EXTINCTION
CRISIS
(BOOK 3)
Returning Characters from Book Two:
Jack Greer: A geophysicist in his early forties, Jack is at times impulsive and irreverent, but dedicated to pursuing the truth, no matter where it might lead him. His main weaknesses include cigarettes, gambling and anything else that requires a modicum of willpower.
Mia Ward: A brilliant geneticist in her mid-thirties, Mia has struggled to get her life back on track. She is determined to do everything in her power to save her daughter from the ravages of Salzburg syndrome.
Anna: An android powered by artificial intelligence, Anna is the first of her kind. She is caring and highly competent and struggles to understand the irrationality of human behavior.
Gabby Bishop: A matronly figure and accomplished astrophysicist in her early fifties, Gabby is Jack’s closest friend and colleague. Her level head is often a strong counterpoint to his tendency to jump in with both feet.
Dag Gustavsson: A Swedish paleontologist in his late twenties, Dag is a deep thinker who is quick to hide his vulnerable side with humor.
Grant Holland: At fifty-nine, Grant is a British-born biologist who’s not afraid of exploring the vague boundaries between science and mysticism.
Eugene Jarecki: A theoretical physicist in his early forties, Eugene masks his fears and insecurities with arrogance and bravado.
Admiral Stark: In his mid-fifties, Stark comes from a long line of Navy men. He may be a hard man to impress, but he’s exactly the kind of guy you want on your side.
Ollie Cooper: Rugged and some might even say handsome, Ollie is a fifty-year-old former Sentinel agent eager to right his past wrongs. His greatest strength is loyalty. It might also be his greatest weakness.
Sven: Former member of Sentinel who intercepted Mia in Argentina. His large size and deep voice overshadow his soft side. After Tom’s death on board the Atean ship in the Gulf of Mexico, Sven has sworn an oath to avenge his friend.
Chapter 1
Rome, Italy
Ollie Cooper stared at the cloud-grey walls of his cell wondering about fate. Not his own. No, that particular boat had sailed a long time ago. At least what felt to him like a long time.
He caught the slow, deliberate sound of someone approaching. Each footfall seemed to echo in his ears. Fear had a funny habit of stretching things out, didn’t it, making a person feel like they were circling the event horizon of some ravenous black hole. The truth was, in only a handful of days, millions of tons of alien engineering would punch a hole through the upper atmosphere and give the earth the kind of shiner she hadn’t felt since T-Rex roamed the planet. But a lucky few—or unlucky, depending on one’s point of view—would survive the impending cataclysm.
Ollie wondered about Mia, where she was and whether she was safe. The last he’d seen, she’d been thrown into an interrogation room right before he had. After hours of intense questioning interspersed with occasional beatings, Ollie had been tossed into this cell. Judging by the dried blood on his lip he had been here a day, maybe two. But sitting inside a concrete box with less than eight feet of room in either direction, it was hard to be sure of anything.
Three pairs of shoes stopped outside his cell, followed by the echoing clank from a metal latch being turned. The heavy door swung open, bringing with it a painful shaft of light that pierced his eyes and stabbed at his brain. Ollie squinted, blinking with the force of a man trying to crush walnuts with his eyelids.
“It’s about time you lot showed up,” he complained. “I’ll have pasta primavera with a glass of your finest red wine. And hold that sorry excuse for a bread roll you tried to give me yesterday, bloody thing was as hard as a rock with about as much taste.”
Commissario Vicario flashed the hint of a smile. Distinguished and always dapper, he looked less like a cop and more like a pitchman for Black Label or overpriced tequila. Flanking him were two men wearing dark suits and sunglasses. From Ollie’s spot on the floor, they looked like giants, staring down at him with cold, humorless expressions.
“Very sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Cooper,” Vicario said. “We are not here about lunch.”
The two gloved men stepped into the room. Dark suits, shades and matching gloves. Something told Ollie they weren’t there to sell him nonstick skillets or one-piece blankets you could wear as a nighty.
