The Ark tl-1

by Boyd Morrison

  They ran down the station’s exit ramp, and Locke saw a squad car screech to a stop on the sidewalk outside 50 yards away where barriers blocked it from coming further. He could breathe a little easier now that the authorities had arrived. More squad cars were surely right behind this one. The driver’s door flew open, but the man emerging wasn’t wearing a policeman’s uniform. He was dressed in black. It was the mustached man from outside the clothing store. He must have hijacked a police car.

  Oh, come on! Locke thought. Is one break too hard to get?

  He yanked Dilara’s hand and dashed toward the closest cover: Seattle’s famed Space Needle. The 600-foot-tall tower was a concrete spire with a two-story disk on top for the viewing pleasure of the thousands who visited daily. On a clear day like today, Locke knew it would be crowded, and that he would be putting many people in harm’s way, but caught in the open as he was, he didn’t have a choice. He raced up the curving ramp, pulling Dilara with him.

  Locke flung open the door and looked back. The gunman was sprinting toward them, snapping off erratic shots as he ran. A carpeted ramp led up and around to the elevators.

  Locke and Dilara wound up past a line of sightseers patiently waiting their turn. When they reached the top of the ramp, Locke saw an elevator emptying. It was just what they needed.

  They blew past the attendant, who could only yelp, “Hey!” as they passed him. Locke heard screams from the people in line, who must have seen their pursuer brandishing a gun.

  “Get out!” Locke yelled at the nonplussed elevator operator who was guiding people to the exits. She stared at him, not sure what to do until shots from the silenced Hechler and Koch tore into the elevator wall. She dove aside, and Locke frantically pushed the elevator’s button for the observation level, while Dilara pressed herself to the opposite side.

  The doors were closing, but not fast enough. The gunman dove in before they slid shut. The elevator began to rise, and light flooded through the external windows that looked out on the city. The gunman brought the weapon up and aimed it straight at Locke, who for a fleeting moment realized that he was about to die. The assassin pulled the trigger.

  The hammer clicked on an empty chamber. The gunman had made the classic mistake of not counting his rounds. Locke seized the stroke of luck and pounced on the gunman, who still lay on the floor. He knelt on the man’s arms, but the man kneed him, throwing Locke to the side. The man leapt to his feet and reached behind him. He withdrew a Sig Sauer 9mm pistol.

  The man shook his head and smiled. Locke wasn’t sure, but it almost looked like the man admired him.

  Dilara slammed against his arm as the assassin fired, sending two shots into the window. Locke took advantage of the momentum shift and threw his full weight into the gunman. As the three of them wrestled, more bullets hit the glass. Locke shoved his shoulder into the assassin’s torso, lifting him up and slamming him against the window. The glass, weakened by at least eight shots, shattered outward.

  The gunman fell through, but he was able to grab the metal support. He dangled there, looking up at Locke. The elevator would reach the top in seconds, and the man would be crushed against the inside of the observation deck’s elevator shaft.

  Locke instinctively began to reach out to help the man back in, then hesitated. Did Locke really want to save him? This guy had just tried to kill him. Locke considered leaving the man where he was, but he grudgingly realized he needed to question him. His arm shot out to grab the assailant, but to Locke’s astonishment, the man just smiled again, making no move to grab Locke’s hand.

  “Why?” Locke yelled over the rushing wind.

  “All flesh has corrupted his way upon the earth,” the assassin yelled back. Then to Locke’s surprise, the man released his grip and plunged out of sight.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Locke leaned against a squad car as he gave his statement to a Seattle police detective, going through every detail from the time he saw the gunman in the window reflection to the time that the man fell to a suicidal death. Dilara sat in a cruiser 15 feet away talking to his partner. Dilara still looked shaken up by the experience and sipped a cup of coffee. Ambulances and police cars surrounded the base of the Space Needle, and police were gathering eyewitness accounts from dozens of other people.

  Locke had no doubt that the latest attempt on their lives was another link in the chain of events, and it only reinforced his belief that more deaths would be coming, particularly on the Genesis Dawn. Even though he had no proof, these assassins must have been involved with the same group as the man who had tried to blow up Scotia One.

  Luckily, no one had been killed in the cross town battle except for the gunmen. The only person injured was the policeman the mustached man had shot in the back. Initial reports said the injury wasn’t life-threatening.

  Locke was just wrapping up his account with the detective when a dark-haired man in a crisp gray suit approached them. He was accompanied by an attractive blonde in a similarly well-fitted suit. The man flipped open his wallet and showed the detective an ID.

  “Special Agent Thomas Perez, FBI,” the man said. “This is Special Agent Trina Harris. Dr. Locke is working with the agency on the Rex Hayden plane crash, and we have reason to believe this attack is not only related to that disaster, but that the attempted assassination is part of a broader terrorist plot.”

  That caught the police detective off guard.

  “This is a homicide investigation…” he sputtered.

  “No one other than the perpetrators was killed.”

  “A Seattle police officer was shot. We want to find out why.”

  “As you are no doubt aware,” Agent Perez said, “the FBI has authority under the US PATRIOT Act to take over any investigation that may involve terrorist activity. Please ask your partner to bring Dr. Kenner over here.”

