Emerald

by Brian January

  He shot her a sour look and got to his feet. Together they collected the wingpacks, stashing them in the shelter of an outcropping of boulders after unpacking the weapons.

  “Did you see that satellite dish on top?” she asked him.

  Stripping out of the thermal suit, he nodded. His breath plumed in the zero-degree air. Like April, underneath the suit he was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt for easy mobility. His body shook with the cold. The freezing temperature didn’t seem to bother her at all.

  “Okay. I’m going to plant a C-4 charge up there and then I’ll meet you at the loading platform.”

  She shrugged into her tactical vest and vanished into the darkness.

  Putting on his own vest, Skarda slung the Barrett over his shoulder and made his way down the slope, picking his path carefully to avoid setting off rock falls. On his right, he could see the formidable outer walls of the fortress, deep within the shadows of the huge spires that towered over it. There was no path here, just slabs and ridges of rock that jutted on top of one another to form a series of shelves strewn with broken limestone.

  Pressing his fingers against a rock face, he crawled toward the edge of a squarish boulder and looked down. Below him the Chinook’s landing pad jutted straight out from an open hangar door hewn out of the side of the mountain, the snow painted yellow with warm light from the interior. He could see no workers or crew members and could hear no voices. Planting his feet and hands with calculated caution, he worked his way lower until he could drop down on a flat table of stone just above the platform. The wind tore at thinnest parts of his clothing. Snow, whipped by an increasing wind, stung his face. He looked down, calculating the distance. A few inches off and he would be tumbling down the side of the mountain, his bones snapping like tree branches.

  Swinging his arms back, he jumped. He hit hard on his shoulder, rolling through a crust of snow, a jolt of pain lancing through his deltoid muscle. In a flash he rose to a crouch, snatching out the Sig Sauer, his heart hammering loud in his ears. For several long moments he waited, listening, but heard no running feet or shouts of discovery.

  Thankfully, it was warmer here. A gush of heated air from the interior flowed out of the open door, covering him like a warm blanket. But he couldn’t control his shivering and he had to clench his teeth to keep them from chattering. He looked over at the Chinook, its twin rotor blades drooping as it squatted on the helipad. Up close, the thing was huge.

  A sound from above made him snap his head up. His gun hand whipped up, locking into firing position. A rope snaked from the darkness of the high rocks and April rappelled down, landing next to him. She dropped to a crouch.

  From her pack she pulled out a remote detonator and held it up. “As soon as we get Flinders,” she whispered. Crab-walking forward, she inched her head around the edge of the hangar door. She turned back. “Anybody around?”

  He shook his head.

  “Okay. Let’s move out.”

  Crouching low, they raced into the storeroom. Skarda gave a quick glance around. The chamber had been fashioned out of solid rock into a gigantic, upside-down U-shaped space at least two hundred feet long. Wooden crates and corrugated boxes lined the walls, along with pallets of more stacked boxes. Three fork lifts sat parked in a neat row. On the north wall tiers of heavy steel shelving held more supplies. Clearly the Atlanteans were preparing for a long siege.

  April came to an open doorway, motioning Skarda to stop. The opening led to a long corridor, lit by soft overhead lamps, and from it, he could hear the muffled sound of voices, moving closer. She darted forward and he followed, ducking into a side room a few feet down the length of the corridor.

  They waited. Men’s voices came closer, speaking in Russian. Skarda glimpsed them as they walked past: two men in pale red jumpsuits, apparently arguing back and forth, each trying to establish his point.

  The voices grew faint. Stepping out into the corridor, April led the way toward another open door at the far end. So far Skarda hadn’t seen any closed doors or locks, but then there would be no need for security in an unassailable compound where everyone was an ally.

  Especially when, in a very short time, all potential enemies would be dead or dying.

  April stopped at another door, snapping a glance inside. “Kitchen,” she said in a whisper. Sticking his head through the opening, Skarda saw a hotel-sized kitchen, empty, its gleaming stainless-steel work surfaces gleaming dully in the low light.

  She glanced at him. “I’m guessing the floor we’re on is residential. Which probably means the command center is above us, under the satellite dish, and probably below us there are more storage areas, generators, water, furnace, and mechanical. If worse comes to worse, we can always blow some of these. For now, I think we should split up. You stay on this level and look for Flinders. Odds are she’ll be behind a locked door. I’ll go up and check out the layout of the command center. We’re going to need to find a way to shut it down.”

  Nodding, Skarda took out his Stealth and glanced at the screen: seventy-seven minutes until the laser fired.

  SIXTY

  Gulf of Mexico

  CANDY MAN scratched his greasy hair and consulted the NOAA weather map of the Arctic Circle. The storm had almost blown itself out and the cloud cover was beginning to dissipate.

  He glanced at a time read-out. 1617 UTC. Seventy-two minutes to go.

