Like him. He was as rusty as this forgotten escape hatch. Frozen in place. Self-destructing from within. Unseen, unknown ...
"Get a grip," he muttered, his voice rumbling back from the rock that surrounded him. He repositioned the crowbar. "You're not even out yet and already you're losing it."
Iron scraped against steel. Gideon tested the strength of the lock, but there was no give to the metal. He played his flashlight around the edges of the door-frame, searching for a weak spot where the assembly was bolted to the tunnel wall. The crowbar was a primitive tool, but that and a chisel were all he'd been able to acquire undetected. He could have made explosives, but he wouldn't have been able to use them. Although he was too far from the inhabited areas of the compound for the noise of a blast to be heard, the seismic sensors around the perimeter would pick up the shock wave and someone would be sent to investigate the tunnel.
Gideon wasn't sure what he'd do if they found him. Could he take a life in order to preserve his own? How deep did the evil run in his soul?
Then again, only humans had souls.
And Gideon Faulkner wasn't quite human.
He checked that the rip in his glove hadn't reached his skin, then tightened his grip on the crowbar. Why was he doing this? He was safe here. He was valued. His sprawling quarters were furnished with every luxury that struck his fancy. He had so much wealth he'd needed to design a special program to count it. He had everything....
Except the truth.
He shook his head. That was ironic. Why would a man at the top of the FBI's Most Wanted list care about truth?
He turned to look behind him. The path through the mountain was swallowed by darkness, but he'd memorized every turn when he'd studied the schematic. The airlock that separated his quarters from the rest of the compound emerged too close to a public corridor to risk using, so it had taken weeks of painstaking labor to break through his bedroom wall to this tunnel. Once he had, it had been child's play to disable the alarm system - after all, he'd been in his teens when he'd invented it. The system was meant to keep intruders from getting in.
A person would have to be crazy to break out.
Crazy? Gideon's mind was his greatest asset, yet would he know when he crossed the brink into insanity? It wasn't too late to go back to the compound. For more than twenty years it had been his sanctuary, the only home he'd known. Leaving the safety of his quarters, even for one night, could kill him. The vision that he chased could be an illusion. All he had were fragmented memories of a house by the sea. Dreams of a better place ... and a different self.
What if there was no truth out there?
Or worse, what if he didn't like what he found?
With a growl like the warning of a trapped animal, Gideon pushed aside his doubts and swung the crow-bar at the door. Vibrations shot up his arms and rattled his teeth. He widened his stance, his muscles bunching, and swung again.
A chunk of rock flew back from the edge of the doorframe. Three more broke loose with the next blow. Gideon jammed the end of the crowbar into the gap and threw his full weight against it.
Metal screeched. Rock crumbled. The bolts that held the doorframe to the tunnel wall snapped. Gideon jumped backward as the door crashed to the floor at his feet.
Dust billowed in a choking cloud. He shielded his face with his arms and held his breath until it settled, then cautiously moved forward. When he filled his lungs once more, he tasted something strange. Something different. A fresh, sharp tang like the soap he used, like the wooden shelves in his library when they had been new.
It took him a heartbeat to realize what he breathed.
It was fresh air.
Damn, he'd done it. He was out.
Gideon grabbed his flashlight and propped the door into place behind him. He had six hours left before he'd be missed. That should be enough time to cover the three miles to town and begin the search for the truth behind his memories. According to the topographical maps, cutting across country would be rough in places until he could parallel the highway, but as long as he didn't encounter something unforeseen -
A monster loomed in front of him, so tall it blocked the sky. Gideon lurched back, directing his flashlight beam upward. Limbs swayed in the darkness, trailing fragrant tendrils through the mist. A tree. He recognized it from the pictures he'd studied. It was a hemlock, part of the pocket of old-growth forest surrounding the buildings that concealed the compound.
He reached for a branch and ran his gloved fingers along flat needles slick with mist. He moved deeper into its shadow, his boots slipping on hillocks of moss. His nostrils flared as rich, earthy scents swirled around him. He pressed his hand to the trunk. Through a protective barrier of supple kidskin, he explored the contours of the bark.
It was dangerous to linger. Precious minutes were passing. This was only a hemlock tree, after all. Nothing special.
He closed his eyes, his senses whirling. Nothing special? Damn, it wasn't a photo in a book or an image on a screen, it was a real tree. And for the first time in his life he was touching one, smelling one, hearing the branches sigh in the breeze....
Or was it the first time?
Something danced on the fringe of his consciousness. He felt air on his face, but it wasn't laden with the scents of the forest; it was tinged with salt. The breeze became the crash of waves. Sunshine warmed his skin -
The vision winked out as soon as he reached for it. Gideon pushed away from the tree and began his journey.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Insider by Ingrid Weaver Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
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