Exactly forty-five minutes later, Mao’s men entered the Arsenal. It didn’t take them long to overturn the marble sarcophagus and spot the escape tunnel beneath it.
‘Go! Get down there! Now!’ Mao roared.
His troops dropped into the escape shaft. They then hurried down the long horizontal tunnel at its base, flashlights bouncing, submachine-guns pressed to their shoulders.
Gradually the tunnel morphed from a slick sharp-edged passageway into a rough-walled rubble-strewn one, as though their quarry had been forced to dig through the very earth.
Then the Chinese troops turned a final bend in the tunnel and stopped.
They’d come to the end of the tunnel, and there in the glare of their flashlight beams, they saw—
—a gaping hole in the rock, with a jackhammer lying abandoned beside it. Beyond the hole was a natural cave of some sort through which the dim glow of daylight could be seen.
Jack West and his team were gone.
While all this was happening in Mongolia, other things were taking place around the world:
NASA scientists reported unprecedented events in the outer regions of the solar system.
Gargantuan storms in the atmospheres of the four gas giants— Jupiter, Neptune, Uranus and Saturn—had produced the wildest celestial images since the cornet Shoemaker-Levy 9 had plunged into Jupiter’s atmosphere in 1994.
Great roiling spirals of gas could be seen on each of the four massive planets. It was as if all four planets were being assailed by some invisible violent force.
None of the scientists who appeared on all the morning TV shows could explain this sudden onset of planetary storms.
At the same time, the National Weather Service reported unusual weather patterns all over the world: fierce flooding in Brazil; sand-storms in China; cyclones in the Pacific; even a weeklong rainstorm in the Sahara Desert.
Meteorologists were confounded.
It was as if the world had gone mad.
On the military front, China unveiled the latest additions to its burgeoning navy: two colossal aircraft carriers.
For a decade, Western nations had watched nervously as China had steadily modernised her navy, adding nuclear ballistic and attack submarines plus high-tech Luzhou-class destroyers to it. Three years previously, US satellites had spotted the first carrier being constructed in a shipyard at Dalian. A modern Chinese carrier battle group had thus been expected for some time.
But the appearance of a second carrier had come as a complete and embarrassing surprise.
No-one had known the Chinese were building two of them. At the same time, a major diplomatic announcement was made, with China pledging enormous aid payments to various countries. While the inclusion of the usual rogue regimes—Sudan, Zimbabwe—made the news, the largest payment, oddly, went to Chile.
In any case, when the two carriers took to sea on February 22, it rocked governments from Washington to Moscow and London.
They were numbered 001 and 002 and simply named the China and the Mao Zedong.
Lastly, on February 28—the day Jack West Jr was waging his war against Mao Gongli’s Chinese forces in Mongolia—in the midst of a violent ocean storm, a small tsunami struck the north-eastern tip of Japan’s largest island, Honshu.
The tsunami comprised four waves, each about three metres high. Damage was minimal, due to the quick detection of the tsunami by Japan’s ocean-based early warning systems and the region’s concrete ‘tsunami walls’.
Seismologists in Hawaii attributed the wave to an undersea volcanic eruption approximately three hundred miles off the coast of Honshu.
What was unusual in this case, they said, was that the undersea eruption had not been preceded by the ‘warning tremors’ that usually came before such an eruption.
This eruption had been oddly spontaneous—as if, in one commentator’s words, ‘The floor of the Pacific Ocean just had a sudden jerking spasm.’
***
All of this—the unstable weather patterns, the Chinese warships, the tsunami—was observed by a lone man sitting in his remote headquarters.
He was a man of patience, great patience. He could wait-out even the most stubborn opponent.
He was a man who understood pain—the exposed steel plates that stood in place of his left jawbone, an example of the backward surgery of his homeland, caused him chronic pain, but it was an agony he endured as a daily test of his fortitude.
But most of all, he was a man who prized information, because information gave him power.
By virtue of his previous position in his country’s state security organisation, he had access to the systems it had used for years to acquire information: taps on American and British undersea communications cables, spy satellites long thought to have been decommissioned, access codes to the secure military radio channels used by every nation from China to Japan to America and Israel.
For a long time now he had watched the travails of Jack West Jr. He knew all about Jack’s previous missions, just as he knew all about Jack’s rivals—from Wolf and Vulture and Mao, to Iolanthe and even the Japanese blood order—and their tangled web of two-faced allegiances.
He even knew of Jack’s two daring rescues, one at Guantanamo Bay and the more recent one from the Old Master’s trophy room in the Negev Desert. The Old Master, with whom this man competed in a gruesome competition, had been most upset by that.
But most of all, this man—this man with the exposed steel jaw—knew about the Dark Star, the Pillars, the Vertices and the Machine.