  Tapping a key, he glanced at his password cracking program, running through a billion possibilities a second. Even with a Class F attack, it was going to take a long time.

  And time was what he didn’t have.

  SIXTY-ONE

  Mount Tavrida

  ON the fifteenth try, Rachel got lucky. With a soft click the electronic bolt slid back.

  Easing open the door, she peeked out into the corridor.

  Empty.

  Pulling the door shut behind her, she stepped out and took off running.

  ___

  April’s guess turned out to be right. Following the line of corridors, Skarda entered a long hallway with closed doors on each side of the aisle, like the rooms of a hotel. Residential apartments, probably for the soldiers and crew manning the fortress. He hurried along, looking for doors with locks, but saw none. For a moment he considered opening a few of the doors, but decided against it. The risk of discovery was too great.

  The corridor took a sharp turn to the left and he followed it, seeing nothing but more closed doors. At the end of the hallway, a doorway opened onto a flight of stone steps leading downward.

  Without hesitation, he disappeared through the opening.

  ___

  Finding a stairway, April took the steps two at a time, the Barrett steady in her grip. A landing led to an open doorway. Through it she could hear the murmur of voices. She peeked out, seeing that she was at an entrance to what looked like a huge hall with a frescoed vaulted ceiling and rows of marble columns. Two soldiers carrying AK-47’s stood about thirty feet from her position, talking in low tones.

  Three minutes ticked past before the men moved away. When they had gone, she crept out into the hall, her boots making no noise on the marble floor. On both ends of the hall wide doorways opened onto corridors. She chose the western approach, because that was where she had seen the satellite dish outside.

  Padding closer, she pressed her back against the wall, then dropped to a crouch, poking her head around the edge of the door frame. The intersecting corridor was a T, running north and south. To her right, another open doorway spilled light onto the polished floor. She could hear voices. She moved closer.

  A quick glance inside confirmed her guess: computer stations, an array of video displays, guards with rifles. Tomilin sat at one of the consoles, his face turned to a tall man she’d never seen.

  The command center.

  ___

  Jaz listened to the electronic lock click shut, imprisoning Flinders inside the room. Later she’d come back for a good romp with cutie, but for now she had other pl
ans. The look on Belisarius’ face had told her exactly what he wanted.

  Glancing both ways along the dimly-lit corridor, she padded toward a storeroom she’d noticed earlier: an arsenal.

  Stepping through the doorway, she snapped on the lights and grinned savagely. Here were stacked crates of rifles, grenades, grenade launchers, pistols, blocks of C-4, M72 LAWs, ammo, and armored vests. With both hands she pried open one of the rifle crates, her eyes lighting up as she saw ten AK-47’s nestled end-to-end on mustard-colored desiccant paper.

  Reaching down, she picked one up, inhaling the greasy scent of gun oil.

  ___

  Rachel had no idea where she was going. But running anywhere was better than sitting in her locked cell, waiting for Tomilin to molest her. As she hurried along, she considered her options. She didn’t know how to fly a plane, so that was out. She’d seen no roads leading down toward the broad plain below. So that left only one choice: she’d have to find some sort of protective clothing and make it down the side of the mountain on foot.

  Was that even possible? She had no idea. But that’s what she’d have to do.

  Or die trying.

  Now she slowed her pace, glancing right and left into open doorways, looking for a storeroom with cold weather gear. She’d chosen to head into the lower section of the fortress simply because she’d seen that the concentration of troops was on the top floor and she thought she had little chance of escaping in that direction. What she was looking for was some sort of alternate exit, maybe a loading area, where she could get outside and get away.

  Ahead, the corridor branched right.

  She hurried forward.

  Then, stepping around the corner, she froze in her tracks, her blood suddenly turning to ice.

  In front of her, Pteor stood blocking her path, a monstrous apparition in the gloom of the hallway.

  With an abrupt scream she spun on one foot, but his gnarled hand reached out and touched her.

  Jagged bolts of pain lanced through her nervous system, instantly immobilizing her, and from far away she heard a terrible wounded animal shriek burst from her mouth as her body toppled face-forward on the stone floor.

  ___

  Emerging from the southwestern staircase, Jaz dropped to a crouch and surveyed the Great Hall. Three Atlantean soldiers were disappearing into the center exit on the opposite wall. Otherwise the chamber was empty.

  Straightening, she loped to the middle of the room. She had put on an armored vest and slung an AK-47 over each shoulder. Grenades hung from pouches on the vest’s webbing and in her hands she carried the XM25 “smart” grenade launcher she’d discovered in the armory. Moving to the nearest marble pillar next to the center exit on the south wall, she took out a block of C-4, ripped off the wax lining of the peel-and-stick backing and pressed it against the column. She inserted a detonator, then repeated the process for the facing column and the two matching columns on the opposite wall.

  Then, stepping back inside the doorway, she pressed the button on a remote detonator and grinned like a malicious child.

