by David Hewson
'Hey,' Wolfit said clinically. 'That's what it looks like. You think we can play that game now, Helen?'
And what Belinda Churton told you to do was think, Helen reminded herself. More than anything. Think. Of what they discussed in the helicopter, of the little silver cartridge rolling across the rock floor of the desert, winking in the moonlight. Something hissing, fizzing beneath the curtain of winking stars.
Flash.
This hurt. She was scrabbling over onto her side, mind racing, just realizing what the dying Green had rolled toward them when the grenade ignited. Her body blocked most of the brightness, but enough got through to throw her, fire some bright, white curtain across the back of her mind and make her, in an instant, blind, insensate, helpless. Somewhere behind her — yards away or just feet? these distances meant nothing in this white, dreamlike world — Larry Wolfit screamed in pain, an animal noise, of agony and loss.
Blind people can still kill you, she thought. Then rolled, hard and fast, across the ground, not minding the sharp rocks digging into her body, eyes screwed shut against the agony.
Flash.
Even with her eyes shut and her arm set against her head, the light came through, a livid red-tinged orange, the colour of flesh, the colour of blood.
'Fuck you!' Wolfit screamed. And somewhere to her left there was the low, soft whisper of the gun and a sharp explosion in the ground. Dust and rock flew up and battered the back of her head. Two more to go. She reached into the pocket of her suit, grabbing for the goggles, found the cheap plastic lenses in her hand, heard Wolfit's lumbering footsteps once more, rolled again, then carefully, slowly, so as to make no noise, pulled them over her head.
Flash.
She knew what Wolfit must be doing now. Standing there, the gun in one hand, his free arm covering his face, waiting for the grenade to run out of steam. She opened her eyes. And saw nothing. The world was pale white, no detail, no movement. This brightness was so strong it wiped out the senses for a time, like staring at the sun, and there was no telling how long it would be before they returned. Then something stirred in the whiteness, a shape moved, there was the sound of those big mountain boots crunching the desert gravel.
'I can see you,' Wolfit said, and she thought: Lying, he's lying again, he always lies, this dishonesty seeps out of his pores like sweat. And she stayed still, stayed silent. The dim white shape moved, a ghostly arm extended away from her. It jerked; the gun made a sound. Somewhere close by the ground exploded.
She almost had to bite her tongue to stay quiet. And that was what he wanted. To make her taunt him. Hear her voice, then turn, grinning. Eyes screwed shut tight once more, then she opened them, gingerly. More detail. Less light. Her eyesight was slowly getting back to something close to normality, the complex structure of the eye recovering from the shock of the first flare.
There are four, she thought. And tried to remember how many were already gone.
His outline revolved, arm extended; the gun jerked again. Wolfit was guessing. His sight was gone completely, she thought, and now he was just trying to listen, maybe even work methodically around himself in an arc, hoping to catch her.
Flash.
So near she could hear the sound of the phosphor fizzing in the air. And it hurt again, even through the goggles. She closed her eyes and wanted to scream. No, a voice (Belinda Churton's distant, ghostly) said. Correction, Helen. You did scream.
We heard you.
We all heard you.
And in that instant she became aware of the noise she was making: the loud, laboured sound of her breathing, the sobbing gasps that welled up in her throat, the constant, rushing roar of the blood through her veins. She forced her eyes open. Pain. His presence was overwhelming. She could feel him there, a huge black figure in front of her, see the shape of his legs no more than two feet away, and didn't dare look up, knowing what was there (long and dark and deadly).
'Women,' Larry Wolfit said slowly. 'Just can't keep quiet, can you?'
'What the hell are you?' she yelled, hearing the words trip out of her mouth automatically, not caring any more how they betrayed her.
Wolfit sounded as if he were offended by the question, as if she ought to have known the answer already. 'Me, Helen? I'm just a little piece of the mechanism, a little cog in the celestial machine. Nighty-night, now.'
And it was like the sound of a rapier moving through the air, so sudden, so full of force. She heard this rush of energy, heard too Wolfit groaning, then screaming, became aware of his presence diminishing, blinked, blinked again, found some vision returning, fought with her eyes, searching for some control.