And now as he saw the world begin to tremble, he knew it was time to make his move.
PERTH, AUSTRALIA
28 FEBRUARY 2008
12 DAYS BEFORE THE 3RD DEADLINE
While tsunamis struck Japan and Jack fought Mao’s siege army in die Gobi Desert, Alby Calvin worked quietly away in his bedroom in his home in Perth.
Like the rooms of most twelve-year-old boys, it was filled with posters and toys, only this bedroom bore posters of the planets and the solar system, a telescope, and taking pride of place above Alby’s desk, a print of Albert Einstein and his famous quote:
Great spirits have always encountered
violent opposition from mediocre minds.
Since the conference call with the team in Zanzibar, Alby had been busy doing research. He missed Lily and the others—missed the constant thrill of their adventures—but he’d always known that at some point he’d have to return to his ordinary life back home. Keeping busy doing research, however, made him feel like he was still part of the team.
And the work he was doing today was important.
He was calculating the exact times the Titanic Rising would occur on the days that the final Pillars had to he set in place at their Vertices.
It took a while but eventually Alby figured out all the times, adding them to the list of Pillar-laying dates Wizard had taken from the Mayan Killing Stone:
3RD PILLAR - MARCH 11 (0005 HOURS - JAPAN)
4TH PILLAR - MARCH 18 (0231 HOURS - GMT)
5TH PILLAR - MARCH 18 (0231 HOURS - GMT)
6TH PILLAR - MARCH 20 (1800 HOURS – MAYA/MEXICO) [THE DUAL EQUINOX)
Since Alby now knew that the Third Vertex was somewhere in Japan, he calculated the local time in Japan for that Titanic Rising. For the next two Vertices, since he didn’t know their locations, he just used Greenwich Mean Time. And for the last one, which wasn’t a Titanic Rising but rather the rare Dual Equinox, he just used the Mayans’ own timezone: that of modern Mexico.
Once that was done, he immersed himself in Japanese history, in particular history related to its northernmost island, Hokkaido, and any reference that could, on a second reading, indicate the location of a Vertex there.
The more he read about Japan and its warrior culture, the more he recalled the words of Iolanthe: that the Japanese were an intensely proud people.
But it was a pride that presented itself in forms that Westerners found confusing and grim.
From the death-dives of kamikaze pilots to the ritual suicide of Japanese troops on Okinawa and Iwo Jima during World War II.
Or the way modern Japanese schoolbooks did not mention Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor. They stated that America had been the aggressor in that war.
Death before dishonour.
Anything before dishonour.
Tank had once told the twins that it was Japan’s humiliation at losing World War II that drove him to destroy the world now.
Alby shook his head. People were strange.
He was surrounded by printouts and notes, including a bunch of Thoth carvings that Wizard had photographed at the First Vertex and which Lily had decoded.
He glanced at Lily’s translation of one of Wizard’s photos of the first Vertex.
He sat bolt upright, and read the translation aloud:
Approach the last four temple-shrines with great care.
For in the days before the Return,
Called forth by Ra’s Dark Twin himself,
The very waters of the Earth shall rise to their defence.
‘“The very waters of the Earth shall rise to their defence . . . ‘” He repeated.
‘Did you say something?’ his mother Lois asked, stopping in the doorway, holding a laundry basket.
‘What has Japan had a lot more of than any other country in the world?’ Alby asked her.
‘What?’
‘Tsunamis. Tidal waves.’
‘That’s nice, dear.’ His mom wandered off.
Alby pondered the translation.
The very waters of the Earth shall rise to their defence.
Was it possible that the return of the Dark Sun could trigger a tsunami? Like the one that had hit Japan?
Most tsunamis were thought to be caused by underwater earthquakes or volcanic eruptions. But there was one other theory . . .
He began typing an email to Lily, outlining his theory:
Hi Lily,
Got something for Jack to consider if he makes a run at the Third Vertex.
I think the Vertex on Hokkaido might be protected by a tsunami or a series of tsunamis.
Here’s my theory: we all know how the moon affects the Earth’s tides by moving close to and away from the Earth.
What fewer people know is that this lunar movement is also thought to affect volcanic eruptions by ‘bulging’ the surface of the Earth.
The moon comes close to one side of the Earth, and so by virtue of its gravitational pull, that side of the Earth bulges toward the moon. Not only do the waters in the nearest ocean rise, but the very crust of the Earth also rises. If the Earth’s crust bulged near a weak spot in that crust, you would certainly get volcanic activity.
Now imagine this on the scale of the Dark Sun.
It’s a great big body of anti-matter, the most powerful force known to science. If it set off a tsunami or two here, that’d be a small side-effect of its presence. It’s probably what’s causing the mega gas-storms in the atmospheres of Jupiter, Neptune, Uranus and Saturn right now.
