Pressure

by Brian Keene

  “Please,” Carrie said to the driver, “we can’t stop here. We just can’t. You have to keep going.”

  Sighing with exaggerated annoyance, the driver turned the taxi away from the guard shack. Carrie, Abhi, and Paolo ducked low in the backseat as one of the Marines noticed the taxi pulling away. Slowly, he started to approach the cab.

  “Go,” Carrie said. “Please, hurry.”

  “And where would you like me to take you now?” the driver asked, exasperated.

  The Marine drew closer. Now Maberry and the others were also looking in their direction.

  “I don’t know,” Carrie exclaimed. “Anywhere! Just fucking drive.”

  Shaking his head, the driver wheeled away.

  “It’s your meter,” he said.

  When they’d pulled away from the building, Abhi raised his head and risked a glance behind them.

  “Anything?” Carrie asked.

  “No,” he replied. “Maybe they didn’t see our faces. What do we do now?”

  The cabbie glanced back at them. “Do you have a destination, or should I just keep driving around in circles?”

  “Keep driving please,” Paolo told him. Then he turned to Carrie. “What do we do now?”

  Carrie sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “But you always know,” Abhi protested.

  “Well, I’m all out of ideas. Who else would give us asylum? Better yet, who would help us stop Alpinus from killing the Indian Ocean’s ecosystem with their nanomachines?”

  “Australia,” Paolo said, after a moment. “Australia would help. Eventually, this ecological disaster will impact them. They have a vested interest in what is happening here. And while Alpinus may be an international company, they have no branches in Australia, so that country’s leaders are less likely to be compromised.”

  Carrie tapped the driver’s shoulder.

  “Yes? Did you decide where you’re going? I’d like to get back home before dawn.”

  “The Australian embassy,” she answered. “Do you know where that is?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “Take us there, please.”

  She glanced behind them, watching for Maberry’s black Jeep, but there was no sign of pursuit.

  “How did he know we’d try for the American embassy?” she wondered aloud.

  “Well, you are an American,” Paulo said. “It stands to reason they’d be waiting for you there.”

  Or, Carrie thought, maybe you told them instead.

  Abhi shrugged. “It’s possible they are still tracking us.”

  “But how?” Carrie asked.

  He shrugged again. “They could have had the SUV bugged. They could have been listening in the whole time. Or maybe they’re tailing us with a drone, in the sky. Or maybe they inserted some sort of tracking device in Paolo or yourself. Both of you were stitched up in the clinic. They could have inserted something under your skin.”

  “No,” Carrie said, “if they had done something like that, I’m sure Dr. Barbet would have told us. He warned us about all the other surveillance equipment.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know. Or maybe he just didn’t get the chance.”

  “Those are a lot of maybes,” Paolo said.

  Carrie was overwhelmed with the image of Barbet lying crumpled inside the truck, his blood running out in deep, widening pools around him while steam rose from his corpse. She wondered what would become of his husband. Who would tell him what happened? And what would they tell him? Would they even tell him? Or, would they kill him?

  “His husband,” she said. “Dr. Barbet’s husband. We’ve got to warn him. And I need to get in touch with my sister.”

  “That would be a mistake,” Paolo replied, lowering his voice. “We have to assume they’re monitoring all of our family, friends, and co-workers. Reaching out to anyone else right now would only put them in danger.”

  “What’s that about danger?” The driver sounded alarmed.

  “Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” Paolo assured him. “You didn’t hear any of this, right?”

  “Right,” the driver agreed, clearly shaken. “And for the right price, I’ll make sure that nobody else hears—”

  “Just don’t,” Carrie interrupted. “Are you really going to try to blackmail us? Right here at the embassy? I’m pretty sure I could find an interested officer around here somewhere. Just get us to our destination, please.”

  Cowed, the taxi driver stared straight ahead, shoulders hunched, and didn’t say another word.