Ollie noticed the corner of a thick yellow envelope poking out of Vicario’s breast pocket.
“I suppose everyone has their price,” the Aussie said, appraising the situation.
Vicario smiled. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve been assured you will not suffer.” His eyes flicked down to the cut on Ollie’s lip and then back up to the bruises ringing his left cheekbone. “At least not any more than you already have.”
“You’re a real sweetheart…” Ollie started to say as one of the men reached into his suit jacket and came out with a silenced pistol. He felt the blood drain from his face.
Distaste flashed across the commander’s face as he pushed the barrel of the man’s pistol down. “Not here. Not like this. The last thing I wanna do is give the cleaning crew another excuse to complain. ‘Commissario,’” he mocked in his heavy Italian accent, “‘there’s blood and brains all over the walls. Do you expect us to get down on our hands and knees and pick itsy-bitsy pieces of skull up off the floor?’” He straightened up, swiping his hands down the front of his finely pressed suit. “I’m telling you, they’re worse than my first wife, God rest her soul.” Vicario reached behind him and came out with a pair of handcuffs. “Take him out of the city and do it there.” His gaze settled back on Ollie, who was grinning. “What the hell are you so happy about?”
“Me? Oh, nothing, mate. It’s just I’ve always loved the country. Seems like a fine place to say goodbye.”
•••
They led Ollie out of the police station and into the back seat of a white Toyota. The men in dark suits got in the front and started the car.
“I’m being driven to my grave in a sedan?” Ollie quipped. “Don’t you think I at least deserve a Maserati?” He caught the driver’s head snap up, eyes piercing him through the rearview mirror. They made their way out of Rome, Ollie eyeing the goon in the front passenger seat as he attempted to work his wrists out of the cuffs. They had thought enough to secure Ollie’s hands behind his back. What they didn’t know was that at thirteen years of age, Ollie had broken his right thumb playing rugby back in Brisbane. The injury had healed, but it had left him with the sickening ability to dislocate the digit completely.
Ollie was in the middle of subtly working the cuff down his wrist when he caught the guy in the passenger seat snort and flick his fingers up the front of his nose. It made a sickening whickering sound, one Ollie recognized all too well. These weren’t Mafioso hitmen or corrupt Italian cops. They were Sentinel agents Ollie recognized from his days in the organization.
“Sean? That you, mate?”
The muscles on the man’s face tensed.
“Sean O’Rourke, you son of a bitch, I thought it was you.” Ollie leaned forward just as the man spun around and slugged him in the face. Ollie was thrown back into place, bouncing around before coming to a stop. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose. He grinned. “You always were an asshole. And a pig, the way you flick that nose of yours. You really should get that checked.”
Outside, they passed a row of trees along a narrow country road, the sun poking out behind a thick blanket of clouds. They couldn’t be far now.
“You had your chance, Cooper, and you blew it,” Sean said, his voice low and filled with contempt.
Ollie continued working the cuffs, shifting gently from side to side, making it look like the bumpy road was tossing him around. “Chance at what? I can already see your future. Soon as that ship hits you boys will be barbeque meat. Least I’m going out the easy way. Bullet to the back of the head.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” Sean said, half turning and
lowering the rim of his shades. His eyes were grey and bright, like a husky’s. “We’ve got the situation under control.”
“Oh, you mean now that Sentinel has control of the White House? Throw a few nukes into space, that your big plan?”
“Maybe, but I don’t see why it matters, you’ll be dead in the next five minutes.”
They were coming to an intersection, the opposite road lined with a row of stone pine trees. An audible click sounded as Ollie’s hand broke free.
Damn it!
Sean’s head snapped back just in time to feel the heel from Ollie’s boot. The car swerved as the driver reached back with one arm to fight him. Sean reached into his jacket for the silenced pistol. Ollie lunged forward, only dimly aware his seatbelt was still on.
Double damn it!
