by Ben English
A red light blinked dimly from the top of the dark landmass ahead. He did his best to ignore it, likewise the storm chewing up the air a few feet behind them.
As they approached the beach the wind shear increased by an order of magnitude. Pockets of hot air in places they had no right to be, and sudden updrafts which nearly stalled out the engines. Alonzo felt like a tiny jockey perched atop a half-ton of flexing horse muscle. This was real flying; fast hands and sheer will, pitting the sum total of his experience and instinct against a baffling, tightly-coupled, unpredictable system—and that was just the helicopter itself, never mind the weather.
“Infrared beacon directly ahead, ah, twelve o’clock,” said Steve. “Looks like he came through for us after all.” The infrared strobelight was supposed to have been placed at the point where the land defenses (sensors/cameras/antiaircraft weapons/whatever) had been neutralized. That was the plan, anyway. The invisible blinker marked the weak point in the island’s perimeter defense.
It belatedly occurred to Alonzo that their man on the ground might not have come through, that the flashing light he could only see through his night vision system was not meant to guide them in safely, but to lure them as close as possible to a team of the island’s security with a phalanx of surface-to-air weapons. Some people had a peculiar sense of humor that way.
At least he could take comfort in the hope that no one would physically hear their approach. Since wind carried sound, he minimized noise by flying directly downwind towards the island as much as possible. And the wind at their tail was outrageous, enough to break up much of their engine noise.
Another reason to thank the meteorological deities this fine, fine morning was the inversion layer close to sea level. Inversion occurred when a layer of warm air, dense enough to act as a shield, trapped a layer of cold air close to the ground. Noise bounced off both sides of the layer. As long as they stayed above the inversion, the helicopter was practically silent.
Of course once they were over land all bets were off. The weather would change. One thing he knew for sure, he wasn’t getting anywhere near those damn cliffs.
Beside him, Allison held her hands close to her chest, eyes unblinking, finally silent for once. Her expression, halfway between abject horror and hopeless terror, brought out her cheekbones. She really was a very pretty woman. Their conversation had dropped off rapidly as the island grew nearer.
Ian was uncharacteristically quiet as well. Alonzo was too busy to turn around and make sure the FBI man hadn’t actually left the helicopter, but occasionally he could hear the man breathing. Perhaps praying a little. Probably wishing he were back on the mainland, pursuing Mafioso wives or kidnappers or remaindered X-files; whatever he did.
The Tanners were awake and calm, sharing a bag of Doritos with Steve.
A topographical map of the land mass filled the navigational display screen. “How about this one?” asked Steve, and a blinking light appeared on the display, between two steep ridges near the beach.
“That’s better,” Alonzo said, “But still too exposed. And the wind near the cliffs will push us through those rocks like a cheese grater. Best bet is the original LZ, near the lighthouse.”
“Or where the lighthouse used to be,” said Steve, and crunched another handful of corn and Yellow #5. “How long’s it been since Pete was here last?”
“Don’t knock him, he got us these maps. God bless the U.S. Geological Survey.” Alonzo freed his hand long enough to tap the screen, and the view swung around enough for him to find the LZ Pete had selected, a clearing in the lowland near the lighthouse. Sheltered from the weather, and close enough that they might actually get into position before dawn without getting made by the Colombians.
They were a nasty crew. Probably ringed the island’s perimeter with all kinds of nasty surface-to-air surprises. The Bell aircraft wasn’t equipped with any countermeasures whatsoever, and due to its current load (he blamed Steve and his Doritos more than the Major’s body-mass index) there was very little he could do to avoid any sort of attack. Alonzo kept one eye on the ridge just past the shoreline, where the missile batteries were probably staged. If he were running things, that’s where he would put them.
The quality and nature of the air currents changed abruptly at the shoreline. Crosscurrents hit them simultaneously, popping at the Plexiglas windows. Alonzo put all his weight on the cyclic, sweet-talking the aircraft up an invisible cleft of rising air, then out over the jungle canopy.
The flying machine slogged through another side-current of wind, and Alonzo brought the nose up and yanked the collective to slow down. That maneuver put them below the level of the forest canopy, and the wind. He yawned and settled into the essentially quotidian business of landing the helicopter.
Allison was the first out the door, not bolting immediately for the jungle but actually turning and helping the Tanners disembark the gear. Steve had his computer open again and Alonzo left him to himself.
So much hinged on each of them. “Quick comm-check, everyone.”
Everyone’s earbuds were working.
Ian checked the laces on his boots. “What about Jack and Pete?”
“Steve will tie them in once he’s got satellite access,” said Alonzo. The helicopter was powering down as expected. Sure enough, they had enough fuel to make it off the island, but after that, well. He felt a pang of regret at leaving the wonderful flying machine alone. Compensated by doing what he could to secure the helicopter against the incoming storm. He positioned the main rotor blades in line with the aircraft, then slipped a plastic cover over each blade tip. Tiedown ropes connected the blade covers to the fuselage, and he secured each mooring line with his best bowline knot.
The others prepped the equipment, and Alonzo stayed out of their way, securing the tail rotor and tightly closing all the doors and exterior access panels. The machine would be safe, probably, if the winds didn’t get much higher than seventy miles per hour.
