,” Lara said.

“I've never seen anything like it, have you?” He held the Orb out at arm's length and studied it. “It's quite beautiful, actually.”

“Yes, it is.” Lara moved to take it—and Terry stepped back, keeping it just out of her reach.

“And it's the only way to find that box?”

“Pandora? Yes, that's correct.”

They exchanged smiles.

“Just think,” Lara said. “You could tuck it under your arm and go right out the door.”

“Window's better, actually. Off the ship faster. Harder to track.”

He kept grinning. Lara felt the smile on her face begin to waver.

She wondered if he was serious.

Terry set the Orb back down on the bed and laughed.

“Would I do a thing like that to you, Croft?”

That was the question, wasn't it?

Terry set about unpacking what little he had—his gun, a few spare clips. Lara put the Orb back in her pack.

“I'm going to take a shower,” she announced, and took out a spare set of clothes. Then she changed her mind.

She took the entire backpack with her into the bathroom and shut the door.

 

She scrubbed every inch of her body clean and let the hot water pound against the sore muscles in her back until her skin was numb.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a silk wrap, Terry had fallen asleep completely undressed on one of the beds.

She went to the window and stared out at the ocean.

They were well out to sea now—far from Reiss, and any of his men. The Orb was safe—which meant Pandora was safe. She still needed to transmit Bryce the rest of the images, but that could wait. The clock had stopped ticking.

So why was Lara still worried?

A memory tugged at the back of her mind.

But before she could dredge it to the surface, a creaking noise from behind made her turn around.

Terry had risen from the bed and was coming straight toward her.

She looked over his shoulder and saw the pack safe on her bed, where she had dropped it after coming out of the shower.

Then she saw the expression on his face and knew what he wanted. Not the Orb.

Her.

He came forward and reached out to take her in his arms.

Lara grabbed hold of one of his wrists with both hands.

“Don't,” she said.

“Break it, if you want,” Terry told her. “I'm still going to kiss you.”

And he did.

She let it happen—a long, slow, lingering kiss that for a moment made her forget about everything—the Orb, Reiss, Pandora. She dropped his wrist and relaxed in his arms.

They fell over onto one of the bunks, Terry on top.

“Shall I kick you on your arse now, or later?” Lara asked. “Never mind, I'll do it twice,” she said, and rolled him over so she was on top.

Terry laughed and tried to push her over again. She resisted—they both laughed then, and looked into each other's eyes.

And at that second, the memory that had been nagging at her surfaced.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

Lara didn't answer—she leaned over and kissed him again, passionately, hungrily—one hand reaching into the front pocket of her pack as she did so.

Click.

Terry looked up at her in surprise. “What?”

She stood up and Terry pulled feebly on the cuffs she'd shackled him to the bed with.

After a second, he gave up, and smiled at her.

“This isn't exactly what I had in mind, but—”

“Why didn't you shoot Reiss?” Lara snapped. “He must have walked right past you in the lab.”

“I didn't have a clear shot,” Terry said. “And I had no idea where you were.”

Lara looked into his eyes and knew he was lying.

“I'll inform MI6 you've completed your service. You'll get your money and your life. Don't waste it.”

Terry laughed in disbelief.

“Now is no time to be splitting up, Croft—”

“You're wrong,” she said savagely. “Now is exactly the time—before you're in a position where you make the wrong decision.”

His face twisted in anger.

“You want to leave, go ahead, but don't pretend it's to save me. You're afraid. Afraid you might not be able to pull the trigger. Afraid of letting your guard down, letting anyone in—”

“I'm not leaving because I couldn't kill you, Terry. I'm leaving because I could.”

He stared at her.

“And if you're wrong about me, Croft? What about that?”

Lara shook her head.

“I'm not wrong, Terry. You know it, and I know it.”

She slipped on her clothes and collected her things, pausing at the door.

“Good-bye, Terry.”

He gave her one last smile. “This isn't good-bye, Croft.”

But she hoped, for both their sakes, that it was.

The freighter they'd landed on had two Zodiac speedboats strapped to the hull. Lara had seen them when they'd glided down to the deck.

She paid (overpaid) the captain for one, outlining Terry's history of abusive behavior and begging him for the chance to escape. She didn't know if he believed her or not—the important thing was that he let her go. She headed due east with the Zodiac. Taipei, she decided. Not only did she have friends there, but the political climate was favorable—MI6 would have no problem picking her up, should that become necessary.

