Recalling Destiny

by Michael Blinkhoff

  “No but.”

  “Well how did we get in here?”

  The man points back down the hallway, towards the darkness Harrison has just wandered down.

  “Please mister, can we just get out of here … please?”

  “Go that way, or…” he replies, turning and pointing to a small concrete door in the other direction.

  “Two ways out, ok …” he muses, “… where did we come from originally?”

  The man points back to the dark hallway.

  “So is that easier?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where does it come out?”

  “Train station.”

  Harrison’s need to avoid both the government and Destiny gives him little choice, if that path led to a railway station then it meant it led to possible public surveillance. Surveillance meant getting caught. “And the other way, where does it come out?”

  “The sea.”

  “The sea?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it safe?”

  No response.

  “Hey man! Is it safe or what! Can we make it?”

  “Maybe.”

  Harrison doesn’t care, he just wants to leave, if it was the only other option to avoid running into anyone on the outside then it’s his best bet. “Ok, well, can we go that way then?”

  The man hesitates a moment before springing into action, he seems to Harrison to be accustomed to being on the run and moves as though he’s planned for such a situation like this. He too must have understood the need for a quick getaway when you’re on the run and the difference it can make in getting caught or not.

  Suni, the leader of Harrison’s little group, made them prepare for such quick getaways all the time back at the apartment they used for their operations. So, whilst Harrison wasn’t a natural he still had some escape and evade training.

  He moves quickly into the room and collects his hoodie, while removing the mobile phone he has stored there. Without hesitation he switches it off and disassembles it, tossing it onto the bed after he’s done and joining the man.

  The dark man goes to a nearby locker, retrieves a backpack, a large square duffel bag and a pair of goggles, which he hands to Harrison, “Follow me.”

  Harrison stands there and watches as the man gathers his things when a thought strikes him, “what’s your name?” he asks.

  “No name.”

  “C’mon man, everyone has a name.”

  “Smith.” comes the reply.

  “Oh sure, John Smith I suppose?” Harrison mocks sarcastically, pulling the goggles over his head and hanging them around his neck.

  The man offers no reply as he ushers Harrison out of the hallway towards the back, where they both make their way down a flight of steps.

  “Don’t talk much do you Smith?”

  “To what purpose?”

  “Why, to communicate of course!” Harrison replies.

  “Why think noise from mouth communicate?”

  Harrison’s about to reply when he realises it’s the first time the man has done something other than just reply to a question, he actually asks one in return. It makes him feel a little easier, maybe the guy just needs some time to open up.

  “What’s your name mister? And please don’t tell me a lie.”

  “Smith.”

  “I just said don’t lie!”

  “Cannot lie.”

  “Well, ok then, if that’s what you’re going with then fine. Mr Smith, I am Harrison.” he extends his arm for Smith to shake. “Some people also know me by my online alias, its Han Solo.”

  Smith doesn’t bother to look at him as they reach a locked door at the lower level and he ignores the hand Harrison is offering.

  “You know him right, from Star Wars?” Harrison tries to help him out. “The movies?”

  No response as they reach the door.

  “C’mon don’t tell me you haven’t heard of Star Wars?”

  Again no response.

  “Not very friendly, are you Mr Smith?” Harrison asks as the man fumbles through a set of keys looking for the right one. He finds the right one, unlocks the door and looks at Harrison with a frown.

  “What?” Harrison stares back.

  The man nods towards Harrisons wrist, to the point where the I.V line was inserted. Harrison hadn’t thought to look before but now notices the plaster that was applied over the wound, it’s Star Wars themed.

  “What the hell Mr Smith?” he asks with a frown.

  Smith frowns too as he looks down at the plaster, but doesn’t utter any words in response.

  “Doors goes to where Mr Smith?” he tries again. “Why so many keys?”

  “Just Smith.” he replies, unlocking the door plain faced and moving on.

  “Where are we going?” Harrison asks as they enter some sort of a tunnel system, which by the smell, Harrison figures it must’ve been linked to a sewerage system. It isn’t a room as such, more of a spillway where a collection of sewerage tunnels meet, and the smell is putrid. This room too is poorly lit, but enough to make out the layout.

  “Go here,” Smith says, pointing in the direction of three large cistern pipes that have gushing water and sewerage pouring down into them. The two move out of the doorway and along a small gangway to where the large pipes are, they stand by the edge.

  “Oh no way!” Harrison stutters, bewilderingly looking at the cisterns. “We’re going in there?”

  Smith quickly straps on a square backpack and opens the other bag he has. Inside of which is contained a face mask, small gas bottle and a vacuum sealed plastic bag.

  “Must share.” Smith says, showing the mask to Harrison.

  “Oh no bloody way … we’re going down there?” Harrisons fear begins to show on his face as Smith begins buckling the plastic bag to his chest. He touches the goggles around his neck and suddenly realises why Smith has given them to him.

  They were going in.

