Free The Ruins of Mars (The Ruins of Mars Trilogy Book 1) by Dylan James Quarles Page B

long hallway, tapping the face of his watch twice. James went to plug his ears, but this time there was no siren. Instead, a section of wall about the size of a small door sank back five centimeters, then dropped into a pocket in the floor. Speaking into his transmitter, the agent nearest the opening beckoned James forwards impatiently. Approaching the man with small nervous steps, James started to ask a question, but the agent cut him off.
          “Inside,” he ordered.
          Stepping through the opening and into a small elevator, James turned to say something, but before he could speak, mirrored metal doors slid shut, and the elevator dropped like a stone. Grasping the handrails, he forced his stomach down out of his throat, feeling the crushing force of inertia press down against him like an invisible giant. As the seconds ticked by and the speed of his descent did not slacken, James began to wonder how far down he was going. A smooth voice echoed from the walls around him and cut through his thoughts.
          “Good morning, Mr. Floyd. I am George Washington. Welcome to the White House.”
          Speaking in no particular direction, James asked, “How far down are we going?”
          “I’m sorry, Sir, but that information is classified. Have you been briefed on the proper safety protocol?”
          Thinking back to the stern warning the agent had given him about not making sudden or threatening gestures, James nodded.
          “Good,” replied the AI. “We will be arriving at the War Room shortly.”
          With sudden and jarring rapidity, the elevator slowed, then stopped. A melodic chime echoed in the cramped space, and the doors slid apart. Before him was a long, oval-shaped conference room with low ceilings and curved walls, comprised entirely of screens. A rectangular table spanned nearly the whole length of the room, and there were chairs enough to seat twenty. James, however, saw only three occupants. At the head of the table stood the President of the United States, Atlas Jay. Tall and slender, his short gray hair was combed back—away from his tanned face—and his large, watery blue eyes flicked up to James, who was standing in the open elevator.
          “Proceed forward please,” prompted the voice of George Washington.
          James stepped out of the elevator, and the other two people at the table turned to look at him. Sitting to the left of the President was his Chief of Staff, a woman named Eve Bear. Notoriously beautiful in her youth, a life of political warfare and the maintenance of America’s global dominance had done little to wear her looks down. At fifty years old, Bear had the look of someone much younger: with straight blond hair and deep green eyes, which seemed to smolder with some internal heat. Her gaze was calculating, intense and unembarrassed. James felt himself blush a little as she watched him approach.
          To the right of the president was the Director of the CIA, Ben Crain. At forty-seven, Crain had a long pointed nose and small brown eyes, which when added to his large black-framed glasses and receding hair line, gave him a sharp and dangerous look. Seemingly the only human being on Earth whom Donovan respected, Crain was notoriously capable of doing things, in the name of freedom, which would easily tarnish a weaker man's soul.
          “Please,” said the President in accent-less English. “Take a seat here next to Eve.”
          Having indicated the open chair next to his Chief of Staff, the President sat down and smiled professionally. Grateful that he would not have to sit next to Crain, James walked quickly to his seat.
          “I’m sorry I’m late,” he stammered as he neared the group. “There were a lot of people outside and—”
          Raising a thin hand, the President shook his head. “That’s quite alright, Dr. Floyd. I know it’s been an interesting day for you to say the