“Thanks for flying Air Alonzo,” he said, shouldering his pack. Allison shot him a slightly less-than-murderous look. Ah. She was finally warming up.
The sky was beginning to lighten.
“Good landing,” said Mack, and picked up his long bag of weapons.
“Any landing we walk away from is a good landing,” said Vern. He moved into the trees, following his brother at a low run. They vanished into the gloom.
Alonzo lead the others over the rolling land and up, to the spot on the map marked ‘Lighthouse Hill.’ He found this darkly hilarious, looking around at the tumbled remains of the tower and outbuildings. At least they’d provide cover, and the elevated position gave them an effective outlook back toward the island’s interior. They could even see the roofs of the scientists’ compound across the hills.
The sound of the surf carried a strange sound, a nonmusical chime.
The hilltop was empty. He was supposed to meet them here. He’d obviously gone on ahead, impatient or fearful of the coming light of day.
Tall grass grew everywhere, along with a few stubby trees. Steve looked for a spot sheltered from the wind where he could set up his gear, while the rest of them swept the area. “Look at this,” Ian called.
At the edge of the cliff stood a battery-powered winch, a cable system hastily arranged on a carbon fiber tripod. Chains anchored it to the ground and looped around the surrounding trees. Four thinner chains extended below to a wide, flat scaffolding of sheet metal—a standing platform. The wind pushed the metal to clatter and ring against the cliff face.
“Looks like he cannibalized one of the sensors from the beach defense,” said Ian. “Probably got the idea when he set the infrared strobe.”
Alonzo didn’t dare lean out beyond the sheer drop, but he bet there was a tunnel below, leading back toward the buildings. They might have just missed him by seconds. At least he didn’t have to climb down, alone. That would have been too much. Alonzo doubted even Peter could make that kind of a descent.
Allis
on joined them. “That doesn’t look tremendously safe.” She handed Alonzo his pack and headed for the down-slope, moving from cover to cover. He’d have to hurry to keep up.
One last thing. He found Steve securing his two computers. A short mast of antennae stood nearby, a clump of miniature satellite dishes. “You squirt the bird yet?”
“Three satellite uplinks so far. Two to go, but I’ve already started running CastleBreaker against the island’s network.” He’d brought along a king-sized Snickers.
“Listen, if the wind gets too bad—”
Ian arrived. “The Major is getting a head start on you, man. We’ll be fine. This hill is exposed, but we can withdraw if the weather forces us. Besides, we’ve got a clear line of sight to the wireless points on the buildings,” he pointed, “And a view of the transmitter.”
The three looked up toward the highest point on the island, where a man-made crag sat, gigantic, at the mountain’s peak. Lights pulsed at its base, and an enormous disk sat at the apex, topped by a single red warning light.
Ascendance
He hadn’t planned on showing Mercedes the operations center, at least not yet. She surprised him, however, with her mind as much as anything else, and Raines found himself inspired toward spontaneity . She did this, she stirred this in him, and he wondered how much of the inspiration fell due to the fact that Mercedes was the evolutionary extension of her mother and father—to whom he felt an unexpected responsibility—or because of her physical presence, which was compelling.
They passed several of his people in the hallways—support personnel, mostly—and their reaction to the woman excited him. Usually they shrank or fawned on the master of the house. Now, attention was drawn to Mercedes. It was relieving, in a way. It was as if he himself were in disguise.
She still wore that coat. Green wool, with black leather sleeves, almost like a high school letterman’s jacket. It was juvenile, probably Flynn’s. She’d be out of it soon enough.
The helicopter was another curiosity. Merely that; his local security force and the Columbians were already massing outside to repel whatever invader had come. In all actuality, in light of the events of the last few weeks, Raines was convinced the new arrivals on the island would play an important role, somehow, in the miraculous change he was bringing to the world this very day.
Moments of synchronicity were a historical fact. Pivot moments, when events and men aligned to great and terrible significance, almost as if guided by an unseen hand. Someone lacking imagination might see these as clues toward the existence of a god, or at least some sort of intelligent power leading mankind on a magical journey of discovery and wonder, guarding them from chaos and the void.
Raines suppressed a chuckle.
As a child, he’d seen the truth. Every single aspect of existence came together in precision, all around him, constantly, to aid in his progression toward perfection. From the moment he’d been old enough to apply his intellect to the study of himself, Raines realized his life to be a series of sequential, ever-elevating platforms, now culminating in this moment. Everything was aligning so seamlessly in his behalf; all he had to do was wait just a bit longer.
Patience delivered many rewards. As a child, he’d denied himself so many, many pleasures—and the iron control required for such restraint had so focused him toward greater works that his resultant discoveries and achievements won him freedom, freedom from the moral constraints which bound him as a youth and which still fettered the rest of this fallen planet.
A few hours from now, and the illusions of the present society would be cast aside, civility thrown down. It was his hand on the velvet curtain.
