Agent Atlantis

Chapter 8-Hero

The two allies clambered up the stairs to the top floor. Instead of yet another level of stairs, a metal door barred their path. It was unlocked, and Luke crashed through it.

On the other side, the boy sighed in relief as a gust of cold wind cut through his sweaty body. The roof was a cement arena the size of a football field, with flimsy railings that looked like they could fold under the pressure of a bird landing on them. Some electronics—satellites, HVAC fans, and communication equipment—lay bolted to one corner. That was it.

"Man, am I glad to be outside," Luke muttered to himself. Despite the modernization of the roof, the sight of the sky and the cold fall weather made Luke wonder if he could really escape from the "inescapable" compound. Besides, it wasn't like running in the West Agency was any better, with its ten-minute-long staircases.

Yes, he'd timed it.

Luke turned to Collins as he pulled out his radio. "Laption, where's that escape route you mentioned?"

A reply came over the device, but the background noise and static made it muffled. Additionally, Luke was aware of a thump-thump-thump vibrating the building.

The radio crackled to life again. "Look . . . up!" Laption said.

He did. And his mouth dropped open. "There's actually no way."

"My men are the elites of the elite," Collins said proudly as he followed Luke's gaze. "There is nothing they can't do. And about you losing the bet—I'm afraid you can't be on the roof of the escape vehicle."

For once, Luke was speechless. He watched as their escape vehicle descended from the sky with the thump-whump-thump he'd been hearing. On the sliding door was a crest of a flying white eagle with the earth in its talons—the West Artenian agency symbol. Never in his life did he think he'd get rescued with a freaking helicopter—especially one that had been stolen.

The side door slid open, and Laption hung out of the side. As the helicopter descended, he gestured to Luke and Collins to move out of the way.

Collins flattened himself on the wall.

"How'd they get past the freaking SAM missiles?" Luke asked as he copied Collins. In his long career with the Agency, he'd heard many stories of poor jet pilots that chose to end their career by flying over the headquarters.

"They don't attack friendly aircraft. See that crest on the helicopter? That's kind of like a QR code—it gives the turrets all the info they need."

"What happens if they realize that it's stolen?"

Collins paused as if trying to come up with something reassuring. Before he could open his mouth, however, Luke stiffened.

The helicopter was close enough now that Luke could barely hear himself think—but his senses were on high alert. He pulled the doorway they'd come through open, and found his ears assaulted by dozens of footsteps. They know we're on the roof.

This can't be. He began panicking. The helicopter would need at least thirty more seconds to reach the ground. Furthermore, based on the rebels' gear, they wouldn't be able to fight a drawn-out battle. Any encounter with the Wartenians would turn out to be deadly. We're not going to make it.

Was this all . . . for nothing?

Calm down. Luke shook his head. Now was not the time to be spiraling—especially when they were this close to escaping.

"You go first, and I'll hold them back," Collins told him, detecting his panic. "Don't worry about me."

"Captain . . ." Luke's gut was filled with a rush of emotions—guilt, gratefulness, then resolve. "I won't forget what you've done for me."