He was gone. Something lifted him up, bulk and all, and threw him a good five feet away. Larry Wolfit lay, a crumpled heap, unmoving, on the hard desert floor. The sound of footsteps. A hand came down and fell gently upon her shoulder.
'Don't touch me, you bastard!'
Not her voice, this was not her voice at all.
'Okay. Okay.'
Something familiar. Memories flooding back into her head.
'Helen. It's me,' Barnside said. 'It's okay now. You're safe.'
'Safe?'
She heard herself laugh, and still the voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else. Slowly, with no small degree of pain, her sight was coming back. The dry, dead desert floor, Wolfit's slumped body, all these were becoming real to her now.
'I don't know what the hell's been going on here,' Barnside said (sympathy, some kindness in his voice; she could recognize the presence of these things in the world). 'But he's gone. I'm telling you now. And we got work to do. It looks good in the farmhouse there. We need you.'
Kneeling on the desert floor, a dead man's blood drying on her face, full of pain, her vision a blur, Helen Wagner held up her right arm, rigid, fixed, the muscles taut like steel wire, and said, 'Help me up. I can't see yet.'
'Yeah,' he said.
She took his hand, then pulled herself to her feet, clinging briefly to his big frame. 'Wolfit's dead?'
'Oh yes.'
'Damn,' Helen Wagner said, and lumbered down the track.
CHAPTER 55
The Nevada Dome
Cabin Springs, 1057 UTC
'You can send your dome people in soon,' Collins said. 'We're pretty sure it's clear up there.'
'No.' Her eyes still hurt, but her vision was just about back to normal. 'I want you to check the exterior again. We were warned against these people. If they were smart enough to turn someone inside the Agency at Wolfit's level, they're smart enough to play other tricks too.'
'That's true,' Barnside said, and she couldn't escape the look in his eyes.
'Thanks, Dave. I forgot to say that.'
Barnside looked flattered. 'You don't need to thank me. It's my job. But I still don't get it. I just whacked one of your most senior guys in order to stop him whacking you. What was someone like Wolfit doing hooked up with these people? Didn't you guys have a clue what was going on there? Someone at a level like that?'
'I said thanks. Can we start moving now, please?'
'Agreed,' Collins intervened. Then barked into the radio.
'And I want to be there when they open the door. Tell them that.'
'Sure. I looked at the PCs. They all seem to be working. We could have done this for you. There's a generator out back, chock-full of gas, could run for another day or so.'
'Really.' She walked over to one of the computers, pushed the mouse, watched the screen come to life. 'And there's no one here?'
'No,' Collins replied. 'We've picked up some people on the road out. They look promising.'
'Charley?'
Collins shook his head.
'So where the hell is she?' Barnside grunted.
'Search me. She seems long gone. And the Katayama guy too.'
She pushed this to the back of her head. There was so much fighting for attention just then: Wolfit and the Children, Charley Pascal and Sundog. You couldn't fit it all in. You had to work on
some priorities. She flipped open the videophone and placed it on the desk. The little LCD screen sparked, the speaker buzzed. Irwin Schulz looked back at her from the control room in La Finca, Lieberman by his side. Schulz seemed happy, confident. 'How you people doing?'
'We've got the base. We'll check the dome in a moment. It all looks good. Everything seems to be intact, not that I've got a link through to the dome yet. But there's nothing wrong with the network here. I can get you on-line to that soon enough.'
'That's great!' Schulz beamed.
'How's Charley?' Lieberman asked nervously.
'Gone.'
'Oh. In that case — '
'Not now, Michael. Let's take this one step at a time.'
She double-clicked the Net access icon on the screen. 'These people have got a fixed IP address, believe it or not. Can you come in on top of that?'
'You bet'
The screen cleared to show the home page of Gaia. She reeled off a string of numbers. 'Got it,' Schulz said.
After about ten seconds the image of the Gaia page disappeared from the monitor and was replaced by Schulz's face in a video window.
'You can see me?' he asked.
'Yes. Is that all you need?'