By arriving at the outer reaches of our solar system, the Dark Sun is creating a bulging effect on the Earth, thus triggering tsunamis and the unusual weather phenomena.
Anyway, it’s just a theory.
Alby
Alby fired off the email and sat back in his chair. It was dark now, the house quiet. His dad and his older brother, Josh, had gone out to see a movie or something. He heard his mom shuffling about in the kitchen.
‘The solar system is starting to fall apart as the Dark Star approaches,’ he said to no-one, ‘and it’ll only get worse—’
A banging noise and a scream made him spin. It sounded like his mom in the kitchen.
Alby stood up from his desk, only to see a dark figure appear in the doorway.
The man wore a ski-mask and gripped a silenced MP-5 submachine gun. A second trooper materialised behind him, holding Alby’s struggling mother in a tight grip.
Alby froze.
But then two more men stepped into the doorway, men he knew. Both were Arabian. The first, tall and handsome; the second, hunched and rat-nosed.
Scimitar and Vulture.
‘Hello, Albert,’ Vulture said with a malevolent grin. ‘It’s so nice to see you again.’
Within an hour, Alby and his mother were bundled out of the country on a private jet owned by the Saudi Royal Family, a jet that so far as Alby could tell, was heading out over the Indian Ocean.
Naturally, Lois was hysterical with both fear and outrage, so Scimitar injected her with a sedative. As she slumped into a deep sleep, Alby sat beside her, holding her hand.
The sleek private jet zoomed over the Indian Ocean.
But it did not leave completely unnoticed.
High above the Earth, a spy satellite long thought to have been decommissioned was watching it.
DUBLIN, IRELAND
JUNE 2007
In that blissfully peaceful period between the Tartarus Rotation of 2006 and the day Chinese forces attacked her remote farm in late 2007, Lily had travelled a lot.
To Dubai with Pooh Bear, to Canada with Wizard, and to New Zealand with Sky Monster (where in Dunedin she stayed with Sky Monster’s sweet but somewhat wacky parents; they pestered their son incessantly for a grandchild, which Lily found hilarious).
But her favourite destination of all was Ireland, and going there with Zoe.
To Lily, Ireland was the exact opposite of Australia: where Australia was dry, harsh and sandy, Ireland was green, moist and leafy. And the people were so friendly and she loved their accents.
On a few occasions Zoe took Lily with her when she returned to Ireland to brief her military and political superiors—the officials who had backed the initial mission to locate the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. Given her integral role in that mission, Lily enjoyed a kind of star status when she met with those people, which of course she loved.
She particularly enjoyed meeting General Colin O’Hara, the silver-haired Irish general who had convened that fateful meeting of nations way back in 1996, shortly after Lily’s birth. O’Hara had always acted as something of a grandfather to Lily, and he spoiled her terribly with chocolates and gifts when she came to Ireland.
So it was something of a surprise to Lily when, in June 2007, she and Zoe travelled to Ireland and entered O’Hara’s office in the Irish Special Department of State to find O’Hara not there.
A much younger man met them instead.
They found him sitting lazily on O’Hara’s desk, waiting for them. He was very handsome, Lily saw, in a slick, city kind of way. He was about Zoe’s age and he had dreamy blue eyes, a square jaw and sand-coloured hair that flopped down over his eyes.
‘Cieran?’ Zoe said in surprise. She pronounced it with a hard ‘C’: Kieran.
‘Hello, Zoe,’ the man replied. ‘And this must be Lily. Hello there, I’m Cieran Kincaid, Captain Cieran Kincaid, from the Army, but now on secondment to the Special Department of State.’
‘Hi,’ Lily said softly.
There was something about him that she didn’t like. He seemed too smooth, too eager to be seen as easygoing, too oily in his confidence. Slippery was the adjective that came to Lily’s mind.
Zoe looked flurnmoxed and, to Lily, a little embarrassed. ‘Cieran, what are you—what are you doing here?’
‘I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, Zoe, but General O’Hara passed away three weeks ago. Heart attack. He was sixty-five.’
‘Oh dear . . . ’ Zoe said.
Lily’s face fell. Zoe put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Cieran said, ‘I’ve been asked to take his place as case officer for several special missions, including yours.’
‘Asked or volunteered?’ Zoe said.
‘Perhaps a bit of both,’ Cieran smiled. ‘You know me, Zoe.’ At which point, Cieran Kincaid did something that took Lily by surprise.
He smiled at Zoe, hut in a way that Lily had never seen before. It wasn’t a lecherous smile, but
there was definitely something sleazy in it—nor was it triumphant, but there was still something condescending about it. Whatever it was, Lily decided she didn’t like anyone smiling at Zoe like that.
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