  Smith wastes no time in getting ready, Harrison on the other hand is the complete opposite. Jumping down into a gushing sewerage pipe wasn’t high on his list of priorities, he hates anything adventurous like this. He’s trying to think of a way to stall the seemingly inevitable, but his mind can’t think. It’s almost as if it’s in freeze mode.

  He can’t figure out why his normally over active mind is quiet.

  The two of them slide cautiously over to the ledge nearest to the first cistern. Harrison, feeling his legs starting to wobble underneath him, looks over the edge at the gushing water pipe system and tries to stifle the whimper that threatens to come out of his mouth.

  “Take one breath … hold long time ... Smith take breath ... hold long time … repeat, ok? Breathe, hold, repeat. Enough three breath … understand?”

  “Understand you’re mad!” Harrison replies. “Where did you get this idea from? And the gear?”

  “Here before.”

  “Before you? You mean this is somebody else’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “Sousa.”

  “Mr Smith, I …” Harrison stammers, looking over the ledge. “I can’t do this, man, I’m a geek not some Red Bull sponsored, extreme poo-tunnel-adventurer.”

  “Three long, slow breath, ok. Take six half minute get out tunnel, understand?”

  “Ahhh,” he hesitates still. “Wait, wait … we have to take breaths from the mask, ok. I think I got it.”

  “One more thing,” he touches Harrisons shoulder. “Sousa is the key. Send the kid the device.”

  “Say what now?”

  Smith doesn’t seem to care whether Harrison does or doesn’t understand what he’s said, or if he even cares Harrison has issues with going over the edge. The man retracts two large straps from the bottom of his backpack and latches them togeth
er around Harrison’s waist, locking the two of them together. Smith then binds both of his hands around Harrison’s shoulders as if he’s hugging him, his fingers intertwining behind Harrison’s neck.

  “Wait, wait … gimme a minute.” Harrisons frets even more, everything’s happening too fast for him to catch up with. “Just wait I need to think ...”

  Before he can gather himself though, they are falling, falling downwards until they hit the water at the bottom of the pipe. After landing they are buoyed up naturally inside the intake pipe, quickly floating to the surface and moving along swiftly with the current.

  Harrison lets a gush of wind from his mouth, which turns to a high-pitched scream that emanates throughout the tunnel and echoes as they move.

  They move rapidly with the flows from other pipes, which have all funnelled into the one pipe they are in. The shit, piss and who knows what else takes them down into the depths of the underground. The light dissipates and darkness overcomes them.

  Slam!

  They hit a curve in the pipe and slide with the incline, just like a waterslide, except the water level is five times that of a slide, it froths and swishes all about the two of them. The men are side by side as they are carried swiftly along, down a deep dark hole. Harrison, thankful for the swimming goggles, now affixes them properly over his eyes.

  Harrison struggles to breathe initially, so twists and tries to reach for the mask in vain, hoping for some protection from all the sewerage. Feeling his distress already Smith rotates their position so they are sliding on his back and Harrison’s facing upwards, out of the water.

  “Not yet!” comes the shouted reply from Smith.

  As the incline descends, about twenty metres ahead a faint light can be seen illuminating the tunnel slightly. With his face now clear of the water Harrison spies another intake pipe ahead that’s the cause for the light.

  But another pipe can only mean one thing, more water. Harrison realises what the mask is for now. The intake pipe is raising the level of water higher in their tight little cistern, above their heads, which means they’re about to go under.

  For some strange reason, Harrison’s mind flashes to that of his caretaker, the man called Smith and how in the hell he knows about all of this. If Harrison wasn’t so scared, he might’ve thought it cool.

  “Take deep breath, now!” Smith yells out in the tight space.

  He remembers something about it taking six and a half minutes, the man would only have known that if he’d done it himself and tested it, right? This would also mean he knew how much air it would take to get down, well at least for one person. But Harrison remembers him saying the equipment was all here before him, meaning it was only probably meant for one person.

  Surely it would mean they didn’t have enough oxygen to get the two of them through safely. Six and a half minutes with only three breaths.

  The best Harrison could remember about holding his breath is as a child. He and his friends would be playing in the pool and they would all take turns holding their breath underwater to see who could hold it the longest. Harrison grows concerned at the thought, his record back then was only something like forty-three seconds!

  The thought is flushed from his mind as Smith yells out to him again, “Remember, one breath, hold long time.” Smith activates something on his watch, takes a few deep breaths and locks his mouth shut. Harrison, seeing him do this, does the same.

  At that moment, they go under, the two of them completely engulfed under the water.

  Another pipe is attached to the one they’re in and it causes the water level to swell almost to the roof. Added to that, the current in the water has strengthened dramatically, and the water now takes on a stranger, darker density.

  These are not storm water drains, they’re sewerage.

  Harrison gags at the thought of faeces covering his face and covers his mouth when he realises he’s supposed to hold his breath. He gags and can’t help but expel the air he’s trying to hold in. He’s about to panic but before he knows it Smith slams the mask over his face and taps him on the shoulder.

