Alien Proliferation

no railings to hold on to, and the stairs were indeed slippery. They were also covered with dust. No one had been here in years, if not decades or more. We were moving fast enough that slipping wasn’t too much of an issue. Of course, I slipped, but White kept a firm hold on me and kept us moving upward. I remained overwhelmingly impressed.
    We hit a ceiling. White felt around, located the trapdoor, and opened it, carefully. He pulled himself up, then pulled me up. We were in a medium-sized room and were, thankfully, alone. White closed the trapdoor quietly, took my hand again, and then we moved through the room.
    As we got to the door, Harlie jumped out of my purse again and started leading. We followed. I looked around and pulled White’s head down. “We’re in the cellars,” I whispered in his ear. “Where the prison was.” He nodded.
    It had been warm in the tunnels, and we’d been running. We were moving slowly now, and it was freezing in here. I started to shiver. White stopped and put his jacket on me. Felt warmer and grateful both. He took my hand again, and we started off after Harlie.
    It was a big building. Perhaps if we hadn’t been trying to save everyone, I would have enjoyed the architecture. As it was, I was trying to come up with a plan. Neither White nor I had an actual weapon on us, we had something like two dozen people to save, and we had no idea how many bad guys we were dealing with.
    White squeezed my hand and leaned down. “Light ahead.” Harlie jumped into my purse. It was clear where we were supposed to go now.
    We slowed down and started creeping. As we got nearer, I heard the sound of someone shouting in pain. My grip on White’s hand tightened—it was Jeff.

 
    CHAPTER 57
     
    “S TOP IT!” AMY’S VOICE. She was screaming and crying. “Why are you doing this to them?”
    “There are reasons.” Recognized this voice, too. Amy’s father. Hadn’t heard him in years but could still recognize it.
    We got to where we could see but remain in shadows. Big corridor, rooms off to the sides, bars. Every male was stripped to the waist and chained to the bars, pretty much spread-eagled. Would have spent a lot of time drooling if they weren’t in mortal peril. The women were all in one cell together. Apparently they weren’t strong enough to bend these bars, because I could see Emily and Melanie trying to pull them apart, and the bars weren’t budging.
    Herbert Gaultier was between the cell with the women and where the men were pretty much on display. He wasn’t alone. I could see Robert and Barbara Coleman and several other A-Cs with them.
    White leaned down and spoke in my ear. “All the Diplomatic Corps are here. The smaller, darker-skinned man is the one I met at the Paris airport.”
    I moved my mouth to his ear. “Figure he’s who’s pretending to be Al Dejahl.”
    White nodded, and we both continued to look at the scene. I couldn’t spot any of Jeff’s other brothers-in-law. What that meant, I didn’t know.
    “Really, Jeffrey,” Barbara Coleman said with false sweetness. “Just bring your wife and baby here. That’s all we ask. Then we’ll stop hurting you.” I found myself wishing I’d killed her during Operation Drug Addict.
    Jeff just glared at her. She smiled, and then I could tell she sent an emotional blast at him, because he shouted in pain again, and his whole body jerked. Not just her, I realized. All of them, all twelve of the Diplomatic Corps—they were all attacking my husband with the intent to torture him to death. Forced myself not to see red, not to just run in there, but it felt like the hardest thing I’d ever done.
    Chuckie was next to Jeff—still alive, but he’d had the crap beaten out of him. Christopher was on Jeff’s other side. He looked as though they’d used him for sparring practice, too.
    The rest of our guys were spread out, all looking like they’d been on the wrong end of a gang war. “Why do you want a baby?” Tito, interestingly, was still able to talk. Cage fighting had its benefits. He was next to Christopher.
    “Oh, not just any baby. Theirs. And the other enhanced hybrid when it arrives. For study.” The man whom White identified as our fake Al Dejahl moved closer to Tito. “Why do you care?” Tito didn’t answer, which earned him a punch in the gut. He shouted, but it was a shout I was familiar with—martial arts taught you to let out air and shout when you were hit, to deflect the pain. Probably why