She arrived within sight of the harbor by early morning, still bone-tired, having been limited to the occasional thirty-minute catnap at the wheel of the Zodiac. Coffee, she thought, and then communications. She would have good reception here for the sat—she could get the rest of the images to Bryce, have him send her the translation and be on her way to Pandora by midmorning. Well in advance of Reiss, even assuming he could somehow piece together the data she'd destroyed and translate it.

Even this early in the morning, the harbor was busy. Lara had to join a queue of ships trying to make their way down the single narrow channel to the docks ahead.

Glancing off to her right, she spied an antiquated Chinese junk—with a very modern-looking set of communications aerials.

Worth a try, she decided, and pulled out of the queue. She came up alongside the boat and tied off onto a gang wire next to it.

An elderly couple and two children were just sitting down to their breakfast when she rapped on their door.

“Good morning,” she said, bowing. “Might I borrow your television? It's important.”

The old man looked at her in confusion. The youngest child—a girl—smiled.

“This way,” she said, grabbing Lara by the arm and tugging her forward.

 

Not only did Lara get the television, she got breakfast. Duck's eggs instead of the scones she'd been anticipating, tea instead of coffee, but a much-needed pick-me-up all the same.

She repaid the elderly couple's kindness by ripping apart their television set.

“I'll put it all back together once I'm done, I promise,” she assured them in her best Mandarin, but they only looked on with mild curiosity as she went about her business. Combining components from her cell, their television, and the digital camera to put together a makeshift wireless video conferencing facility.

It took the better part of an hour to put the pieces together.

Then she set the Orb down on top of the television, and dialed up the manor.

To her surprise it was Bryce, rather than Hillary, who answered.

“Lara.”

His image filled the screen—behind her, Lara was aware of the elderly couple hugging their children closer. He looked terrible—haggard, as if he hadn't slept all night.

“He's a fright, all right,” she said without turning around. “But he is a friend of mine.”

Bryce leaned closer. “Where are you?”

“Never mind that,” she said. “I want to send through the captures from Reiss's lab. Are you ready?”

“In a second.” Bryce leaned out of the picture a moment. Then he was back. “Ready.”

“All right,” Lara said. “Sending the last images of the Orb…now.”

She'd already slid the photo chip into her phone—now she pressed the send button and the air filled with the squeal of the electronics handshaking and then the data being transmitted.

“Got them,” Bryce said.

“Translate them.”

“Already on it,” he said, swiveling around in his chair to study a display screen behind him. The resolution on her end was well below snuff—she could vaguely make out lines of data scrolling by on the monitor.

“Done.”

Lara repositioned the Orb on top of the television slightly, so that the speaker from her cell was as close to it as possible.

Then she stood back and nodded to Bryce.

“All right. Send the sounds.”

“Hang on. I'll verify the data.”

“Bryce.” She shook her head. He knew her better than that. “No. Send the sounds, please.”

“All right. Sending…now.”

For a moment, nothing. Then a series of tones began issuing from the speaker. A simple melody at first, then a flood of noise, sometimes harmonic, sometimes utterly discordant. There was a curious, muted quality to some of the notes, as if they were coming from underwater.

Lara had no idea what was supposed to happen next—but after a minute of listening, and watching the Orb intently without anything on its surface changing, she knew something was off.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Back to the drawing board,” Bryce said quickly.

Lara shook her head. “Play them again.”

Bryce sighed and did as she asked.

“Hang on,” she said, half a minute into the playback.

“What?”

It was that muted quality to some of the tones; it had bothered her the first time through and now she knew why.

“The tones are being distorted.”

Bryce frowned. “I don't think—”

“There's a phase shift,” she realized. “Because of the phone line. The pitch is wrong!”

She looked up at Bryce, expecting to see the light of discovery in her eyes reflected in his.

Instead, she saw only disappointment.

“Bryce?” She frowned. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. I just don't see it, is all.”

Lara tried again. “Have you ever listened to your voice on a tape recorder? It's the same thing.”

“Maybe,” Bryce said.

“Maybe nothing.” Lara frowned.

“So what do you want to do?”

She thought a moment. “Send me the raw data.”