'Absolutely.' He turned to look at someone off screen. 'Mo? Can you take this over now? Helen?'
'Yes?'
'This will, to all intents and purposes, be our network in a minute or so. If you can re-establish the link with the dome, we can run it from here, straight through your connection.'
'You can't see the dome on the network either? I hoped it was just me.'
'No. But I can see the command application. Charley must have just ripped off ours down to the last byte. Which is interesting, since we didn't complete that until she was long gone from the project.'
'I may be able to fill you in on that later,' she said. 'But let me get this straight. All you need now is the physical link re-established to the dome?'
'Correct. From the aerial pictures we've seen, it must be through microwave dishes. If it's been deactivated, the likelihood is that you need to switch it back on physically, inside the dome itself.'
'Right?' She looked at John Collins. 'Your people up there are okay on this?'
He nodded. 'We can't find any reason not to go in. It all looks clean.'
She looked at her watch. 'Seventy minutes to zenith, Irwin. That give you time?'
'Oh yes. We're working on the program already. All we need is for you to throw the switch.'
She looked at Barnside. 'I'm going to the dome now. Contact Fogerty at Nellis. Tell him where we are. Tell him we were compromised in some way by Wolfit. He needs to assess that.'
'Done,' Barnside replied, and started to hit the numbers. She got up from the desk. Her leg hurt. She'd managed to wash some of the gore off her face but she still felt dirty, wounded, and soiled.
'We ought to check you over,' Collins said.
'Later.'
'Eglin. Hargrave,' Collins barked. Two of the HRT team nodded. 'You come with me and Miss Wagner up the ridge to the dome. We've had one scare tonight. I don't want any more. The Cobras are out looking for the Children. We don't have the lighting quite how I'd prefer it.'
'I don't think that's necessary,' she said.
'Well, I do. And security here is my job.'
She tried to smile. The man was like a rock. He walked to the door, held it open, and she was glad to be out of the place, out in the cold desert air, underneath the grey curtain, the stars winking. And somewhere out in space the planets queuing up for this celestial dance, standing in line with the high point of the sun.
'Damn,' Barnside said as she tripped over a rock, grazed her knee. He helped her to her feet, for the second time that night. 'I spoke to Fogerty. He's looking into it. You know, this would be a sight faster if these guys carried you. Or does your dignity preclude that?'
'To hell with dignity, mister,' she answered, and heard Belinda Churton's voice behind the words. Eglin and Hargrave came up on either side, strong arms reaching down, lifting her in a cradle movement. Collins shone a big bright flashlight beam up the path, and then the group began to trot up toward the great round spectre of the dome that stood against the night sky. The path levelled out at the top. The S&T team was outside the dome on a large, flat plateau, talking to the Bureau team. Her two carriers put her lightly down on the ground.
'Ouch,' she said softly. The leg was hurting more now. Collins was right. It needed looking at.
'Boss? You okay?' Jim Sellers, one of the S&T people, peered at her, concerned. 'Where's Larry?'
'Later,' she said. 'I'll be fine. The computer network is ours. We're all on course to get this thing done, Jim. We just need this end fixed. So let's get on with it, shall we?'
'We handle the entrance,' Collins said. 'No chances.'
She walked up to the dome with him. It was bigger than she expected. The Children had thrown a fifteen-foot-high skin around it so that, from the road, a passer-by might think it was some kind of water tower. But now that they were level with it the real shape was apparent. The geodesic rose above the fake panelling. It looked natural in the desert somehow, like a pattern on rock, or the skin of a lizard.
'We got the door,' one of the Bureau men said. 'One big plain padlock on it. You give the word, John, it's off.'
'Do it. And nothing personal, Miss Wagner, but while they're at this, we stay clear.' He took her arm gently and they walked back to the perimeter of the plateau and stood with Barnside. She glimpsed down. It was a good hundred feet to the farmhouse, the drop almost sheer from this angle. Her vision was back, all the way. The night was clear now, almost magical. It was hard to believe that there was so much pain, so much death enclosed in its soft, dark folds.