  Before Harrison comprehends what’s happening, he’s already taken two short, coughing breaths from the mask before Smith quickly rips it from his face. The shit and piss covers his face again and he shuts his eyes in disgust.

  Lacking for air from his first attempt at the mask, he can already taste the bile coming up his throat and finds himself having to fight the urge to expel it as it pools at the back of his throat. He starts to panic and knows it’s a bad thing for him to do. He wants to calm himself down by breathing slowly but can’t because of the water, and a breath under the water would mean certain death. With nothing but a mouthful of vomit, Harrison freaks out as they descend in almost complete darkness.

  He tries to let Smith know he’s struggling and needs another breath by tapping on his shoulder, but when Smith doesn’t respond he tries to get the mask for himself, forcefully. The two fight and struggle over control for a moment, until Harrison somehow manhandles it free from Smith’s grip.

  Strangely elated at having won the contest over the mask, Harrison’s about to cover his face when he gets the shock of his life. Smith bounces him somehow off the pipe, causing him to expel the air in his lungs, vomit from his mouth and lose control of the mask.

  He manages to stop some of the air from coming out of his mouth but then vomit fills the back of his throat again and he must expel what remains of his breath.

  Almost immediately after he vomits, his lungs begun to burn. He’s thrown up and spent all his air, his lungs now scream for fresh oxygen, begging to be replenished. He tries desperately to search for the mask he dropped, but cannot find it, he gropes at nothing.

  In a last ditch attempt he taps on Smith’s shoulder, attempting to warn him that he’s out of air and about to give up. For a moment he doesn’t think Smith cares as he gives no response.

  Right before the moment he knows he can’t hold on any longer and is about to take in a breath of foul water, slam, the mask’s suddenly back onto his face again. He breathes in heavily, holding onto the mask as he does so.

  He thought he’d lost the mask, but Smith must have gathered it when he dropped it.

  He coughs, inhales and coughs again. Then he takes a long deep breath and exhales quickly to clear the sick out of his airways. His mouth now unobstructed, he cannot fight the temptation to take another breath. He holds the mask tightly to his face and sucks in another long, deep and glorious breath, despite the implicit instructions Smith has given him.

  Survival instinct has taken over.

  His airways clear and replenished he feels much calmer and steels himself and his mind to conserve their oxygen properly, he knows he’s already wasted a good portion of their air supply. Another minute passes and they descend further through the sewerage pipe, turning corners and rounding bends to where Harrison knows not.

  He knows he’s taken several more breaths than he should’ve, even though he’s meant to have only three. He feels slightly relieved he’s at least got one breath left to him as far as Smith’s concerned. The next one is to be his last, which he knows has to count, for surely their air supply is dangerously low.

  Too soon Harrison feels the need for air again, he tries to let it trickle out of his mouth in little spurts as they fly through the cistern, but knows he’s getting to his limit again. He tries thinking of something else to distract his mind but the impulse is too strong for him. He taps Smith on the shoulder and is grateful when Smith responds by handing the mask over to him.

  If he was thinking properly he may have thought it odd Smith gave it over so easily but given his situation he’s just happy to have control of the mask. He tries to respect Smith’s gesture by taking his time, making sure he has nothing left before putting the mask back onto his face.

  He exhales as slowly and as deeply as he can, taking
his time to draw his last breath, but before he can inhale fully he feels the air feed starting to slow from the mask. He sucks and sucks, but it’s like trying to drink ice through a straw. No air comes out.

  He knows what’s wrong, the tank’s empty.

  Their air has run out.

  - -

  ma'am

  After her brief meeting with Samuel, Ma’am called an immediate meeting of her department heads. They gathered now in the small clearing to the back of the installations main floor. Ma’am took the centre position, her team gathered in front of her.

  There were eight stations that’d been setup in the facility, the four rows of computers at the front making up a station each. They were numbered from four to seven and were usually led by Ma’am.

  The two hexagonal work stations at the rear right of the room served as Station Eight. Eight was the most important of stations and was headed up by Marion. Station Three was the station off the main concourse used by the field operations and security team. Okko was the head of that department.

  To the left of the main entrance and down a hallway was Station Two, which housed the staff amenities area. Jenny was the lady responsible for this and all staff resources and communication. The final station was One, which was code for Samuel but he’d never attended meetings, or anything else for that matter.

  “Right, let us begin. Floor report?” Ma’am asked.

  Marion cleared her throat and piped up first, “Hmmm, well as we know, the primary target was under threat but got away safely.”

  “I’ve backtracked the threads to figure out what happened, and surmise, that somehow the government managed to track some images the target emailed to a journalist friend of hers. We weren’t the hackers in this case, the government was. The government decided the images she took were suddenly of vital importance and they consequently sent in a team of men to kidnap her and her photographic equipment.”

  “We also have intel that the government has taken measures to remove any evidence of the photographs, including killing a journalist from National Geographic whom had images sent to him by our target.”