Sean’s pistol came up right as the impact shattered the driver’s side windows, sending the Toyota rolling into the ditch. Shards of glass hung suspended in midair for a moment as the car tumbled. Ollie caught the sound of twisting metal as the roof caved. A split second later, the car flipped again, ejecting the driver out the broken window, as though he’d been sucked out of an airplane at thirty thousand feet.
An eternity later, the car came to a rest upside down. Ollie was dazed and not entirely sure what had happened or whether or not he was hurt. Nearby, a cow bell sounded. Glancing out the shattered remains of his window, Ollie spotted the animal, which paused and regarded him briefly before going about its business.
Ollie was in the middle of trying to take his seatbelt off when he heard the distinct sound of gunshots. Sean, upside down, struggled to do the same. The assassin’s pistol was lying on the ceiling, a few feet away. Sean reached for it, his fingernails scraping against the grip when the passenger door flew open. Three more shots rang out and Sean went limp. Then it was Ollie’s turn. What was left of his door hung on at a weird angle. A second later it was ripped from its hinges and tossed aside. Ollie stared into the barrel of a rifle, uncertain if the large silhouette before him meant to be a friend or an executioner.
Then the man spoke and the deep and familiar timbre of his voice gave Ollie his answer. “Sven?”
Chapter 2
Greenland
Jack Greer made his way along Northern Star’s battered corridors. Signs of the fighting that had taken place here were still clearly visible, the wounds of those they had lost still painfully fresh. While the holes in the three giant modules had quickly been patched and the spilt blood wiped away, doors kicked off their hinges and walls blackened from exploding grenades remained. Northern Star had become a charnel house.
The advance team had been the first to lose their lives at the hands of Israeli special forces. Not long after, the Russians had suffered a similar fate when Admiral Stark and a team of Navy SEALs and Delta Force operatives had swept in to take the facility back. Now, close to a mile beneath their feet lay a tear in space, a doorway perhaps to another planet, another dimension. Nobody knew. Not yet, anyway.
Jack arrived at the electronics lab and rapped at the door. When there was no immediate answer, he knocked again, this time with more force.
“Come in, Dr. Greer,” the soft female voice instructed him.
Jack pushed his way in. “How’d you know it was me?”
Anna was hunched over the workbench busily soldering something. She stopped and spun at the waist to face him, her feet pointing in the opposite direction. It was a sight that still took some getting used to. “You always knock twice, softly at first and then loudly when you don’t hear a response.”
“Am I that transparent?” he asked, smiling as he surveyed the replacement leg and arm from DARPA that had arrived yesterday.
She grinned. “I believe in poker they call it a tell, do they not?”
“They do, but my poker days are over.” He noticed the soldering iron projecting from a tiny port between her second and third knuckle. “Is that new?”
Anna dropped her gaze to her outstretched hand. “Since they were replacing my damaged arm, the people from DARPA asked if I requested any additions or modifications.”
“And you asked for a soldering iron.”
“For my work, yes. The people from DARPA are very nice.”
The expression on Jack’s face changed ever so slightly.
Anna tilted her head. “Do you disapprove?”
“I don’t have a problem with them,” he clarified and then hesitated, uncertain if he should finish the thought. “But I know Rajesh did.”
Anna’s eyes dropped and he noticed her shoulders droop. For something that didn’t breathe, she sure looked as though all the air had gone out of her. He went up and rubbed her cold metallic shoulder. “It’ll get easier with time,” he said, trying to somehow lessen the pain. He had a hard enough time with human emotions, let alone the robotic equivalent. He eyed the jumble of wires and logic boards she’d been working on. “Seems you’ve been keeping busy.”
She spun around, all the while avoiding his gaze. “I find the pounds per square inch of pressure greatly reduced when I engage myself with an important project.”
“We call it grief,” he told her. “That’s what the pain feels like when you lose someone important to you. It comes in waves, sometimes crashing against you all at once.” Jack was about to bring up the portal and the reason for his visit when he caught the sound of barking coming from the closet. Puzzled, Jack looked at Anna before his gaze settled on the remains of a shattered Roomba on the workbench. “Did you destroy another robot vacuum cleaner?”