One of the Bureau men came up with a huge pair of cutters, attacked the metal fastening on the plain metal double door. It came away in an instant.
'Check for sensors,' Collins said. Two men raced to the door, flashlights weaving, instruments in their hands. 'Clear,' one said.
She pulled out the videophone and turned it on. 'Irwin?'
His face came up bright and pale on the. screen. 'You've done it?'
'We're going in now. We'll need your help understanding this thing.'
'No problem. It's just like firing up a generator or something.'
'I hope so.' Collins had left her, was by the door.
'Wait,' she yelled, and walked, half-shambled over to his side. 'I want to see.'
'Well, who am I to argue? Ben. Those double doors run outwards. You just open them up for us, huh? And then leave it at that. We take a good look inside before we take a step in there.'
'Sir.'
It was like opening Pandora's box, she thought. Like closing your eyes and waiting for someone to drop some present — good or bad — straight into your hands. The doors came back, groaning wildly in protest, a shrill noise in the night, and a small bell rang in her head: No oil?
The interior was black, opaque, impenetrable. 'Lights,' Collins said. Barnside walked up with a big field lamp, the sort they'd used around the farmhouse.
'Let me,' she said, and took it, parked it straight in front of the door, then hit the switch. She put the videophone on the floor, pointed the little camera on the top straight into the dome. 'You're getting this, Irwin?'
'What?' said a small, tinny voice from the speaker on the ground.
'This.'
Schulz's voice rang out uncertainly in the Nevada gloom. 'I can't see a damn thing, Helen.'
'No,' she said, staring at the vast, empty exterior. 'There isn't a damn thing. Nothing.'
No sound came from the little videophone. She picked it up, looked at the white, shocked face there. 'It's empty, Irwin. One desk with a PC on it. No transmission equipment. No scan system. No network. Nothing.'
John Collins swore quietly under his breath, saw what she was doing, saw she was moving too quickly for them. 'Hey. Don't go in there. Not yet.'
Bu
t she was through the door, staring at this complex structure from the inside, looking at this vast, vacant space, so perfect, so symmetrical. When she was three feet into the dome, the big flashlight behind her casting a giant shadow onto the crystalline pattern of the inner skin, the PC in the corner flashed once, came alive, the screen began to move.
'This whole thing,' she said to no one in particular, 'was just a blind. Martin Chalk and Vegas. They set us all up. The farm. Everything. Charley's not here. She never was here. It was all just a joke.'
With the sky about to fall down on the world, she realized.
The PC beeped and an image of the sun appeared at its centre. 'So where…?' she wondered, and the words wouldn't form in her head.
'Sensor triggered,' one of Collins's team said. 'We're sniffing something here, John. Maybe Semtex.'
'Shit,' Barnside said, and followed her into the dome, peering frantically around, scanning. It was at the apex. The place you looked last. A big brown suitcase suspended from the polygon at the peak of the dome.
'We're out of here,' Barnside yelled. 'Evacuate down the ridge. As fast as you can.' Collins was with him, inside the dome, tugging at Helen's arm. 'I'll deal with this,' Barnside said, and in one swift movement heaved her over his shoulder, turned, and started to run.
There was nothing in this outside world, she thought, nothing but the bobbing stars, the sound of frantic breathing, and this scrabbling, tumbling descent. Then the night turned to thunder, fire and smoke filled the air, and they were on the ground, coughing, choking, trying to clear the dust from their lungs.
Pain.
Something broken. Someone shouting. Barnside screaming, a long, loud animal howl. Then the sound of rotor blades in the sky, the bright, broad constant light falling from their underbellies.
Barnside's big, strong face came in front of her, looking concerned. 'I think I maybe broke your arm. When we fell.'
She tried to work out where she was, which way was up. 'It'll mend,' she mumbled automatically.
The physical world could stop you from thinking if you let it, she guessed. And thinking was really all that was left now. With her one good arm, she pulled the videophone out of her suit pocket, propped it up on the ground. 'Give me Lieberman,' she said swiftly, as Schulz came to the screen. In an instant he was there, looking troubled, older somehow.