  Two traffic lights and five minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of the Australian embassy. Like its American counterpart, there was a guard booth outside the fence, manned with soldiers. Unlike the American embassy, there was no sign of anyone from Alpinus.

  When the taxi pulled up to the gate, the driver rolled the windows down. A young, baby-faced soldier approached the car. The cab driver pointed his thumb at Carrie. The soldier then walked over to her window.

  “Passports, please?”

  “We don’t have any passports,” Carrie told him.

  “I need to see everyone’s identification, ma’am.”

  “We don’t have anything,” she repeated. “We’re in trouble. All of our identification was taken—our passports, everything. We’re seeking immediate asylum, please.”

  The soldier frowned. “Are you Australian citizens?”

  “Yes,” she lied.

  “Funny,” he said. “Where are you from? Because you sound American to me.”

  Abhi leaned forward. “I tell her the same thing all the time, mate. She’s been abroad too long.”

  Carrie struggled to suppress her surprise. Although he sounded like Crocodile Dundee, Abhi spoke with a pretty convincing Australian accent.

  Though apparently not convincing enough for the guard. He glanced back at the gate, and then at them.

  “Where are you from?”

  “I just told you,” Abhi said. “Australia.”

  “No, I mean what town?”

  Abhi paused. “Oh, it’s a small village. You’ve probably never heard of it.”

  “You might be surprised. What’s the name of the town?”

  Abhi paused even longer this time, clearly flummoxed. “Um … Melbourne?”

  “Melbourne’s a small town, is it?” The guard spoke into his radio. “This is Addison. We may have a problem at the front gate. Requesting additional manpower.”

  “Please,” Carrie begged. “We’re in immediate danger. Even out here. We can prove everything to you once we’re inside, but we need asylum.”

  “Pull ahead,” Addison told the driver. “All of you will have to go through security screening.”

  The driver inched the cab toward the gate. Several more soldiers appeared, along with an officer. They scanned the car, swept beneath it with a mirror attached to a long pole, and had it inspected by a dog—Carrie wasn’t sure if it was sniffing for drugs or explosives, or both. Satisfied, the officer then had them exit the vehicle. The cab driver was visibly pleased to see them go.

  “Wait here,” Carrie told him. “And we’ll get your fare.”

  “Now just a minute,” he protested. “You had me drive you here all the way from Moka. This isn’t some quick trip around the way for a few dollars. Don’t try to skip on me.”

  “We’re not trying to duck you.”

  “Then pay me—now.”

  “I promise,” Carrie assured him. “As soon as we get inside, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

  “You’d better. I’ll call the police.”

  “There won’t be any need for that. I swear.”

  The driver scowled at her, and waved his hand in frustration. “Go on, then.”

  “Okay,” Addison told them. “I need you to walk this way, single file.”

  Carrie stopped the soldier before they could go any farther.

  “I need to inform you that I have a weapon on me,” she said.

  “What?”
His hand moved to the holstered pistol on his hip.

  “Please,” Carrie said. “I’m declaring it. I’m not trying to sneak it in or anything. I’m not some terrorist. I just figured I’d be doing the right thing by informing you before you found it. I’m going to take it out, okay?”

  “No, ma’am, that’s not okay. I need you to get down on your knees, put your hands on top of your head, and interlock your fingers.”

  To punctuate the order, Addison unholstered his sidearm. Other soldiers gathered around them, weapons at the ready. Carrie felt their eyes boring into her. Moving slowly, she complied with his demands, trying very hard to demonstrate that she wasn’t a threat. She stared straight ahead and kept her breathing steady as another soldier frisked her, removed the pistol, and handed it off to the officer.

  “Are we okay?” Carrie asked Addison.

  Nodding, he motioned at her to stand up. Carrie complied again, still moving with exaggerated slowness. The officer approached them.

  “I’m Second Lieutenant Navarro, Australian Defense Force. You’re Carrie Anderson.”

  “You know me?” Carrie was surprised.