  “This is bullshit.”

  “We’re setting up a task force, and I’m sure your department will be involved, but for now, we need to question Dr. Locke and Dr. Kenner privately. I have full cooperation from your chief of police if you’d like to check with him.”

  Miles worked fast, Locke thought, if he had already convinced the FBI to take over the investigation.

  The police detective grumbled and walked over to his partner. He jerked his thumb at the FBI agents. After a few more choice words from his partner, they nodded at Dilara, and she came over to Locke, who introduced her to the agents.

  “We know about your involvement in the Scotia One incidents,” Perez said. “Although that’s out of US jurisdiction, we’ve been asked by the Canadian government to lend any assistance we can in identifying the assailant. We’ve also been briefed by Miles Benson about your situation, Dr. Kenner. He was persuasive in convincing my superiors that there is some kind of link between these events. Dr. Locke, did you receive any verbal threats before the attack downtown?”

  “I think whoever was behind this made their intentions known when they crashed the helicopter and tried to blow up a billion-dollar oil rig.”

  “We don’t know the helicopter crash was anything other than a mechanical failure.”

  “A couple of days ago, I thought the same thing,” Locke said and looked at Dilara. “Now I’m going under the assumption that it was crashed on purpose.”

  “Have you ever seen either of the men before?”

  “No,” Locke said. Dilara shook her head in agreement. “All I know is that they’re completely fanatical. One of them committed suicide rather than let himself be caught, just like the intruder on Scotia One.”

  “Do you know why they would want to kill you?”

  “I have to assume it’s because of the incident with Sam Watson at LAX that Dr. Kenner witnessed and the downing of Rex Hayden’s plane.”

  “How?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  “These assailants were definitely targeting you. The other witnesses on the monorail and inside the Space Needle said they didn’t care a
bout anyone but you and Dr. Kenner.”

  Perez took a digital camera from his pocket and showed the screen to Locke. He cycled between two shots. Each showed a close up of the perpetrators’ faces. One was of the man with the miniature Space Needle still embedded in his eye, but with the skull cap removed. The second was the man who fell to his death from the elevator. The back of his head was misshapen from the impact with the ground. His mustache was gone, and his hair was now short-cropped brown instead the shaggy black it had been. Obviously a disguise.

  “Now do you recognize them?” Perez asked.

  Locke hadn’t seen either man before. He shook his head.

  “This guy,” Perez said, pointing at the second man, “had pictures of both you and Dr. Kenner in his pocket.”

  “Did they have any ID?”

  “No. They were pros. We’re checking their fingerprints now. But using the fingerprints Miles Benson said you obtained on Scotia One, we do have an ID on the oil rig bomber. He was a former US Army Ranger. Dishonorably discharged. Went into private contracting, but we can’t identify his employer. All of the C-4 was destroyed, so we can’t trace it. For now, that trail is a dead end.”

  “Maybe you’ll get luckier with these guys.”

  “I’m not counting on it. I’m sure they’ve covered their tracks. What I’m curious about is why they would try to take you out in broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses. That’s pretty risky.”

  “Because they only have five days left,” Dilara said. “They think we know something that would harm their plans.”

  “Do you?”

  “Not really,” Locke said. “It’s still a big puzzle to us. But we think the Genesis Dawn is the next target.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of something Sam Watson told Dilara.”

  Agent Harris spoke for the first time. “We’ll have the autopsy rechecked, but preliminary reports showed no trace of poison in Watson’s system. The coroner concluded it was a heart attack.”

  “That’s what they wanted it to look like. Sam worked in a pharmaceutical company. Maybe it was them. They might have access to untraceable poisons.”

  “That sounds pretty farfetched to me,” Perez said. “Why would they attack you in broad daylight with guns but kill an old man with an untraceable poison?”

  “They’re getting desperate,” Locke said. “They thought it could be contained if they killed Sam Watson and Dilara in seemingly natural or accidental ways.”

  “What’s ‘it’? Who’s ‘they’?”

  “It all has to be related to the bioweapon on Hayden’s plane,” Dilara said.

  “Hold on,” Perez said. “We’re still not sure it was a bioweapon. It could be some natural phenomenon.”

  “Oh come on, Agent Perez!” Locke said. “Did you read what happened to those people?”

  “We’re working under the assumption that it was a terrorist attack, although no one has claimed responsibility, but we also don’t want to jump to conclusions and panic anyone. That investigation is still ongoing.”

  “Yes,” Locke said, “and Dilara and I are returning to Phoenix tomorrow to help with it. A lot of the wreckage has already been trucked back to our TEC facility, and our technicians are sifting through it all. We’re hoping to find some kind of clue in it. We have to work fast, though. The Genesis Dawn sails Friday morning.”

  “We can have security beefed up at the Genesis Dawn gala and sailing,” Agent Harris said, “but you’re not giving us much to go on.”

  “What gala?” Locke asked.

  “There’s a huge party for big wigs the night before the maiden voyage. Lots of big names will be there.”

  That sounded like a tempting target to Locke, but he thought the real attack wouldn’t occur until the ship was at sea. It fit the MO of the airplane disaster better.