“My apologies, Dr. Greer, but I was short on parts,” she said, sheepishly.
Jack stalked over to the closet and pulled open the door right as Gabby and Grant appeared in the electronics lab doorway. A tiny robotic dog shuffled out of the closet, its delicate feet scrambling for traction on the slippery linoleum floor.
“Wha, wha,” it bleated. The animal was a mad assortment of disparate parts.
Gabby swooned, dropping onto her hands and knees and calling after the little electronic beast. Grant laughed, clapping his hands together, showing no sign he’d suffered anything like the bullets he’d taken to his chest and left wrist only two days earlier. The dog stopped by Jack’s feet, squatted over the toe of his boot and began tinkling. Now all of them burst into a gale of wild laughter as Anna came over and scooped it up, running her padded fingers over its small head.
“Do not worry, Dr. Greer, Tinkerbell’s bladder is little more than a thimbleful of water.”
“Tinkerbell?” Gabby said, surprised. “Are you a fan of Peter Pan?”
Jack shook his head. “No, but she’s a fan of Paris Hilton, who also had a dog named Tinkerbell. Don’t ask me how I know these things.”
Grant leaned against the doorframe, wiping the tears from his eyes and then clutching his abdomen. “Oh, thank you kindly. There’s no telling how much I needed that.”
Anna set the dog down and it ran straight into the edge of the table, knocking itself over in the process.
“Grant, are you sure you should be walking around?” Jack wondered. “I know you like to think of yourself as Hercules, but you’re a mortal man and one who was shot less than forty-eight hours ago.”
Grant unbuttoned his shirt and revealed his bare chest. “If you can find a bullet hole, old chap, you’ll be doing much better than that bloody doctor.”
This still wasn’t making sense. “What about your wrist? I saw the blood spray out when you were hit.”
Swinging an awkward hand into the air, Grant displayed his left wrist and rotated it above his head like an overaged cheerleader.
“Have they offered any kind of explanation, other than your manliness? I mean, we knew you were getting better and faster than usual, but to go from lying in bed riddled with holes to walking around hole-free in less than twenty-four hours, well, that’s not normal.”
“I’ve been thinking about that myself, Jack,” he replied, the humor gone from his voice. “I’ll give you this, i
t is quite perplexing and I can think of no other explanation other than Salzburg syndrome. I wasn’t the only one hit. Captain Mullins was flown to a naval hospital in Maryland and is still in serious condition. And he was one of the lucky ones.”
Grant didn’t quite speak Rajesh’s name, but Jack noticed the flicker in Anna’s eyes all the same.
“First Salzburg nearly kills you,” Jack noticed, running through the puzzling sequence of events, “and then it practically doubles your muscle and bone mass and heals you in record time.”
“I’m not complaining, Jack.”
“Nor should you,” he said, rubbing his fingers together. “But I suspect you’re not the only one displaying strange and even amazing symptoms. The real question is what it all means.”
Gabby, her silver hair tied back behind her head, looked from them back to the dog. “So you built this out of parts scavenged from a Roomba?” she asked, impressed.
“Mostly,” Anna replied, unable to hide her pride. “Although many of the parts were cannibalized from other, shall I say, less successful projects.”
“Seems it still has a ways to go to catch up to you,” Jack observed, watching the dog’s legs kick at empty air.
Anna bent over and righted Tinkerbell, who proceeded to run around the room.
But Jack knew she hadn’t torn apart that vacuum to build an intelligence to rival her own. She had done it for a simple reason. She missed Rajesh and was trying to forget.
The radio on Jack’s belt came to life. “Jack, any word from Anna on those drones?”
“I was right about to ask her,” he replied, wiping the water off his boot.
“Well, hurry up. The teleconference with the Joint Chiefs is in less than five minutes and we still have no clue what’s on the other side of that portal.”
Extinction Series (The Complete Collection) Page 53