  “I watch the news, Miss Anderson. And while I can’t speak for your friends here, I’m fairly certain you aren’t Australian. Which means you lied in an attempt to gain access to the embassy. Also, unless I’m mistaken, that weapon we just confiscated from you smells like it has been fired recently.”

  “Like I said,” Carrie explained, “we’re in trouble. There are people trying to kill us. We’re asking for immediate asylum.”

  “But you’re not Australian.”

  “No, I’m not,” she admitted, “but it concerns your country. We have information about a conspiracy that will directly impact Australia. We just need to talk to someone. Look, you said it yourself. I’m not a terrorist or something. I’m a public figure. I’m not going to do anything. Handcuff us. Take us in at gunpoint if you need to. But please, we need your help!”

  Navarro studied each of them for a minute. Then he nodded. “This way, please.”

  Carrie motioned at the taxi driver, assuring him to wait. The driver shook his head in agitation.

  On the other side of the gate, Carrie, Abhi, and Paolo were lined up to be frisked. The soldiers looked quizzically at Paolo’s hospital gown, but didn’t question him about it as he limped forward. As the soldiers searched her, Carrie watched Paolo. He looked gaunt and exhausted. The toll this entire thing had taken on him was never clearer. Her emotions regarding it were conflicted, however. On the one hand, she felt a perverse sense of delight. After his betrayal, it served him right. But another part of her wanted to comfort him—to fix things and make them better.

  She was still thinking this when Paolo collapsed. He hit the pavement almost face-first, and when he rolled over, she saw that he’d split his bottom lip open. More blood ran from a cut on his cheek. Shouting, she stepped toward him but the soldiers restrained her. Addison called for a stretcher, and Paolo was quickly loaded onto it. He seemed alert and awake, but clearly weakened. Two soldiers carried him inside.

  “Where are they taking him?” she demanded, an edge of panic rising in her voice.

  “To the infirmary,” Navarro explained. “He’s in good hands. Right now, it’s in all of your interests to let us finish here, Miss Anderson.”

  Carrie nodded reluctantly. The screening process continued. After they had finished frisking Abhi, Navarro had them both walk through a metal detector. On the other side of the security cordon, he smiled in an obvious effort to reassure them.

  “Okay,” he said, “follow us please. Any deviation from the directed route, or any failure to follow my commands will, in fact, be cause to respond with deadly force. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Crystal,” Abhi responded for them both.

  Addison, Navarro, and two other armed soldiers led them into the embassy. The officer led the way. Carrie and Abhi walked behind him, with a soldier on each of their sides. Addison brought up the rear.

  “We made it,” Carrie said in disbelief. “I don’t know how, but we made it, Abhi. We’re safe.”

  “Yes,” Abhi whispered, low enough that the soldiers wouldn’t hear him. “Until they decide they can’t grant us asylum because we’re not Australian citizens. Then we’ll be right back out on the streets again, or in jail.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. If we come to it. I think they’ll want to hear what we have to say.”

  “But we can’t prove any of it, Carrie.”

  “Sure we can. All they need to do is raid the Alpinus facility. All the proof is there. The remains of the creatures, for starters. And I’m sure they have documents and data. Barbet and I were recording things.”

  “I hope that you are right.”

  Inside the lobby, Second Lieutenant Navarro pointed them toward a group of ornate, beautiful chairs and couches, and asked them to have a seat. The man’s tone made it clear that this wasn’t a request that should be denied. He also promised to get an update on Paolo’s condition. Addison and another soldier departed, leaving the third soldier to guard over them while Navarro conferred with a man in a suit who was seated at a nearby desk.

  Carrie glanced around the lobby. Classical music played softly from a hidden sound system. In addition to the furniture, there were several Persian rugs on the floor. Tapestries and oil paintings decorated the walls, depicting scenes of both Australian and Mauritian flavor. Despite the early hour, there were a few people about. One of them, seated nearby on a plush, red velvet-covered love seat, seemed familiar to Carrie. The woman was tapping on her phone with a bored expression. On the end table next to her sat a silver tray with a small ceramic tea kettle, an assortment of creamers and sweeteners, and a steaming cup of tea.

