The mansion loomed against the lightening sky as they approached, its windows dark, its new contemporary façade silent and watchful. Losham had never liked this new version of the building. The original one that had been done in the Mediterranean style had been much more welcoming.
He stifled a chuckle at the absurdity of that thought.
Nothing about his father had ever been welcoming or warm. Navuh had been cold and intimidating on a good day and terrifying on a bad one.
Hakum waited at the front entrance, his tall, slim silhouette stark against the faint glow of interior lights. He straightened as Losham approached.
"My lord. The team is waiting for you in the basement."
"Excellent." Losham brushed past him into the foyer. "The sooner they get to work, the sooner we can get it done. I'm tired of waiting."
He'd inherited his father's assistant along with everything else, and even though the guy wasn't the brightest bulb, he was useful.
The air grew cooler as they went down the stairs, carrying the smell of dust and machine oil and something sharp and metallic that hadn't been there before.
The new plasma cutter.
The basement stretched far beyond the mansion's footprint, extending under the entire backyard in a labyrinth of corridors and storage rooms. Dave had gone through most of them, cataloging the treasures, and the last one to be explored was the enclosure. That glass box stood impenetrable like a monument to Navuh's paranoia.
It rose from the concrete floor, twenty feet tall and almost twice as wide, its walls made of glass so thick and clear it seemed almost invisible until the light caught it at certain angles. Inside, fine white sand hid whatever lay beneath its surface.
The crew had positioned the plasma cutter on a wheeled platform, its bulk bristling with hoses and cables that snaked back to a massive power unit. Four workers in protective gear were making final adjustments while a fifth checked readouts on a portable monitor.
The team leader approached, holding out two sets of ear protection—heavy-duty muffs to block the noise.
"My lord." He offered the muffs to Losham and then to Rami. "You'll want to put these on before we start. I'd also recommend standing back near the stairs. The plasma arc throws off intense light and heat."
Losham took the muffs but didn't put them on yet. "Can you estimate how long until you breach?"
"Hard to say, my lord. The previous cutting attempts suggested the glass is unlike anything we've encountered. But the plasma cutter operates at much higher temperatures than our other tools. If anything can cut through, this can."
"Then let's find out."
Losham retreated to the base of the stairs with Rami at his side. As they fitted the muffs over their ears, the world went muffled and distant, the sounds of the crew's preparations reduced to dull thumps and vibrations.
The team leader raised his hand, made a circling gesture, and the workers scrambled to their positions. One of them pulled down a welding mask. Another gripped the controls of the plasma cutter, adjusting the angle of the torch head until it pointed directly at the glass surface.
Losham held his breath.
The plasma arc ignited.
Even through the ear protection, the sound was tremendous—a high-pitched shriek underlaid by a deep, thrumming roar that seemed to vibrate through the concrete floor and up into his bones. The arc itself was blinding, a concentrated point of light so intense that Losham had to look away despite standing thirty feet back.
But he had to see. Had to know.
He squinted through the glare, watching the point where the plasma arc met the glass surface. Sparks fountained outward, showering the floor with glowing particles that faded to ash before landing. The air filled with an acrid smell.
And the glass...
The glass was glowing.
Excitement thrummed through Losham's chest. The other tools had barely scratched the surface, but this was actually affecting the material, creating a point of intense heat that spread outward in a web of glowing lines.
It was actually working.
Losham took a step forward, then another, drawn toward the enclosure by an almost magnetic pull. Rami grabbed his arm, shouting something that was lost in the roar of the plasma cutter, but Losham shook him off. He had to see. Had to watch the moment when the glass finally gave way and revealed what his father had been hiding in there.
The web spread further, covering an area the size of a dinner plate. Cracks began to form, hairline fractures radiating outward from the point of contact. The worker operating the cutter adjusted the angle, tracing the arc along the developing weakness and widening the damaged area.