  “We have to stop the sailing,” Locke said. “Or at least postpone it.”

  “Impossible,” Perez said. “Unless I have a concrete threat to the ship, there’s nothing more we can do.”

  “We have one more lead,” Locke said.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Coleman Engineering and Consulting. We have reason to believe they may be involved.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. John Coleman and his top engineers were killed in an accident. I’m guessing the answers might still be in his records.”

  “What makes you think Coleman is involved?”

  “Sam Watson said his name to me before he died,” Dilara said.

  “Can you get us a search warrant?” Locke asked Perez.

  “With what? The accusations of dead man? The judge would laugh me out of his office.”

  “You don’t think this shooting spree is enough?” Locke asked.

  “But how is it related? You’ll have to come up with a more tangible link than Sam Watson’s dying words before I can get into Coleman’s firm. I think our time will be more productive spent looking for the identity of the two dead assassins and seeing if they are linked to the man on Scotia One.”

  “So we’re just forgetting about Coleman?” Dilara protested.

  “Unless you have evidence to justify a warrant, yes,” Perez said, “I suggest Dr. Locke focus on Hayden’s airplane crash.”

  “But…” Dilara began, but Locke held up his hand.

  “We’ll head back down there tomorrow,” he said.

  “While you’re in Seattle,” Perez said, “I want the police to provide protection for you.”

  “That’s okay,” Locke said. “Miles Benson has hired a private firm for our security. They’re on the way to pick us up now.”

  Perez raised an eyebrow. “Fine, then. When I know anything about your attackers, I’ll let you know.” He and Agent Harris walked away together.

  Dilara turned on Locke.

  “How could you give up so easily?” she demanded. “Coleman could be the key to this whole thing! We need to know about Oasis.”

  Locke looked directly at Dilara. “I don’t give up. We’re going to get into Coleman’s office tonight.”

  “How? Without a warrant…”

  “We don’t need one,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t think John Coleman died in an accident. I knew him. He was a great engineer, very careful. Which means somebody murdered him. And anyone who could plan an oil platform disaster could have staged an accident that killed John. He may not have even known he was in danger. He wouldn’t have been involved in something criminal, at least not wittingly.”

  “How does that help us?” Dilara pressed, sounding frustrated. “How can we get into his office?”

  “You said Sam Watson told you they killed your father. Would you let someone search his office if you thought that person could find his murderer?”

  “Of course. In a second.”

  “Well, let’s hope your reaction is universal. John Coleman has a daughter.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Pharmacologist David Deal awoke drenched in sweat. His eyes fluttered open and took in the sparsely decorated room he had been confined to as part of his final initiation as a Level Ten. Other than the single bed with its thin blanket and sheet, the only objects in the room were a metal desk, a cane-backed chair, and the coveted Final Chapter of the Holy Hydronastic Church. An alcove held a sink and toilet. The thick door was the lone exit from the 10-foot-square room.

  Human contact occurred only when meals were brought in three times a day during the last six days of the initiation that all Hydronasts aspired to. As a faithful Level Nine, he had been deemed worthy just two days ago and had been flown out to Orcas Island for the Ritual, as it was known. There were only 300 Level Tens in the entire church, and he felt blessed to be asked to achieve his ultimate goal.

  He’d been through a process much like this for each level, but this one had been the most intense, the most spiritual. He had read and reread the Final Chapter until he had memorized it verbatim. Suddenly
everything he had learned in the Bible made sense. It was as if his soul had been mired in quicksand, and the teachings of the faithful leader, Sebastian Garrett, had plucked it from its thrashing and soothed it with his wise and beautiful words.

  He knew the isolation was an important part of the Ritual, and it didn’t bother him at all. Dressed only in a pure, white robe, he was able to explore the visions he saw with rapt attention.

  Since he didn’t have a clock, Deal didn’t know how long it had been since he finished dinner, but he had had enough time to read the Final Chapter halfway through again. The mind-expanding power of the words filled his head until he could feel his soul transcending its normal boundaries. The light weightlessness was the first sign of the impending vision, and he fervently waited for its arrival.

  Then a firework of light exploded in his brain, causing Deal to fall backward into the bed. He opened his eyes, and the brilliant starbursts faded away. He had been told that the Final Chapter wasn’t the whole Truth, that the visions were his personal insights into what the Final Chapter actually meant, and each individual Level Ten was the recipient of his own Truth. That was why he desperately wanted to see another vision, to reveal the last bits of Truth.

  Then it came. The sounds, the lights, the words. They told of a new beginning for the earth, a beginning that he was to be an instrumental part of. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever experienced.

  * * *

  As he caressed the back of Svetlana Petrova, Sebastian Garrett watched David Deal on the three monitors, and the ecstasy on the man’s face told him everything he needed to know. Another sheep had entered the fold.

  “I love watching this,” Petrova said in a Slavic purr from her perch on Garrett’s desk. “It’s so sexy. The power. The control.” She ran her hand through Garrett’s hair, sending a tingle down his spine.

  “I thought the indoctrinations were complete,” she said. “The target number was 300, no? We’re almost evenly split between men and women. Why do we need this man?”