  Oh God, Carrie thought. What I wouldn’t give for a cup of tea right now. And a hot shower and three days of sleep in a real bed. But tea first.

  The woman, perhaps feeling eyes upon her, glanced up. When she did, Carrie gasped. The woman’s surprised expression mirrored her own.

  “Carrie Anderson?”

  “Jessamine Wheatley!”

  The reporter got up and crossed the room, beaming with evident curiosity.

  “This is unexpected,” she exclaimed. “What are you doing in the Australian embassy?”

  “It’s a long story,” Carrie said. “What are you doing here? I thought you were on your way to Australia when we last spoke?”

  “Oh, it’s been a long week.” Jessamine rolled her eyes. “You just wouldn’t believe the headaches we’ve had. First, the network wanted us to cover preparations for the evacuation, and the economic impact it might have. So we stayed a few extra days to file that story. And then Khem caught a stomach bug, and the network wanted us to travel together because of some cost-cutting bullshit, so we had to wait another day for him to get better. He thinks it was some shrimp he bought from a roadside stand. Then, yesterday, we were finally ready to leave and we got to the airport only to learn that our flight was delayed and we were stuck here in Mauritius. So, Hank, Khem, Julio, and I came here. The embassy promised the network they’d pull some strings, and get us on a plane.”

  “Why are all the flights delayed?”

  “The impending evacuation,” Jessamine explained. “It’s taken a while, but I think people are starting to get worried. Anyone who can afford it is trying to get off the island, just in case the evacuation is ordered. I guess they want to beat the rush. It’s causing chaos at the airports, so we’re stuck here until later today. Khem and Hank are in the lounge, playing cards with one of the diplomat’s assistants and a few civilians.”

  “Do you think it will be ordered?”

  Jessamine shrugged. “Eventually. What do you think?”

  Carrie sighed. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around.”

  Carrie quickly introduced Jessamine to Abhi. While the two shook hands and exchanged pleasantries,
Carrie glanced over at the desk, where the man and Navarro were still conferring. Then, the man rose, and the two officials began to walk toward them.

  “Jessamine, listen to me.” Carrie took a deep breath. “That man is about to come over here. He may decide we’re here under false pretenses. It’s very possible he won’t believe what we tell him, and it’s vitally important that he does believe.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “I don’t have time to get into it right now, but it’s something that impacts us all. We’re in trouble. What I need from you is to help me smooth things over.”

  “Sounds juicy.” Jessamine smiled. “I’m intrigued.”

  Carrie smiled in return. “You wanted a big news story that would get people interested? Let’s just say I’ve got something of a lead for you.”

  Navarro and the official reached them. The man cleared his throat.

  “Miss Carrie Anderson?”

  “Yes. I’m Carrie Anderson.”

  “My name is James. I’m an assistant to Ambassador McBean. I understand you have a story to tell?”

  FIFTEEN

  It was well past dawn before they convinced the Australian government of their sincerity, but eventually, it was decided that the three of them could have temporary asylum within the embassy grounds while the diplomats conferred with their government about what to do next, and tried to verify some of their claims. After being checked out by the embassy’s medical staff, Paolo was allowed to rejoin them. His bottom lip had two stitches in it, to go along with the ones in his leg. Looking at it made the stitches in Carrie’s arm itch.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “You took one hell of a fall.”

  Paolo smiled sadly, seeming to notice the genuine concern in her voice.

  “They say I am just dehydrated and exhausted. They had me on a saline drip. Then they gave me some painkillers and told me to get plenty of rest. But I assure you that I am fine, Gatito.”

  Carrie flinched at his use of the old term of endearment.

  “Don’t call me that, okay? Not now.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry … I—”

  “No, don’t apologize. It’s just … never mind. We’ll talk about it later. But I’m glad you’re okay.”