He looked sideways at the woman, and a guttural sound rose in the back of his throat, filling him with urgent longing, anger, and need. He let the groan rise until it nearly became audible, and then took a deep breath. Raines relished this. The nanodevices rode her bloodstream; soon enough he’d hear the same animal sounds from her.
The tactical operations center was the central point of the entire complex, in more ways than one. Essentially it was an information funnel. While the day-to-day progress of his companies’ endeavors could be routed to the personal computers used by Raines and his executive staff, areas such as this remained invaluable for looking at the collected intelligence as a whole. In addition to the wall-sized display screens, the room contained and focused human capital. Ranks of technicians and workers sat at shared workstations, their screens facing each other, each toiling away at his or her small piece of the kingdom. A few looked up when Raines entered the room. He favored them with a nod. He knew none of their names. There were six such operations centers in different offices around the world, all constructed identically, including the human components.
George Marduk and Miklos were already in the central area, giving instruction to the men operating the communications equipment. The screens above showed the island, a three hundred and sixty degree view from the tower, only enhanced far beyond the capabilities of the human eye.
The woman had been a photographer, in the Old World. She would understand this.
“This is what I was telling you earlier,” he said. “In addition to superior optics, we process the images digitally, cleaning up any loss of information due to distance, low light, anything.”
Mercedes nodded, seemingly enraptured by the screens. She stood close by, between him and a seated technician working on a simulation of the nanodevice activation.
“Long as the damn camera works,” said Marduk. “Some of the units in area seven are down, looks like wind damage. Those are the ones on the south beach, where the helicopter came in. We lost track of it right before landfall.”
Seeing Raines’ unspoken question, he said, “Coincidence, probably. We’re seeing similar failures on other parts of the island tonight. Probably going to get worse when the storm hits. Three repair crews are out right now, but if it turns into a real hurricane, I’m pulling them in.”
Miklos leaned forward. His eyes never left the screen. “I see someone,” he said. “Movement, definite movement. Up there, near the ridgeline.”
Under the Banyan
They took cover in a natural foxhole, carved by the slow movement of roots or erosion at the base of a giant tree. The lack of lower branches and the grassy sward below gave them a clear view. The entire field of battle was open to Alonzo and Allison, all the way down to the walled compound on the other side of the trees at the base of the hill.
The bark of the tree was darkened, as if singed. Alonzo recognized the signs of a recent forest fire. He mentioned as much to the major.
“You’d know to recognize when a forest fire happened in the past?”
He shrugged. “Comes from growing up in the Pacific Northwest. When you get out into the woods, you see all kinds of things.”
They took turns with the binoculars.
“Count six on the wall,” she said.
“Confirmed.”
They spoke in slow, quiet tones, just for each other. Sounds of the jungle waking up around them were likewise muted by the thick stand of trees to their rear, near the top of the ridge.
“At least ten on the right side of the field, near the main entrance,” said the Major.
“Nine, by my count. Another nine on the left side of the field.” If they stayed in this area much longer, eventually they’d be flanked by the advancing groups. But they were still a long way off.
Alonzo had turned the mission over and over in his mind. Thought out the tactical aspects as thoroughly as he dared, and then stopped. There was a possibility of planning with too much complexity, especially for a mission as light and fast as this one. Despite what Jack thought, there was a danger inherent in too much imagination. It was a tactical weakness of his.
Where are you, Jack? he thought.
The idea that this was their final mission occurred to him. Perhaps none of them would leave the island. They all trusted in the rightness of what they were doing, t
he righteousness of the mission. Always, this concept freed them to act decisively and with finality. They trusted each other and trusted Jack to see through the inevitable shades of gray.
He’d still feel better if Jack were going in with them.
The anticipation stirred him, prickled his scalp. It was always thus. Alonzo had read Carl von Clausewitz’s On War at the age of ten. His parents couldn’t believe a book published in 1833 held any appeal to him, a child born on the cusp of a new Millennium, but he grasped the inner meanings of men in conflict, and the machines engineered for war, as easily as his first letters. He didn’t glory in it.
The expectancy of action was almost the worst part. Watching the enemy advance towards the huge tree, his body went tense as piano wire. Alonzo attempted to smile at the Major, but his face was too tight. There was nothing like the supremely agonizing stillness, the anxiousness of the last moments before battle. His throat seemed huge, and he could only swallow with extreme difficulty. The Major’s expression showed that she was dealing with the same set of apprehensions.
There was a tiny mole on the Major’s neck, near her ear. It didn’t look out of place. She didn’t have any others, not that he could see. Surely there were others. Surely someone’s made the effort to count her moles.
After that was an easy, logical progression to wonder what she was like in bed. This was completely irrational, he knew, and tied solely to the tension of the moment. He wanted to laugh aloud. “Hey, Allison.”
She turned, just as a soft click-click sounded across the radio.
Finally! With a sense of relief mingled with anger, he stowed the binoculars and looked at his long rifle. He hadn’t imagined the signal, had he?
Alonzo settled back down and cupped his hand over his ear. “Hello Hollywood, hello Hollywood, are you five by five?”
The voice from California sounded small and impossibly far away. “We’re sending. This is a monster on bandwidth, but everything else is shut down on our end. You getting the feed?”