  The simultaneous explosions boomed, reverberating in the vaulted chamber, shooting out a blizzard of sharp-edge marble pieces in great belches of smoke and pulverized dust. With groans and creaks the four columns seemed to lean out from the wall, wobbling. Then their tapered lengths cracked and exploded outward, breaking apart as huge rounded sections smashed against the floor.

  An instant later the wail of klaxons rose above the noise of crashing stone. Soldiers in red jumpsuits boiled into the hall, some wearing body armor. Resting the XM25 to her shoulder, Jaz set the laser range finder and fired. The airburst grenade exploded just above the heads of the running men, spraying them with a lethal blast of metal fragments. Screams came to her ears, followed by the angry stutter of machine guns.

  Bullets smacked into the wall around her head, sending stone chips flying. The Atlanteans dived for the cover of the broken columns. She could see Zandak racing into the hall, shouting orders, his Kalashnikov laying down a withering blanket of fire in her direction.

  Dropping to a crouch, she calculated the approximate distance and pressed the trigger again, sending another grenade into the hall. It burst just over the line of the nearest column.

  More screams.

  Two grenades flew toward her position, striking the walls, then bouncing off and rolling on the floor.

  Time to move.

  Firing her next-to-last round, she bolted from the safety of the doorway and sprinted for the entrance to the command center corridor as the explosions banged in her wake.

  ___

  Pteor was bending over Rachel’s unconscious body when the klaxons went off. For a moment he hesitated, his eyes darkened by lust. Tomilin had promised him he could have a free hand in breaking the woman’s spirit, and he’d been looking forward to it with anticipation.

  But the sirens meant enemy troops were attacking. He had to get upstairs.

  He’d save the woman for later, when he could take his time, luxuriating in her screams and cries for mercy.

  The thought twisted his lips in a cruel smile.

  Leaving her in a heap on the floor, he ran for the stairway.

  ___

  Taking in a quick glimpse of the firefight between Jaz and the soldiers, Koyosan scowled and raced back to the entrance of the hall. By the time he stormed back into the command center, his face was dark with anger.

  He accosted Tomilin. “This is your fault,” he snapped, coming to within an inch of his face. “You brought these outsiders here.”

  For a moment, the Senator regarded him with supercilious eyes, then stepped back and turned his head to look at the digital countdown.

  Thirty-eight minutes to the firing sequence.

  Glaring in anger, Koyasan whirled around, barking orders. The soldiers took positions on each side of the open door. Koyasan grabbed a rifle and spun around to face Tomilin. “She’ll be easily dealt with. In the meantime, I want this operation to go exactly as planned. Enter the codes now.”

  With that, he sprinted for the outer hallway, the boots of his soldiers pounding in his wake.

  Tomilin turned his face up to look at the clock and smiled.

  Then he pushed himself away from the console and went to stand at the door.

  ___

  Skarda raced around a corner, the howl of the klaxons loud in his ears. In the corridor behind him he heard excited shouts. Doors slammed shut, followed by the sound of pounding feet.

  Spotting another entrance to a stairway, he raced for it, hitting the stone steps hard.

  Something had happened. April? It was doubtful. He knew she would rescue Flinders first before starting a fight.

  Jaz.

  It had to be her. Starting her own private war.

  The stairs led downward, deep into the bowels of the mountain. As he neared a landing, he slowed, listening for the sound of shouts or running footsteps. Hearing nothing, he peered around an open doorway, seeing another stone-floored corridor.

  Then he stopped. Up ahead he saw the crumpled figure of a woman lying face-down on the cold floor. Running up to her, he got to one knee, rolling her over on her side. Her ribcage rose and fell normally. Someone had knocked her out and left her here, unconscious.

  She gave out a low groan of pain. Then her eyes blinked and she came awake, staring at him with horror. Kicking her legs spasmodically, she tried to slide herself away along the stone.

  “Hey,” he said in a soothing voice. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  Her kicks subsided. She sized him up with piercing appraisal. “You’re not one of them.”

  Skarda shook his head and laughed. “You got that right. I’m Park Skarda. One of the Good Guys around here.”

  He helped her to her feet. She became suddenly aware of the klaxon. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s probably not good. Who are you?”

  Sudden suspicion clouded her face. “You tell me fir
st. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m with OSR.” He pulled out his I.D. and let her see it. “My partner and I came to rescue our friend.” He grinned. “Plus stop these people from destroying the world.”

  Her expression softened. She stuck out her hand. “Then you really are one of the Good Guys. I’m Rachel DiMarco. I’m with DRO—“

  She broke off as Skarda’s expression hardened.

  He lifted his rifle. “That’s Tomilin’s agency.”

  She held up both palms. “I used to work for Tomilin. Until he sold out his country. He kidnapped me and brought me here. I was trying to escape when this giant man stopped me and—“